Decomama

Just Try and Stop Me!

2012-02-16T21:52:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed that "No U Turn" signs are always erected exactly where you want to make a U Turn? I am not a big rule follower and as I get older, even less so. I am OK with rules that are in place to protect children or keep people from real harm, but rules like "No U Turn" really annoy me. If I am not going to screw up traffic, or get in anyone's way, I see no reason not to make a U Turn and guess what? I do it all the time. I look around to make sure I won't bug anyone and then I do a second check for a cop who might be parked in the nearby doughnut shop, and then I do it! I break the law. I turn my steering wheel into the turn with gusto and daring and I make the bloody U Turn.

In fact, today, I made 3 U Turns - yup - count em - 3. I shaved a good 5 minutes off my driving time, did not interfere with the traffic patterns and I felt good doing it. I think there is some underlying psychology here. Some inner rebel yell looking for a safe outlet to escape. I have a "need" to break the rules and perhaps see this as a "safe" alternative. Maybe. Maybe not.

It kind of goes hand in hand with my desire to have more fun these days. Having been through a shitstorm this past year, the emotional drain of it all has left me craving some lightheartedness, some release from the heavy ongoing obstacles and responsibilities of my life. I cranked up Cindy Lauper in the car the other day - Girls Just Want to Have Fun - when was the last time I really felt that carefree? Too long ago - that's how long.

So maybe my U Turns today were symbolic of just that. I am about to make a U Turn maybe. Break some rules. Let my hair down. Stop worrying. Go with the flow. Listen to my inner voice. Just be.

Just bloody be.

This one's for the Girls!

2012-02-13T21:41:00.000-05:00

Everyone else should get in line!

Happy Valentine's Day to all my awesome gal pals!

The Heart of the Matter

2012-02-08T21:14:00.003-05:00

OK, I'm going to go out on a limb here tonight and confess a couple of things about myself. Don't get too excited, I am not going to share my sexual fantasies or anything, although that might garner a few more readers....or not. No, I am going to talk about Valentine's Day.

My name is Debra and I am a Valoholic. I like pink. I like red. I like heart shapes. I like romance. I like flowers. I like chocolate. (I don't like stuffed animals with shirts that say "I Wuv you!") - I am not completely mad!), I like that there is a day set aside to honour love. I am a sappy romantic fool. I once spent an entire Valentine's Day making heart shaped chocolate shortbread cookies and letter shapes that spelled out I LOVE YOU DADDY as a Valentine's tribute to my ex-husband from my then 2 yr old daughter. I laid them out on the dining room table so he could see it when he got home from work.

In primary school, I loved the collection of Valentines from my classmates. I would spend the night before that day carefully selecting the best Valentine's from the box to give to the cutest boys. The boys I thought were icky got the one's I did not like so much. The one's that said "Happy Valentine's Day", not ever "Be Mine" or "You have my heart". God knows I did not ever want to mislead that boy who picked his nose in class all day. But at the same time, I never wanted to exclude anyone for fear of hurting someones feelings by not getting one at all.

My daughter once told me a story of a boy in her grade 3 class who had the courage to give his crush a box of chocolates on V-Day and she tossed them on the playground cement and crushed them (and his heart) with the sole of her shoe. This story, relayed to me the next day made my own heart break. That poor boy - how devastated he must have been.

When I was in grade 2 myself, a boy who liked me came to my house after dinner on Valentine's Day and knocked on the front door and when I looked down from the second story window of my house and saw him standing on our front porch, I was horrified. "Why was he here?" I was painfully shy at 7 and when my father called me to come down; I was frozen with fear and trepidation. I could not come down the stairs. He eventually left without being able to present me with his card and chocolates and to this day I hope he does not think I did not like him. That was the problem. I did.

I have long since gotten over that timidity, but I would still be touched if a boy came to my door with a card and chocolates and I would graciously accept his heartfelt offering even if I was not interested in him. Any gift given from the heart deserves thanks from the recipient - it's simply good manners.

There are those of you who scoff at Valentine's Day, you know who you are. A Hallmark Holiday you say, a day where you are made to feel obligated to spend money on over-priced flowers or meaningless gifts, but is a gift ever meaningless? I suppose if you put no thought whatsoever into it, or your heart is not in it, or you feel you are jumping on a bandwagon with the herd, however, even a gift purchased and given under duress is better than no gift at all to a girl who grew up with cinnamon heart sweetened breath on February 14th for her entire childhood.

Very few of the significant men in my past have ever been very big on Valentine's Day, so I reluctantly accepted their view on it and swept it under the carpet. But truth be known, I always wanted to be swept off my feet on that day, and I am quite sure I am not alone. It is ingrained in our DNA from the get-go. Sleepless in Seattle, the Elvis Costello version of My Funny Valentine, the more recent Teenage Dream by Katy Perry and the movie Valentine's Day - the never-ending barrage of sweet sappy sentiment in song and movies and poetry - is it so wrong? Should we pretend we don't care, vainly trying to protect our fragile hearts?

I say no. Open your hearts ladies! Tell your men you want to feel adored. You want them to lavish you with attention. You want them to step up to the plate and hit that home run into your heart. Be vulnerable. Be you. Be a girl.

Open your heart wide and let someone in. If they don't come in...their loss.

Is your figure less than greek?

Is your mouth a little weak?

When you open it to speak,

are you smart?

Don't change a hair for me,

not if you care for me,

Stay little Valentine, stay,

Each day is Valentine's Day

"My Funny Valentine"

Lorenz Hart

A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses. - Chinese Proverb

Dear Bono, I have been a very good girl this year.......

2012-02-02T20:49:00.000-05:00

The mind boggling numbers have been hovering around in my head since I heard them. He invested about 90 million a few short years ago in Facebook and now it is worth close to a billion! That's right folks - with the Facebook IPO, U2's illustrious leader will become the world's richest rock star, surpassing Paul McCartney and Sir Elton and god knows who else.

So, I have decided to go on the record here and officially ask Bono to lend me $100,000, interest free to be paid back in full if and when my first novel or screenplay (still debating here) becomes a huge hit. That will be just about enough to allow me to take 2 years off work to complete my masterpiece. Seriously - we are talking chump change here.

Would it help if I told him that The Joshua Tree is in my top ten fave albums of all time? Or, that when I hear some people criticize him, I defend him? Or, that I will gladly contribute a portion of my profits to whatever charity he likes or is supporting at the time? Is there anything I can say to convince him?

He won't even notice it missing, I am sure. And I would be grateful forever if he could please help me, one of his long time fans realize her lifelong dream.

Cause she "still hasn't found what she's looking for."

And she is pretty damn sure, living that dream would be it.

Bootyliscious AND Organic

2012-01-29T19:21:00.000-05:00

OK folks, sabbatical is over. It was needed and I am grateful I took one but it felt like a missing limb not writing this blog for the last couple of months, so here we go.

I can't decide if I want to talk about the Sha'Bam class I participated in today or the cost of eating Organic and my constant search for affordable Organic produce and groceries, but let's start with the Sha'Bam workout.

I have long thought that it would be great to be able to dance like I did back in the day when I was in my 20's and in the bars and clubs all the time without having to stay up past 11 pm and drink my face off. Sha'Bam is close to a solution. I went with a friend who assured me it was so much fun and such a good work out that I would love it. I did get an amazing work out, but did I love it? Yes and no. The problem with any of these classes is that I don't get to pick the music. I don't get to FEEL the music the way I want to feel it in order to really lose myself in the class. And then there is the inevitable issue of being in a room full of sweaty bodies, many of whom are even more hopeless than I am at keeping the pace or think they are Jennifer Beals in Flashdance like the 30-something gay guy one row up and right of me who was cracking me up with his flailing arms and theatrical manoeuvres. At one point he jumped up on the stage with the instructor, so lost in the music, he forgot his place - you GO girl!

I actually did find myself in the groove from time to time, lost myself in my moves, but no sooner did I feel my body at one with the music, the instructor would change up the choreography while I stumbled to learn the next move trying not to body slam the woman next to me who looked like I could easily knock her over with my baby finger she was so skinny. Skinny but flabby - what's up with that? If the day ever came where I weighed 110 lbs soaking wet, you can be damn sure there would be a complete absence of flab. Size zero with muffin top - it's beyond me.

However, the class is promoted as a "no rules" - go with your inner dancey diva of choice but don't go too crazy, cause despite the claim, it is still choreographed and believe me, no one wants to see your version of a pussy-cat doll, so don't go loosening up your buttons baby or shaking your less than bootyliscious bottom a la Beyonce unless you are SURE you can pull it off. Leave that to the instructors and dream on.

After sweating it out on the dance floor, next stop on my Sunday afternoon here in sunny Toronto, was a trip to the Organic Garage in Oakville. Rumour had it that THIS was THE place to go for affordable organic produce and groceries, and although a bit out of my hood, would be worth the drive for all the money I would save. Anything could surely beat the prices at Whole Foods (aka- Whole Pay Cheque) or Planet Organic, so I was pumped. Sadly, it was a pleasant diversion at best. Surely there were a few staples that were slightly lower-priced than what you might pay elsewhere, but in the end not worth the gas money to get there. Bummer. Having said that, the staff were really friendly and the Earthbound Farms lettuce I buy all the time was a buck cheaper and the organic Tree Hugger OJ was as well. The rest was about the same or a tad less or more depending on what it was.

I think the government should give kick-backs on all organic grocery purchases which when you consider the health benefits might help keep so many unhealthy folks from sucking the living daylights out of the government funded health insurance plans in this country. There is some food for thought Harper - stop and smell the toxin-free coffee brewing in the kitchens of health-conscious Canadians Stevie - just sayin.

Same goes for fitness and sports club memberships - reward the efforts, give everyone a chance to get fit and healthy and while you are at it, jump in and break a sweat yourself chief - just a suggestion.

Whew! OK, there we go, a little spewing on a Sunday's eve, good for the soul...aaannndddd, she's BACK.

Stay tuned.

Taking a Break

2011-11-22T09:36:00.004-05:00

Please consider a trip down memory lane and visit my blog archive - in particular some of the 2009 Xmas season blogs. Scroll down the sidebar to the left and click on 2009. Happy Holidays everyone! I hope to be back in the New Year with some fresh perspectives.

Decomama xo

OK, OK, I'm coming!

2011-11-10T19:21:00.000-05:00

About an hour ago, I was driving toward home from the east, heading straight west, the sun just starting to head toward the horizon, but still up high enough in the sky to necessitate wearing my sunglasses. There were some big puffy clouds obscuring parts of it and there were several minutes where the beauty of this scene was so intense in my mind that it brought tears to my eyes. This happens to me occasionally when I am awestruck by something so perfect it fills my heart with something akin to how I felt when my daughter was first born and I could not stop staring at her. I was so full of love for her tiny innocent self, this seeming miracle that had bestowed itself upon me. For weeks I was almost trance-like. I will never forget that time in my life where nothing else seemed to matter. She was and still is one of the greatest gifts of my life.

So now, whenever I experience even a moment of that sort of intense feeling, I am reminded of what is important and precious in my life. Now, a short time later, I am sitting looking out from my perch here on the 16th floor and the full moon is casting it's glow on the lake and twice within an hour I have been moved to tears by the perfect simplicity of nature. These are the things that feed my soul and lately I could use as much of this "food" as I can possibly get.

I have to admit, the introspective journey that I have been on for the last couple of years had better be coming to an end soon, because I am getting so fatigued by my own navel-gazing that if it doesn't end soon, I may have to go back to that unconscious place I was living in before all this started and after all the work I have done that would really be such a waste of growth, not to mention excellent fodder for my novel. But really, did I have to fall into the depths of despair to be able to crank out some good material? I think many artists who have gone before me have. I am hesitant to lump myself in with them, but I do think that lots of creativity is born of "hitting rock bottom".

That is not to say I have had a drug or drinking problem. I have not. But I would say I have had a "crisis of consciousness" so to speak that has felt like rock bottom some days. I have and still am completely transforming my life and it has been perhaps the scariest and most exciting time in my entire existence. No, I have not found Jesus, nor have I accepted him as my personal saviour in case you are wondering. But I have come through a rebirth of sorts. Mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. Those are pretty major I reckon. I have rejected the status quo (huge for me), walked away from what most would consider a good marriage, bared my soul and needs and flaws to anyone willing to listen, (like Meryl Streep in Out of Africa), shed more pounds than I care to admit and strengthened my body and immune system drastically, changed my work, succeeded beyond my wildest dreams and then plummeted just as quickly, faced death and illness in my extended family, left behind some of my joys and passions to pursue new ones, made new friends and ended relationships that no longer served my growth or fed my soul, re-ignited parts of me that were lost and buried and those are just some of the things that have happened.

Whew! It tired me out just listing it all. Essentially, I have just opted to follow the path of my soul's purpose in this life, as difficult as it has been and it has taken all my courage and all my energy and it has been extremely painful and extremely joyful and I have never felt so alive in my entire life.

Would I recommend it? Yes and no. It is certainly not for the faint of heart. Nor is it for everyone. Would I do it all over again? The jury may still be out on this one. One thing I know for sure - sometimes it is necessary. I just knew in my heart it was for me. I had to listen. I read a quote about a year or so ago that sort of summed it up perfectly...

"You might as well answer the door my child, the truth is furiously knocking." - Lucille Clifton

It's all Greek to her.

2011-11-06T22:05:00.000-05:00

Ancient History. The Classics. Greek and Roman Mythology.....with a minor in Film Studies. How about that? This my dear readers is what my lovely daughter wants to study in university next year. She has come a long way from wanting to be a veterinarian. I'm not really sure if she actually wanted to do that or if her father and I were pushing her in that direction. There was a time when she loved animals so much that it seemed natural, but all that has changed now.

Lots of things have changed for her in the last few years. She has grown up, matured, found something she is passionate about, traveled to Scotland, England, France, Germany, Belgium and beautiful British Columbia. At 17 she has had more worldly experiences than many and certainly more than I had had at that age. I did not really start to travel the world until I was 19, so she has a good head start on me.

The environment she has grown up in is so vastly different from what my reality was at her age. I am continually surprised by how much she knows that she has not even experienced largely due to the Internet and the world at her fingertips. The library is a thing of the past now. Just Google it - it's so simple. In about 9 months, the same time it took my body to nurture her into being, she will be taking the next big step in her life.

I am not one of those parents who frets and worries about her leaving. I am actually excited for her, knowing that the next few years will be some of the most wonderful years of her life. She will make life long friends, learn how to fend for herself, fill her brain with knowledge, get up to a bit of mischief maybe (currently she is a self-professed geek), so I hope she does let loose a bit and hopefully figure out who she is and what her soul's path is in this life. I am so fortunate. She has been easy. Not perfect, but never difficult. She marches to her own drum and is not a follower. Sometimes that can be a bit lonely for her I imagine, but it suits her and it certainly makes life easier for me.

I have never had to worry about her getting into a car with other kids who are under the influence. She does not hang with that kind of crowd. She is very conscious of what is right and wrong and she is almost a bit too cautious sometimes, but again, I rarely worry she is making the wrong choices. I still wonder how the hell she came from me sometimes. It does speak to how your environment plays a key role in one's development though. She grew up in a peaceful, loving and supportive home as an only child, so she did not even have a sibling to influence her decisions. She knows I was a bit of a wild child and she loves hearing tales of my own misspent youth, but she does not feel the need or desire to follow suit (thank god).

She has spent the past two weekends touring her top two picks for university. One is in Ottawa and the other in Peterborough. Either is fine with me - but time will tell where she ends up. For now, she needs to work to get the grades to get in - that is the current challenge. How badly does she want it? That is really the question. She is beyond capable, but she is typical in some ways when it comes to being a teenager. Focus is not her strong suit. Nor is time management and organization. I do believe she will get there. But it won't come easy. This term will determine her course, so it is critical to do well. That is a lot of pressure at 17. I don't know if I could have done it. I went back to school at 24 as a mature student - I was not even close to ready after high school. I went to the school of "travel" instead. It was the right route for me, but it is not for everyone.

I dropped out of community college after one year of a two year program and hit the road, backpack slung over my shoulders and no bloody idea of what I was doing or even where I was going other than I was landing in Amsterdam and I would figure the rest out when I got there. Pretty ballsy now when I think about it - but at the time it was all I wanted to do. See the world. Get the hell out of Dodge.

If she came to me next summer and said she wanted to do the same thing I am not sure how I would respond. It's a different world now. I hitched rides all through Europe, took the odd train, had a few close calls with danger but survived to tell the tales. Those days are long gone. Her experience would need to be more planned, safer, more structured. I grew up without any of the safety nets our kids have now. Why would it have been any different trekking around the world without a plan or seat belts, or a specified destination at the end of the day? I do wonder if we have coddled our kids too much.

In any case, she is about to venture away without me and although her reality will be vastly different from mine, it will be her adventure with her signature on it and that is what really matters.

The world of academia awaits. You go girl.......my girl, my sweet child.

Not long out of the Cave....that has to be it.

2011-10-28T13:01:00.000-04:00

I was going to ignore it, but it has been a few days now and I just cannot. I am compelled to talk about this. This will not be one of my humourous blogs. There is no room for humour here. Not even a little bit. NONE. NADA.

By now, most of you are aware or have seen the video of the little 2 year old girl in China being struck by a panel van in the street. The video shows her being hit, rolled over with both sets of tires, the truck moving off and not stopping. Then it gets worse. People pass by and glance at her and keep walking. And worse again. Another vehicle hits her a second time. Still no one stays at the scene and people keep ignoring her plight.

Finally someone scoops her body off the side of the road and takes her away. She is still alive, barely. I have since learned that the driver was caught, thanks to the video that captured the entire thing happening. Then I learned that he ran over her with his back tires on purpose to make sure she was "good and dead". Apparently, dead is better than injured as he has to pay less compensation to her family. Had she had medical bills, he would have been responsible to pay those for her family.

As I write these words, the shock of all of this is still processing in my brain. I find the entire thing almost impossible to comprehend. Such utter disregard for human life. The driver was not even going very fast. Surely he had time to stop, to brake before he struck her. Even if it was an accident, the fact that he did not get out of his van to help her, again, strikes me as beyond inhumane. A small innocent child treated in this manner is the most appalling of atrocities. I know this is not the first time, nor will it be the last that someone of my own human race has acted in such a barbaric manner. It does nothing to comfort me.

It makes me feel ashamed to be part of the collective. As I try to understand how anyone could behave in this manner, I ask myself many questions. Could this happen in my country? Is it a race thing? Is it a sex thing (girls having little worth in some cultures)? Is it a complete nation lacking in any soul or conscience? Was this perhaps some sort of divine intervention for that poor child - will she be better off dead than live amongst such a heartless tribe?

If you do the math, the number of people that did not help her far outweigh the one person who finally did stop to come to her aid as she lay limp and bleeding at the side of the road, alone, vulnerable, in pain, helpless. What brought them to this point in their lives? What atrocities have been wrought upon them to leave them in such an unfeeling zombie-like state? And how does one begin to try and fix them? Can they be healed?

It makes me angry. It stuns me. It fills my heart with grief. Yet, my life goes on. I will wake up tomorrow and be grateful for the sunrise, for my daughter sleeping peacefully in her cozy cocoon of down and feathers, for food that is plentiful, for my surroundings and my shelter from any storm, for my good health.

What I will be especially grateful for though is this. I will appreciate the fact that if I ever accidentally struck a small child on the road, I would stop my car and do everything in my power to help her....or him....or even if it was a dog or a cat. I would take responsibility and my heart would ache for what had happened. I am thankful I would FEEL something. For that, in my mind is what sets us apart from the animal kingdom. Perhaps there are still people out there in this world that walk and talk like humans, but really are not quite that evolved yet.

Surely, the people involved in this incident are not long out of the cave.

Perhaps that is it.

What's the Point?

2011-10-26T21:12:00.000-04:00

It has come to my attention that there may be some confusion as to the purpose of this blog. Some see it as an on-line diary, others as an occasional commentary on current events, either in the world at large or just in my own life. The purpose for me is to express myself, keep improving my writing by just writing regularly and to entertain the few who do read or care about what I have to say.

I have said it before and I will say it again - in an ideal world, I would be like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City and would actually get paid for my ramblings. I want to be a columnist. I am after all an experienced, educated woman, mother, design professional and sporty gal that feels I actually do have the odd thing to say or share or rant about.

Some women like to knit or paint or engage in some sort of hobby after a long day at the office. I like to carve out a bit of time for this. It is not always easy. It is a little way down the priority list after working out, helping my daughter with her homework, cooking dinner, socializing and catching up on my reading......well the list goes on. Like I said, I wish I had more time for blogging. I find it creative, introspective and I can get lost in it so completely that it is also a good way to combat anxiety and stress which I rarely choose to "medicate" with alcohol. My first choice for stress relief is exercise. It makes me feel awesome physically and mentally. It is "hands down" the best "medication" for just about anything that ails you, particularly if you have a tendency toward depression. Western medicine practitioners should be prescribing brisk walks in the fresh air before handing out prescriptions for antidepressants - give that a whirl before they automatically line the pockets of the drug companies and collect their kickbacks from them.....don't get me started.

Exercise works way better and does not give me a hangover, just tighter abs and a firmer butt, which I think looks better on me than the bloodshot eyes and and other nasty side effects I see on some women. There is a bar down the street from me that I walk by regularly and the smokers have to come out and stand on the street to get their nicotine fixes and I am generally shocked at the sad and sorry group of women my same age that are standing out there. Not only are they filling their lungs with toxins, they are dressed for prowling and most of them are waaaaay beyond looking good for this activity, but hey - maybe they are onto something - who knows? I just know that is not for me.

OK, so I just had to pause to help my daughter with her Philosophy studies. She has a test on Friday. It has been quite awhile since I looked at all these definitions of various philosophical schools of thought. I was most intrigued by Determinism. I forgot that something I actually wonder about has actually got a name. The definition is - "the theory that everything that occurs happens in accordance with some regular patterns or law; the view that human actions are completely determined by prior events." Not to be confused with "fatalism" - the view that events are fixed and that humans can do nothing to alter them."

One could apply whichever philosophy suits them at any given time I suppose. Currently, I think I may be falling into the "fatalist" category. It helps me accept things. It is flawed though much like anything. It could be used as an excuse to stop trying. To stop hoping. To stop believing. I recently read "Excuses Be Gone" by Wayne Dyer. He made some really valid points. We use excuses all the time. "I don't have time, I can't afford it, it's the way I am, it will upset my family, and on and on. All excuses. We are all guilty of these in one way or another. Check the book out if you find you are finding excuses to not move forward in your life - it is one of the best motivational books I have read in some time. You have a lot more choices and control of your life than you realize - he will show you how to turn things around. Highly recommend it.

OK, so where was I? OK, yes, back to my blog's "purpose". No, it is not "about" anything, it is about "everything". It helps lead me to my "purpose". The more "word vomit" I eject, the better I feel. When someone responds to something I have written and finds it funny or informative or even just relateable, I am happy. It gives me pleasure to know I have made someone think or laugh or cry or even get angry. We are all human - we have feelings, we need to express ourselves. I don't expect everyone to agree with me or even care about my words - I only care that by being able to express myself, I have revealed something of myself and by so doing, have opened my heart and my soul to make room for something new to enter.

That is what fulfills me. (One thing, anyway.)

Keeping it Simple......not so Stupid

2011-10-20T11:57:00.000-04:00

I am sitting here, my morning off, watching the waves crashing onto the shore here in Port Credit, music playing, sipping a nice latte, putting a plan in place for the rest of my day and a few things have occurred to me. Nothing earth shattering really, but curious enough that I feel like sharing some of my thoughts.
They have to do with simplicity. My latte for example. No one can deny that it is a simple drink. Brewed espresso with hot steamed milk, all warm and foamy and delicious. Now you may be thinking I slipped out to Starbucks or The Second Cup to order one up, but I did not. I made it here in my own kitchen. That too is nothing unusual, except, here comes the simple bit. I do not own a fancy coffee machine. I used to at one point in my life, but I found it cumbersome on the counter and whenever people came by for dinner, I felt like I missed out on all the after dinner chat while I was stuck in the kitchen whipping up cappuccinos for my guests. And the clean-up of said machine was a giant pain in the ass.

So, I sold it. I bought a simpler version and kept it in the cupboard and did not offer fancy after dinner coffee drinks to my guests anymore. But even that machine was a pain in the ass to clean. So I got rid of it too. Since then, for many years now in fact, I do this: I make the coffee part in a single cup bodum. Then, I put some milk in a glass measuring cup, pop it in the microwave, then I take this little $9.99 battery operated whipper and insert it into the hot milk and voila - luscious, foamy milk that I then add to the coffee and I have a great latte.

My point being, all these expensive machines and gizmos - are they really necessary sometimes? I feel the same about food - the simpler the better in many cases. Fresh natural ingredients, nothing processed, flavourful herbs and simple grilling. I always feel better after eating food like this.

The gym. Another thing I think can be simplified. The only piece of equipment I actually find entirely necessary is the treadmill. (and if I lived somewhere hot - would not need that either) The universal gym sits there, unused for the most part, like a giant metal sculpture in the middle of the room. I use the hand weights, the mats, the balls and only occasionally get myself all twisted and turned about on that thing. I don't seem to have trouble toning my body without it. In fact, I wish it was out of there, I would have more room to do the rest of my routine. I do use it as a surface for my towel, water bottle, keys and glasses, so I suppose you could say it has some reason to be there. There is one guy I have seen really take advantage of it, but he is the body-builder type and unless I am overcome with an urge to look like a female Arnie, I doubt I will follow suit.

Don't get me wrong. I have toyed with that idea. I see those women in magazines all slick with oil and flexing their biceps and abs in teeny tiny bikinis and for a brief moment, I think, hmmm, I could do that. Then the reality of the time investment it takes to look like that hits me and I leave that fantasy in the dark where it belongs. I don't really want to look like that anyway. Not that extreme. Then, once you get there, you have to keep it up, or you know what happens. I have seen those supermarket tabloid shots of what Arnie looks like now that he isn't pumping iron anymore - that is scarier than the toned terminator - no thanks.

Where was I? I was lost in my view for a minute. OK, right, simplicity. Here is another one. Cable. Basic cable vs umpteen channels. I watch TV for about 2 hours a week - 4 if there is a good movie or something going on in the world that I feel compelled to follow. I wondered when I was getting set up here in my new digs if I would miss the umpteen channel thing. I think I did once when I just assumed one of the channels I used to get was available, but I survived the moment of deprivation and carried on to live another day, so no, I don't miss it. It's easier to figure out the bill too. Pretty straightforward. Basic cable ............$whatever. I did notice underneath in fine print the words: bloody cheap bastard, but my eyesight ain't what it used to be so I can easily ignore that part.

OK, I could go on and on with other simple changes I have made in my life, but I need to hit the gym after I go outside for a simple brisk walk/run in my simple work-out top with the built-in bra (whoever invented that was genius - no falling straps) and then eat a simple lunch before I head to tennis for my weekly doubles match with the girls which I play at a very basic winter club - no pool, or fancy clubhouse or luxurious change rooms. You just show up, enter the bubble, go to your assigned court, play a simple game - costs about a tenth of some clubs with all the bells and whistles and I found I never used all that other stuff much anyway.

OK, signing off here from my simple HP comp....works for me.

Six more Weeks, eh?

2011-10-11T16:28:00.000-04:00

Have you ever noticed how your life only seems "just right" for brief periods of time? That is my experience anyway. You know, when all the elements seem to be in sync and you are in a groove and then you wonder when the other shoe will drop.
My life has pretty much resembled a roller coaster ride for the last couple of years and just when I thought one decision was going to slow that down a tad, now it seems I am faced with yet another disaster and frankly, I am getting a little tired of gathering up the energy and resolve to put another fucking piece of my life back together. As a friend of mine likes to say "It's always something."

I read a lot of spiritual, inspirational, philosophic stuff - I find it helps me get through the rough spots and a really good poet can really lift my spirits, but lately even these words of wisdom and encouragement are not really doing much to solve my current dilemma. According to my astrologer, I am going through a Pluto transit and it will apparently be coming to an end once and for all around the end of November. If this is in fact true, I only have to scratch and claw my way through another what?, 6 weeks or so?

So, that's not so bad, I can be like the little engine that could.....I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. I loved that book when I was a little kid. I remember having it read to me and how I so rooted for that little engine to make it up over the hill. It was hopeful. It taught me a lesson, even though at the time I did not realize that was what it was all about. Believe in yourself. I do. I do believe in myself. I just wish I could figure out how to translate that belief in myself into more income. I used to want to make gobs of money, but now I would just be happy with enough to cover my expenses and live a simple normal existence without worrying. How did I end up in a job that pays straight commission? I did not sign up for it, that's for sure. When I first took my present job, it was a salary-plus commission deal, but about a year in, they changed the system on us and now it is straight commish baby. Great when the economy is humming but sucks when it is not.

If I lived in NYC, I would be joining the throngs down on Wall Street - occupying it. I am one of them now. Who knew? I really believe the world is on the verge of huge change, about to finally evolve into something better, but it won't happen overnight. It is time in my view. Long overdue.

A metaphor for my own life really. Time for a huge change. Long overdue.

Ire, Ego, Darkness and Magic

2011-10-09T21:28:00.002-04:00

I have so many things I feel like blogging/blabbing about that I can't really decide which topic to pick. Over the last few days I have had my ire raised, my ego stroked, my dark side make an appearance and experienced a bit of magic. I have had no time to document any of it, but it is all swirling around inside my heart and my cranium looking for a way out.

So, in the vein of "giving" this Thanksgiving weekend, I will give you a few snippets of them all - like a confession of sorts. Growing up Roman Catholic, I got quite good at condensing my sinful behaviour for that bizarre ritual. Mostly I did not know what to say when I got inside that little dark box, so I remember making up what I thought Father Whomever wanted to hear. I did not get that I could have actually taken advantage of a little free therapy, but no one tells you that when you are 10. So essentially I reported the same sins each time. I was mean to my kid brother, I lied to my parents, and I took the name of God in vain. That sounded like a reasonable list to me and it would warrant minimal penance. I had not killed anyone, stolen anything, or committed adultery (whatever that meant - at the time I did not understand that term).

Old Padre Whatshisname would then make the sign of the cross, admonish me for lying and being mean to my family and tell me to recite a few Hail Marys and an Our Father and it was over for another quarter. Then, I would live with the guilt of not having told him what I really had done that seemed sinful and wonder if I was going to burn in hell for that too. Talk about brainwashing and fucking with a little kid's conscience - it's criminal when you think about it. I think I was 16 before I really realized what a pile of crap it all was and I have never looked back.

However, that is not what I wanted to talk about today. Today, I want to say a few other things that have been on my mind lately. Let's start with Steve Jobs. Not that I have anything new to add to the volumes that have been written since his death the other day, but I am glad I listened to his Stamford Commencement speech and even happier that I shared it with my 17 year old daughter. It echoed what I have been telling her all along.....follow your heart. If I have ever given her any worthwhile advice since the day she was born, I honestly think that is the one piece I cannot emphasize enough. Hearing it from another source validated it for her and I loved that she heard it from someone like him, not just her mother. I think she may have even "gotten" it. She "got" the importance. Thing is, now she has to live it. That may not be as easy as it should be. There is so much pressure to compete, to keep up, to impress. So far she seems able to avoid those traps and I am proud of her for that.

I actually think she might be able to pull it off. And as we know, few really do. I actually heard some women use the term "MRS degree" this week and it made me sad to think there are still women (and men) out there that think women can rely on finding a man to take care of them financially, so it does not matter what they study or do for a living, as long as they can land a second pay cheque, all will be well. I have never suggested that to my daughter and I never will. My own parents, despite their lack of education and knowing never said that to me either. It never even occurred to me to take that path. As it happened, I ended up married to a man who was able to provide financially, but it was not the reason I married him and now that I am no longer with him, I once again realize the importance of being self-reliant. It should be compulsory. Suggesting anything other than this is preposterous to me - it truly is.

That was what raised my ire.

Now, on to the ego stroking. I got singled out at work this week to be sent to the corporate headquarters to collect a "rising star" award. This was based on the last fiscal year and ironically, ever since that fiscal year ended, I have been sliding down a slippery slope......a falling star it seems. I wonder if I continue this slump if they will cancel my flight and take back my prize. The jury is still out on this one, so I will keep you posted. I am trying to figure out what the universe is trying to tell me. I always look for the message in everything that happens to me. But this one has me a little stumped. Could just simply be that the economy sucks right now and people have tightened the purse strings, or I have lost my mojo, or a combination of both, but I am more inclined to think this is the universe pushing me to make a change again. Even my daughter suggested I might need to look at tending bar for awhile if things got really bad. I did that in my twenties and I actually liked it, so it would not be such a bad thing really other than the hours. I don't do late night so well anymore.....we'll see.

The pirhana bitch made an appearance Friday night. I lost my temper, said a few things I now regret and have since made her swim back down into the murky waters hoping she will stay put for a while. I know she will never go away permanently, but as time goes on, I can only hope she makes fewer and fewer appearances. I apologized, admitted my sin. It's over. Nuff said.

And now for the magic. Like pumpkin pie, I saved the best for last. Josh, Jay and Matt. Kind of like the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker. Not really, but I just felt like saying that. No, just three awesome young men that I shared a story with last night that made me realize once again that all any of us really and truly want in life is to be loved for who we are, to feel truly connected to another human being and to know that there is someone out there for all of us.

It's true Matt. Just don't forget, it requires maintenance, not unlike a car needs oil changes, or a house needs a new roof every few years. Don't be afraid of it. Embrace it. Throw every ounce of your being into it. Let yourself be known. Don't hold back.

And in the wise words of the great poet Rumi - "Gamble everything for love.....or leave this gathering."

PS. Burt's Bees Lip Balm RULES!

About to Erupt

2011-09-29T16:21:00.001-04:00

There. Unpacked. Now it is official. My vacation is over. Ugh. It took me 4 days to finally empty my suitcase. It was an admission of an ending. Not unpacking allowed the memory to linger somehow. It is always such a mental adjustment coming back from holidays, particularly one that really takes you away from the norm. The kind that makes you really question your present existence. City life vs country life. Cold climates vs warm ones. Simple vs complicated. Priorities. Perspectives. The re-examining of one's life choices. Holidays can really push the envelope for me.
There was a cottage perched on a big rock slab (see below) on the shore of Mabel Lake that we boated past every day. It was very simple, white siding, a large rectangular deck, a sloped roof, nothing exciting from an architectural perspective, but it stood there calling my name day after day. It was all alone, nestled amongst a few trees, the location being the most appealing thing about it really. I could see myself sitting there, at a table near the window, looking out at the lake and mountains, writing, writing and writing. It fit this vision I have had for so long now.

My life would be simple, basic, quiet, uncomplicated. I used to wonder if I would go stir crazy living like that. Now I don't wonder that so much. I would need a few things. I am too used to having contact with the world now - so I would need Internet access, a phone and a car. There is no cell phone service there, so I might need to do without that. When I talk to people about it, they look at me and think I have lost my mind. They probably think I just want to take a break. Maybe they are right. Maybe that is all I need. But more and more, when I examine and re-examine, I feel more and more sure that it is what I want.

Being back here in the city just further emphasizes my desire. The noise, the traffic, the constant "doing". A sabbatical. I think that's what most people call it. Those fortunate enough to take a year away from their regular lives and go off and write their novels or their thesis, or compose music, or paint or sculpt or indulge in some form of creative expression. A whole year to just vomit it out. That's what I need. And that is what it feels like. Like I am about to vomit it all out. Like some ancient, lurking, primitive word vomit that is ready to erupt like a volcano if I could only find the time and space to let it out. Words pouring out of my mind like hot lava covering the past forever and creating an entire new path.

Re-inventing moi. Phase 2.

Coming Soon.

Writer's retreat of choice

Back from Paradise...for a time.

2011-09-26T22:34:00.039-04:00

Parting is such sweet sorrow. Truer words were never spoken. Leaving our most western province on Sunday was exactly that. It happens to me every time. I fall in love with the beauty that is British Columbia over and over again. The mountains fill me with awe, the smell of pine and spruce needles drying on the forest floors, the pristine waters of the lakes and rivers and that west coast attitude never cease to grab me.

And then I start to question why. Why do I live in Ontario? Why don't I move back to B.C.? Please don't take this as a criticism of Ontario. There is much to love about it. I was born in this province. It is home to me, but the first time I cast my eyes upon the Rockies when I was a young woman of 20 or so, it was love at first sight and I don't think I have ever gotten over that first crush.

I lived in Banff for a time, Vancouver on two occasions and have spent a bit of time in Kelowna and Mabel Lake where my brother lives and summers. I don't think my association with B.C. is over yet. This last trip left me with a deep yearning to return. It almost feels like running away. Maybe that is part of the appeal. It is vastly different from Ontario - like another country really. I miss my brother and he is there for life - no question about that.

At this stage in my life, it is almost a question of "why not?". What difference would it make to me now? In less than a year, my daughter will be off to university. Does it matter where I live? Between air travel and skype and all the other instant access technologies, what difference does it make if I am here or there? I would even consider taking up skiing again - something I gave up a few years ago when a knee issue was plaguing me - but it seems much better now - maybe it could take it.

I have some choices to make over this next year. And as they say, change is good.

And inevitable.

Shine on "Pirhana Bitch"

2011-09-12T20:43:00.097-04:00

My astrologer was right. Today's full moon in Pisces conjunct my natal moon exact is having some sort of major effect on me. Not quite what I had hoped for, but noticeable nonetheless. She told me that "all of my demons" would come out today and in retrospect now as I sit here reviewing my day, she may be on to something.

Demons, eh? Hmmfff! What demons? OH, THOSE demons. She also said I might let out my "pirhana bitch" and want to "rip off someone's head and piss on their brain." When I read that, I thought it sounded a bit dramatic and overly exaggerated, but I took it with a grain of salt and waited.

The beautiful harvest moon just showed its orange glow over the lake about an hour ago and it was awesome, so much so, I grabbed my camera and took a photo. Then I sat down and thought about her predictions. Had my demons risen to the surface today?  Had my "pirhana bitch" reared her ugly head? Hmmmm. Pondering here. Oooooo, admittedly, yes.....and yes. On both counts.

I hate it when she is right. So, on that note......sorry Tyler for the bitchy text I sent you about the useless washing machine installers, not your fault, I know. Sorry Emma for biting your head off for not wanting to eat the pasta dish I had lovingly made and unthawed for you - why wouldn't you want to eat some mass-produced plastic bowl of preservatives instead? Also, sorry for scolding you for dropping your fork on the fragile glass coffee table and your food on the white carpet - I can always buy a new table when it breaks and have the carpet shampooed - no worries - I love spending money this way.

After nearly 4 weeks with a broken washing machine, I finally get a new one installed today, only to find out when I get home, that now the dryer won't be functional until Wednesday. I will just ignore the mountain of laundry in my now impossible to "walk in" closet for a couple more days. I will wash some delicates and hang them from every available faucet, shower rod or door knob for the next two days to dry - soooooooo attractive. This "visual demon" that exists inside me - let's address her. Why do I find it sooooooo hard to live with ugliness? I walk in the door tonight after work and there is my clothes dryer sitting in the middle of the space between my kitchen and my living room resting on top of a piece of lopsided Styrofoam as though it believes it is some sort of sculpture. I am not amused.....or able to see it that way. My millions of razor-sharp little teeth are really becoming visible now.

So, lets go back a few more hours - work was super busy and so I never really had too much time to dwell on the email from a client who I had devoted an entire week of my life to a couple of weeks ago. The email that told me they were not going to move forward with their project for now, "sorry." Sorry. They are sorry. Not nearly as sorry as I am about not being able to meet all my expenses next month thank you very much. (Insert sound of "pirhana teeth sawing through bones here.)

Hold on - going to refill my drink cause I believe I am just getting started. Long cool sip. "Ahhh, yum." Ok, where was I? Right - the full moon effects. My lunch. Or rather the lunch I never got around to eating. I had thrown a piece of what I thought was lovely aged cheddar in my lunch bag, only to discover when I finally got around to slicing into it at about 4 o'clock, that it was not cheddar at all but a stale piece of asiago that was really inedible.....gag. (I really need to clean out my fridge more often).  So I ate a power bar and some almonds instead and really never felt satisfied. Hope the resident mice at my office are enjoying that old hunk of cheese in my waste basket right about now - that's where I left it.

I am leaving for vacation on Friday. This is a good thing you would think, and you're right, it is, however, there are things to tend to before one heads off on holiday and my list is long. Hair, nails, organize, pack, tie up loose ends at work, pull off miracle at work, drown plants, empty fridge, find time for workouts, sleep and pulling off miracle at work and lose five pounds by Friday. No worries, got it all under control.

Ahhhh, now there is that other demon.....Control. Yes, we know her well. She sort of goes hand in hand with "aversion to ugly" demon. She has been around for decades. She arrived on the scene around the age of 7. She is really hard to shake. Just when I think I have rid her forever, some sort of event rolls around and stirs her up. A party, a gathering, an event - she thrives on these things. This really revs her up. She is a perfectionist. And she will not quit until everything is under control. Until every detail is tended to and every detail is picture perfect. Someone once told me she would make a great art director - she sees the world in vignettes. Perfect vignettes. She even notices the perfect vignettes every where she goes. In movies, in homes, in shops, in restaurants, in nature, hell, she can see it almost anywhere and when things are not aesthetically pleasing to her, she has a desire to fix it or change it or "direct it". She is really scary and she needs to learn to relax. Wine helps. (when all else fails), but she also likes to be in control of that too, so it never gets out of hand, just necessary sometimes.

Ok, there. "Pirhana bitch" is just about done for the day. The drink has finally mellowed me enough that I actually feel less bitchy. Like I said, necessary sometimes.

And one last thing, one more apology. I promised a friend I would do a favour for them today and I ran out of time and it will have to wait until tomorrow - please don't be mad - tomorrow, I promise!

I really need a holiday.

REALLY!

PS. If you hear something strange and wolf-like coming from the north shore of Lake Ontario near Port Credit tonight, it is just the "pirhana bitch" howling at the full moon.

Table for One Please

2011-09-04T22:17:00.001-04:00

That was fun. OK, maybe fun is the wrong word. It was interesting. Nah, still the wrong word. Let's see. Liberating. Yes, that might fit. Or maybe just my new "normal". Dining alone. I have never really had a problem with it - well not since I turned 30 anyway. Prior to that, I was not likely to seek it out. My awesome amazing 17 year old daughter on the other hand does it regularly whenever the mood strikes her - she soooo impresses me with her independence and confidence that way - so unlike me at that age.

Anyway - back to dining alone. I came home from work tonight, kinda tired, did not feel like cooking or going to the gym or anything that might be remotely good for me, so I cracked open a nice bottle of chardonnay and had a couple of glasses and enjoyed my view and some nice thin slices of parmigiana reggiano. Well, that was a nice warm-up, so after reading a few passages from The Book of Awakening, I figured since I was still dressed, I would go out for dinner on my own. I was really craving some red meat. I was pretty sure I could get a decent meal at this place near me as I have had some nice fish there and surely they could do a good grill job on some cow for me as well.

So, I saunter over there - it's just kitty-corner to my building, a bit of a happening spot really, but on the Sunday night of a long weekend - pretty quiet. I am told it is wild there on Thursday nights, but knowing that, I will avoid that night. Not into wild right now. Anyway, I digress. So the hostess seats me in a nice private quiet corner booth which is perfect since I wanted to read and as I got comfy, I read the menu (had to pull the candle over as it was so dim), was all decided and then I waited, and waited, and waited. So then I start thinking no one was informed that I was there and I am getting impatient cause now I am really hungry and so I get this brilliant idea to phone the restaurant and tell them I am ready to order and could they please send a waiter over to my table.

Of course, I have to dial 411 to get the number and they don't understand me, so I have to wait for a live operator and by the time I go through all that, the waitress finally arrives at my table, whereupon I tell her I was just trying to call her. She is not amused. Hey, I thought it was pretty clever actually - so now I am getting a bit of a defensive attitude from her, but instead of giving it back to her, I say "hope you did not think I was being a bitch by saying that" and that sort of softened her up a bit, but not enough to bend on the prix fixe menu (I only wanted the main course, not the appy and dessert) so I said OK then - just bring me an appy, and I will have a taste and I will let you know later if I want the dessert. I order a nice Australian Shiraz to go with my herb-crusted beef tenderloin and she departs.

I like my little dark corner. It is almost too dark. So I use the candle-light to read my book while I wait for my wine to arrive and it works pretty well - not ideal, but doable. I look up and take in the surroundings. It is a newish place, so modern and minimalistic, 12 globe light fixtures hanging from a high ceiling at varying sizes and heights, sort of like a high school science project of the planets without Saturn's rings. I wondered if the designer did 12 on purpose to emulate the zodiac. Possible but not likely.

My third glass of wine is kicking in nicely now - just about the same time it starts to pour outside. I can see it coming down out the window next to me. It is romantic and dark and wet and they have some blue twinkly lights strung in the trees out on the patio and it makes me think of Christmas and that is one place I really do not want to go tonight, so I shift my gaze back to my book and continue reading Mark Nepo and his infinite wisdom and delicious philosophizing and think "this is the kind of book I would like to write." The three glasses of wine convince me it would be a breeze and so I jot down a few things as I read his passages.

Some of them are so poignant, I feel a need to share them, so I text a couple quotes to some friends as they seem appropriate to their current situations. I also admit my dietary and financial irresponsibility to one friend as I decide to accept the trio of assorted gelato with fresh raspberries after all. (It was included - how could I say no?) I savour every bit of this heavenly bowl of cool, creamy frozen Italian answer to joy and joke with the waitress when she picks up my empty dish telling her it was horrible and I want to send it back. By now, she is warming up to me and she delivers my leftover dinner in a nice take-away container and this is how I justify my extravagant night out - it was two meals really. Now I have lunch or dinner all ready for tomorrow.

The rain has eased a bit as I head for the exit and the waitress thanks me and refers to me as "my good lady" and for a moment I wonder if I am actually living in medieval England, or if Jack the Ripper will be waiting outside for me in a dark alley, but it is just a passing thought and I step out into the mist, the rain has stopped and the warm late summer night has the tiniest hint of cool to it and a hint of autumn in the air, and I feel content and OK, really OK.

I can do this. I really can. I just did.

My Bruno Mars Day

2011-09-02T09:42:00.008-04:00

Up here in the clouds this morning - thick as mud. I can see the sun trying to break through, but it still has a bit of work to do. I love the ever-changing moods from my perch up here on the 16th floor and I am glad now that I did not get the same unit 10 floors below when I was deciding which one to live in. The lower floor was a little less expensive, but the view was not as stellar and for once, I did not let money dictate my decision - I let my heart and the universe decide for me. Those two are always right by the way.

My kitchen island where I am sitting right now is where I practically live as the windows that surround me here allow me a bird's eye view of everything going on around me. The street below, the lake, the surrounding hood and on a day like today, even a feeling of floating on a cloud. I initially had a little vertigo, but it did not take long to get over that. There is constant movement below. Cars, people, delivery trucks, sailboats, motor boats, yachts. We are always going somewhere. Doing something. We rarely sit still when you think of it. Yesterday I sat still. Every now and again, I find it necessary to do that.

Women understand this. This is a day where you don't care how you are dressed. You don't put on any make-up. You might throw a brush through your hair quickly. I ate what I felt like without thinking about what it was. A carb? A protein? Organic? I did whatever I felt. I went with the flow of my mood. I napped. I watched an old favourite movie (Good Will Hunting), I cooked a bit, I read a bit, I made a couple of phone calls to people I needed to reach out to. I tried to remain guilt-free about my lazy day and I think I actually succeeded. I did not work out. I did nothing taxing. It was great.

Today I will resume my usual pace. I will eat better. I will engage socially. I will work out. I will play tennis. I will shop. I will join the throngs 16 floors below me in the daily dance of "doing". But I will do it refreshed. My day of rest behind me. But for the moment, I will sit here in the remaining fog, sipping my coffee, gathering up the momentum to "get out there". I think foggy rainy days are a gift to us sometimes. They give us permission to recharge. It is almost impossible to have a lazy day when the sun is shining. Those are "do" days.

OK, the gym beckons. I'm off. Grateful for having the choice.

Tomorrow can be too Late

2011-09-01T15:01:00.007-04:00

It's my first day off after working 14 in a row and so it should not surprise me that I am a bit pooped. In addition to that, it is one of those gray hazy days, almost foggy from where I sit up here on my perch and it seems almost suitable for some shitty news I got just a little while ago.

My brother's best friend from childhood and young adulthood passed away this morning. He would have been about 51. A stroke apparently snatched him away and now he's gone, just like that. When these things happen, especially these sudden, surprising deaths, it really causes one to pause. I am always struck with the finality of death. Like I can't or don't want to accept it. We say things to ourselves like, "no, it can't be true, surely someone made a mistake, not him (or her), they were too young." And then we start to think about the last time we saw that person, or someone from their family, or why we had not seen them for so long, or could we have made a difference in the outcome of their lives if we had been more present.

In this case, it was not really "my" friend but it was someone meaningful to my brother and I am sure he will be taking his own introspective journey over the next little while as he comes to terms with his old friend's dying. We are all faced with it sooner or later.

It is also usually a time when we become especially grateful for the people who are still alive and a part of our lives and maybe even nudges us to make that phone call, arrange that meeting, stop and give an extra hug, think before we do something that does not promote good health or contribute to our own longevity. Remind us yet again that this ain't no dress rehearsal.

Cliches abound at these times - but the truth is, they exist for a reason. Sometimes something or someone has to die in order for something or someone to live.....or start living. I just took a quote off my blog the other day, so I will say it here once again. Not sure who said it originally, but it is part of a lyric now by Drake - "Everybody dies, but not everybody lives."

If you are waiting for something in your life to change before you start to "live", I suggest you re-think that plan. Take the leap. Jump in. Move forward. Don't look back. Conquer your fear. You never know when you will never get another chance.

RIP P.M.

Rising Above it All

2011-08-30T13:33:00.010-04:00

Wow, I am a bit behind here now aren't I? Where did the last 6 weeks go and why did I not write a single blog that whole time?

Well, sometimes life gets in the way and my life got in the way in a huge way this summer, so I am finally feeling like I could spit out a few words for what they are worth. I am not going to get into what got in the way of my writing this summer. I will only say it has been rather life-altering and now I am just starting to adjust to the changes.

It did involve moving. I moved from a two-story, three-bedroom house in an established neighbourhood and into a lakefront condo in a charming neighbourhood where I now reside close to the top of said building with a bird's eye view of Lake Ontario and the downtown skyline, as well as a view north to Mississauga's city centre. I am awestruck daily at how beautiful the views are. In the morning I see the sunrise in all it's glory. Throughout the day I see sailboats and the tree canopy and the city off in the distance. At night, I see the twinkling lights of all the buildings and the moonlight on the lake and I honestly cannot decide which is the most awesome.

The sunrises and sunsets are about tied for their spectacular colours and moods and the sailboats are a close second as they are a bright pristine contrast against the clear blue sky and water. I have never lived this high up before and it is new and novel and more enjoyable that I ever expected it to be. I am still putting the interior together and there is a large blank spot above my sofa that is crying out for some art. Someone said to me - "what about a landscape?", and my first thought was - "NOT!", as I am completely surrounded by landscape art in all it's realistic glory. I am thinking something very graphic, black and white, almost Pollock-like but not quite as busy or frenetic, something a little more structured and architectural perhaps. I will know it when I see it and when I do, I just hope I can afford it. If not, maybe I will try to reproduce it myself (note to self - start saving!).

OK, so back to high-rise living. Garbage chutes - gotta love them! No more bins to wheel back and forth to the side of the road, no more smell, no more big green bags. Just a walk down the hallway, press the button for which type of trash it is, and open the door and "presto" it's gone.

The garbage chute is on the way to the elevator; yet another new part of my daily life. There are a bank of three. No matter which one I stand by, another one always comes. Most days I ride in the space alone, and on the occasion that there is someone already on when I board, it amazes me how friendly the other residents are. It's not like an office tower where everyone looks at the numbers descending, it is more like a social experience. It's quite pleasant really. There has been the odd time where someone immersed in their Blackberry hardly looks up, but mostly people say hello and exchange pleasantries. I have also discovered that there are a lot of dogs in my building; the woof woof kind, not ugly people. Were I a dog person, I imagine I would be making fast friends, but as I am not, I just smile and say things like - "Oh, what kind of dog is that?" or "What is your dog's name?", in hopes I might actually remember it at the next encounter, but I don't.

I do remember one woman who introduced herself though. She actually shook my hand, said "nice to meet you, my name is Diana, like the princess", and that is something I will never forget because I loved her and always will and now this woman's name is etched in my memory, thanks to her little tag line. I must try that one myself...."Hello, my name is Debra, like Deborah Kerr from the old movies, you know, An Affair to Remember? That would stick I think, well with women anyway as we are all complete saps when it comes to that movie.

Ok, back to my new digs. I am like a reformed smoker when it comes to my complete lack of mourning my yard and garden and the necessary maintenence. I don't miss my garden or yard at all - in fact, I barely remember to water the three potted plants on the balcony. I like this freedom. I read instead. Or go to the gym. Or go for a walk. Or do just about anything but that. I had found it had become a chore rather than a joy and with that behind me, I can now focus on all the things I never had time to do when I was stuck with that. Ok, ok, so I can't step out my door and clip some fresh herbs, or snip a quick bouquet for the window sill or table, but I can pick up those things on my way back from my walk and still enjoy them just as much. If I never have to fill a lawn mower with gas again, it won't be too soon either.

I will continue in the days and weeks to come to share my new found freedoms with you as they occur to me, but for now, just let me say....change can be good, not always easy, but definitely fresh and new and sometimes much needed.

And one more thing.....if the man who looked like Vince Vaughn on the elevator this morning with his chocolate lab is reading this post...I am not always as flakey as I was this morning. Really, truly, I am not. And the blonde hair is not original, so you can't blame that!

Rarely a Dull Moment in my "Colourful" Life

2011-07-16T20:49:00.017-04:00

Every now and again I am reminded how "colourful" my life has been. I go along thinking that in the big picture my life is fairly insignificant, but then I experience a moment in time that say "wait a sec, your life has been pretty interesting so far."

It is usually the result of feedback from others. Things said to me like, "Wow, Deb, is there any job you have not done?" Or, "Gee Deb, you have really seen a lot of the world." As time passes these things just seem ordinary to me, the sort of things I expected to happen to me on the journey I call my life, but apparently, not everyone has had such a "colourful" existence. In theory I get this. I know that when I see someone begging for spare change on the street in their early twenties, the likelihood they have "lived" much of a life at all is slim.

I get that some people have never left their home town or flown to a distant land, or earned a university degree, or never had to worry all that much about where their next meal is coming from. I imagine there are not many people sitting around right now sipping a cold glass of Pinot Grigio whilst shaving off and eating paper thin slices of fresh parmigiana reggiano, listening to some inspirational music and banging out a blog on their laptop keyboard.

The crazy thing is, I still feel like I have so many more things to experience, so many more things to do to fulfill my own particular "bucket list." And the problem is that sometimes I worry that time is running out. I am still healthy and young enough to do most of the things on my list, but the clock is ticking now - and ticking faster all the time.

When will I get my novel written? When will I hike in Patagonia? When will I finally seriously devote myself to a meditation practice? Will I ever build the house of my dreams? And what about all those art courses i want to take? I am not a patient woman. Some people might say - "oh Deb, you will get to it one day." But what if "one day" never comes?

Guess I need a plan. Not one of my strong suits. Planning. Sure, I can plan a trip, or book theatre tickets or enroll in a course for the fall, but what I need is a "life plan". But that is scary. Cause a "life plan" entails a beginning and and end. Time is a factor and if you make a plan for every year or every six months say, then eventually you run out of time. So maybe that's why I prefer to just fly by the seat of my pants and go with the flow of my feelings and whatever life presents me with at any given time.

I once met a woman at a Club Med in The Bahamas who had every trip of her life for the next 10 yrs planned. She knew that the following year she would take a trip to The Galapagos, the following year Tuscany, the year after that, an Arctic Cruise - I thought at the time that she was too organized. Too Type A. Too unspontaneous. And maybe all those things are true about her, but at least she was not disorganized and never sure about where she was headed like I am.

I just cannot for the life of me imagine living like her. Life is too unpredictable. That much I know for sure. I would rather not have plans. That way when they don't come to fruition, you don't have to get your knickers in a twist. Just shrug it off and say C'est la vie!

However, I will see if I can try to wrap my head around the next 6 months and see how that goes.

Wish me luck.

Electrical Box Installation - it's NOT Rocket Science!

2011-06-23T19:38:00.007-04:00

OK, I have come to the conclusion that most and I mean the MAJORITY of builders of new homes are complete and utter morons. I have evidence and 20 years of interior design experience backing up this statement and I have no problem with any builder out there who wants to challenge me on this. Bring it fucking on! On a weekly basis I see brand new homes. My clients meet me there to proudly show me their new homes they have purchased and hire me to assist them in making their design dreams come true. I love doing this. I love helping people plan and turn their empty shells into a home. What I DON'T love is the anxiety and disappointment my clients face when they see all the mistakes their builders have made when they step across the threshold of their dream homes. I have seen the horrific faces of these folks as they unveil their spaces to me, only to discover the wrong granite has been installed, the cheaper mouldings have been installed, the paint is the wrong colour, the electricians have installed their security system key pads or thermostats in the middle of a wall where a mirror or piece of art should hang, the electrical boxes for their chandeliers are not centred over their tables, or their islands, the bathroom fixtures are almond instead of the white they ordered - the list goes on! This is not rocket science folks. These are simple requests that have been ordered and paid for ahead of time that seem simple but apparently are NOT. This is not an occasional slip-up. This happens EVERY time. I have never been to a new home where the home-owner says - "LOOK DEBRA - every thing is just as we ordered - how lovely." NOPE! All I see and hear are all the mistakes that have been made. So, I have got to thinking. There must be a business opportunity here for me somehow. Surely, I could get it right for them. These are NOT difficult things. These are sloppy, unnecessary errors that could be avoided sooooooo easily. What is the bloody problem out there? I cannot believe what happens. It is beyond me how these things continually occur. Is the answer that only high-end jobs get done right? Is there no pride in one's work any more? Do these jerks install thermostats in the middle of an entry hall wall on purpose? Are they so out of touch with how a home is put together from an interior design perspective that they just don't give a rat's ass? Are they complete and utter morons? WHO is supervising these jobs? Who is allowing this? Do they really think it's OK? I DON'T get it!!!!!! Is it a ploy to have to get the electricians to have to come back and fix it - so they get paid twice? So the granite installers, painters, plumbers get paid twice? Is that it? Is it that simple? Is it just a money grab? Politicians could learn a thing or two from these guys. It's pathetic. It's pathetic that there is no pride in a job well done. It is pathetic that my clients have to pay more money to have these things repaired, replaced or re-done. It is just appalling to me. If I had to do every interior decorating job over again every time I would be out of work. How is it these guys get away with this? I feel I need to stop this - to stop this madness once and for all. It really pisses me off. Enough already. Time to do something about it. Give me some time - I am sure I will come up with a solution. If there are any tradesmen out there reading this who are up to the challenge of doing it right - send me a reply - we might have an opportunity here to get it right. Are you up to the challenge? Let me know.

Feed my Play List ..... Please!

2011-05-17T21:22:00.006-04:00

What is it about a new song that makes me want to listen to it over and over and over again. I have been doing this since I was a kid with my first record player. I had a red record player that had a lid on it and it actually ran on batteries. The first album I shelled out my hard-earned babysitting money for was Herman's Hermits - There's A Kind of Hush All Over The World. I bet I wore out a dozen batteries playing that song over and over again. My next question is what happens to make you reach the saturation point with a song? Is it because you just get bored with it? Or is it because a new hit comes along to replace it? And depending on the song, sometimes it gets to a point where if you have to listen to it one more time you think you'll scream. Other times, you just lose interest and stop pressing the play button on your I Pod and hit the forward arrow to find something you haven't heard in a while that get your mojo going. Right now I can't get enough of Rolling in the Deep by Adele. How long before I am sick of it? Any one's guess really. But at a certain point I will get tired of it and I will only listen to it occasionally instead of constantly. It's kind of like sex in a new relationship (I do remember what that was like). You can't get enough of each other - you're all over each other every day - several times a day, and then eventually, you are not. I do see a very interesting parallel here. It's not unlike addiction in a way. You hear it. You start to seek it out. You buy the song. You listen to it over and over. But eventually, you start to crave something new, something that will give you a fresh charge. And on it goes. At least with music, it is harmless and won't land you in the hospital or in a gutter or suffering with an STD. And what happens next? You stop listening to the song so intently. You no longer turn it up when it comes on the car radio. You keep it on your play list, but you sometimes skip it when it comes on. Once in a while you listen to it again all the way through, but not every time. Then it gets relegated to the "has been" list. You hardly ever play it at all. Time passes. Months. Years sometimes. Then oddly, one day you happen to hear it again and it sounds fresh again for some reason. You find yourself cranking it up again, singing along because your brain has filed away the lyrics and you know every word. You feel that same feeling again you had when it was new again. But it doesn't last. Over the next few days you might play it a few times, but it's only a brief encounter with the past joy it brought you. However, there are many songs that you will always love - and no matter when they reappear on the radio, or at a party, or in a movie, or being covered by a new and younger singer or band (never appreciated) and you have this little space in your heart for those songs because they are part of your history now and they often can make you recall a moment in time, a place, a person, an event - a song can transport me back in time so accurately it is almost scary. Sometimes I am actually amazed that I can be continually stimulated by new music - and I really notice when nothing has come along to pique my interest for awhile. And what is it that makes you like a new song? How many times do you need to hear it before it captures you? For me, it varies. It can happen the first time I hear a song, but that is rare. I usually need to hear it at least twice or three times before it sets into my brain like slow firming jello. Not unlike dating - sometimes you're into him on the first one, sometimes it takes 2 or 3 before something clicks and of course there are the songs/dates that never do it for you. Since, I started writing this blog, I have played Rolling in the Deep about 8 times. Not sick of it yet, still grooving to it, still moving to it, still memorizing the lyrics, it is still making me want to dance and turn it up. This one will have some staying power I suspect, but I say that about all of them at first. Am I alone here? Am I like a "love em and leave em" Casanova when it comes to music? Maybe I am. Maybe there is a 12 step program for people like me. If there is, I don't want to be cured. I refuse to join. Just keep giving me more hits. I'll keep listening. Feed my play list. Yum.

Pass me a Sombrero - it's Nap Time

2011-05-14T17:03:00.006-04:00

There is a rarity to this moment. It is 5:00 pm, on a late Saturday afternoon. The rain is falling steadily. I went to an early matinee with my daughter and when we got home we threw a nice pesto pasta primavera together, a late lunch/early dinner and now she is napping on the sofa behind me, a grey sky peering in at us from outside, nothing but the sound of this keyboard and the softly falling rain on the metal roof of this family room. Not a typical Saturday. Normally, we would be busy "doing". But instead, I am feeling quite mellow from the nice glass of Shiraz I drank with my pasta and there is a contented peacefulness surrounding me, her gentle breathing mixed with the sound of the rain, like a mantra were I meditating. Afternoon naps, not a common activity in this house, but for some reason today, completely appropo. There is a decadence associated with an afternoon nap. Some countries have it right - but not here. Not in North America. In Canada, we are a little more relaxed than our neighbours to the south, but generally speaking, we still place too many demands on our time - all self-inflicted. If you read my previous blog, you will learn I was up in the middle of the night writing it, so for all intents and purposes, I should be napping now too. Hmmmm, I think I just decided I would. See ya later. I'm off. I'll tell you about the movie later.

Did Sinatra lie awake too?

2011-05-14T02:17:00.007-04:00

When the sun is high In the afternoon sky You can always find something to do But from dusk til dawn As the clock ticks on Something happens to you In the wee small hours of the morning While the whole wide world is fast asleep You lie awake and think about.......

It's 2:18 am. I'm awake. Women my age are cursed with this problem. We wake up and all the details of our day and the details of what we need to do the next day swirl around in our brains until we eventually fall back to sleep. Some nights are worse than others. Nights like this. Nights where I give in. Nights when no amount of counting sheep or "relaxing my body from head to toe," one body part at a time will lull me back to the land of nod. So I turn on the light. Sometimes I read, sometimes I get up and go to the kitchen and eat a bowl of cereal as it is sometimes hunger pangs that have awakened me. Tonight the sound of car tires on the wet roads, their whooshing monotony repeating again and again do not comfort, they annoy me. So here I am, alone at my desk, one small light glowing, the silence of the night surrounding me, the distant whooshing, less annoying now that I am not trying to fall back to sleep. I sometimes wonder if city living is what contributes to my nocturnal disruptions. The constant white noise of traffic, the odd siren, the occasional group of inebriated revelers passing by with their boisterous voices - is that what wakes me? I dream of sleeping somewhere night after night where it is completely quiet. Oddly enough, when I sometimes do, the silence seems strange and it can make falling and staying asleep just as difficult. I recall once staying at a friend's farm, the crickets early on in the night, followed by the low moan of distant cows, not all that peaceful really. There is one sound I like, the sound of rain falling on a roof, or skylight. That can act as a sedative. Maybe I am at a point where I need to look into sedatives, but I have such an aversion to any kind of drug or unnatural method, that gets ruled out. I wonder if we are waking for a reason? It can produce some of my more creative solutions; this time in the night when the world is at rest. There is a peacefulness about it that can be lovely really. Uninterrupted time. No ringing phones, no voices, no voice in my own head reminding me of things I should be doing. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure almost. Time that is all mine. Time I don't have to share with anyone. My mother says she suffers from this more and more as she ages. I think she lies awake reviewing her life now, wondering about the path she took and what she might have done differently. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe she just thinks about grocery lists and the changes she will make in her garden the next day, but something tells me her thoughts go deeper than that. Maybe she lies there next to my father, listening to him breath like she has for 53 years and wonders how she has managed to last the better part of her life with one man. Is there a comfort to that, or does she say - "what the hell was I thinking?" Hard to say. Does she ever wonder what might have been? Does she ever think about her destiny in this lifetime and whether or not it has been fulfilled? That is something I think about lately. All the time in fact. The fulfillment of my own destiny. I used to be content with motherhood. That seemed like a decent "destiny defining" role. But something happens when they grow up. What gave you a sense of purpose for many years, no longer needs you or feeds you in the same way. It's something all mothers face eventually I am sure. Some never stop, never really let go, but that's not me. I would be one of those mother birds that nudges her little ones out of the nest a bit early, forcing them to flap and fly, or fall. Maybe because I was an early out of the nest bird myself - that seems natural to me. No point trying to stay in the nest when there is a whole wide world out there to discover. I don't get these kids that stay home into their 30's these days. It's beyond me. Maybe our destiny is broken up into phases and I am in between phases, so this middle of the night waking is more of a "wake-up call". A time of clear-headed thinking that is necessary to soldier on to the next phase. In our busy lives, it is almost impossible to carve out the time during the day for this kind of thinking. It would be good now though if I could just move on to this next phase with a little more sleep being banked each night. I sense it is coming soon. I hope.

To Bloom or not to Bloom.......

2011-05-06T16:53:00.010-04:00

And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom. - Anais Nin

I love this quote. It has been following me around for the last couple of years, appearing regularly here and there. It was in the forward of a book I read, it was sent to me by my astrologer, it echoed in my memory as I bought myself a silver ring in the shape of a fully blossoming rose last summer. A few years ago, when I lived in Vancouver, I purchased a couple of botanical prints at a yard sale. I was not familiar with the flowers that had been masterfully painted by an artist named L. Noble. I would later learn she was quite famous for her botanical art and that had they been originals, I would have hit pay dirt, however, they were prints and I just liked them. One was the Pink Fawn Lily and the other was a yellow Trout Lily. I had never seen either of these at the time in real life, but when I moved to Toronto, lo and behold, there were some Trout Lilies growing in the little woodland garden in my own back yard. I was surprised how small they were, how delicate, how perfect. They come and go early in the spring here, so if you are not observant, you will miss them. They grow like weeds on the forest floor and they are in full bloom right now all along the Humber River trail that I walk at least a couple times per week. As I walked the trail earlier today, I took such joy at the many carpets of them that I saw along the way on the forested parts of the trail. I took an especially close look at them today and it occurred to me that not every plant produced a flower. Not unlike humans I thought. There they all were - masses of them, all reaching for the sun before the tree leaves arrive and block the light for the summer. It made me wonder why some were able to blossom while others could not. They all had the same environment. The soil feeding them was the same. The moisture levels were identical. And yet, only some were reaching their full potential. Only some were fulfilling their destiny, their purpose in life. How like humans indeed. And then I took it a step further and wondered if the non-bloomers were content with their lot in life, or like humans, were they frustrated that they could not bloom? Did they wonder what life might hold for them outside the forest floor? Did they seek answers for their inability to flourish? Or was it enough for them to just survive? Was living there amongst the bloomers OK with them? Were they envious of the beautiful blooms around them? Did they wish they could be more like them? Or, did they just sit back and accept their position amongst the bloomers? Perhaps the safety and security of just being alive in the crowd was enough to satisfy them. So it would seem. The truth is, the frail Trout Lily would not survive outside the cool and shady forest floor. They are in the forest for a reason. That is their home, the only place they can grow. Which begs the question, if humans were to allow nature to take its course, allow their destiny to unfold as it should, would we be more content? Would it create an inner peace inside us? Would we stop struggling, stop trying to swim upstream, slow down, stop beating ourselves up, stop trying so hard to reach that level of perfection? Just be the plant. Or, if you're lucky, the flower. Ahhhh, if it were only that simple. I envy those who are content to be the plant. The non-blooming Trout Lily that dares to try and grow outside the forest takes a huge risk. I imagine few even try. And it would surely be next to impossible to thrive elsewhere without the helping hand of a human. That would make it possible. The correct environment could be re-created, the soil conditions duplicated, the careful monitoring of moisture - all of it could be provided. But it's not natural. It takes work. It takes commitment. It takes desire. Only brave and courageous Trout Lilies could make it. Frightened or cowardly plants would stay behind in the forest. Which plant are you?

A Day Without Music........well it just ain't gonna happen!

2011-05-03T20:31:00.005-04:00

"Mom, it's like you're the teenager and I am the adult!" My 16 year old has said this to me more than once. Mostly she is referring to my taste in music. When she gets in my car, she immediately changes the radio station - from Virgin Radio 99.9 that I listen to mainly to Vinyl 95.3 (hits from the 60's 70's and 80's). Is there something wrong with this picture? She thinks so. I like pop music. She hates it. We do agree on the odd song. We both like Lady GaGa. She just came in here and asked what I was listening to. I told her Let's Play by Kristina Maria. She had no idea who I was talking about. It's my current fave song. It's dancey, kinda kinky and "oh so pop!" Oddly enough, she loves Earth, Wind and Fire - good thing, cause if she didn't - I might have to disown her. They were (and are) old faves of mine. I think she humours me a bit with some of the old disco music, but at least she does not switch the car radio when it comes on - tossing mom a bone perhaps. I have always liked the chart toppers - ever since I started listening to my first transistor radio in bed at night to lull me to sleep. It was one of those little hand held jobs - red - with a wrist strap. I loved that radio. I went through a lot of 6 volt batteries. I listened faithfully to CHUM AM for years. Static and all. I graduated to a larger red radio with a carry handle that ran on both battery power or electricity after that - I was about 11. It also had an FM band, so now I could expand my horizons a bit, but I still liked CHUM AM for a long time. In my later teen years, it was CHUM FM, Q107 or CFNY. I flipped around between those three until I found a song I liked - CONSTANTLY! I was never NOT on top of whatever new song was being aired. And now here she is, essentially listening to all that stuff I used to listen to for years. She is also into "alternative music". She is very selective. She hates rap and pop. I think she is probably more evolved musically than I am - although we both do enjoy some classical music too. She has Tchaikovsky on her I POD and I have some Vivaldi on mine. There are times when that is all that will soothe our souls. I could not live without music - at least I would not want to anyway. She is the same way. I'm glad she loves music. I don't care what kind of music. I'm just glad she finds solace and joy in it - the same way I do. Given the choice, I'd take listening to music over TV any day. And we both like it loud. We had a Musical Scrabble night on the weekend. She has a bit of a weakness for show tunes as well - and her Glee soundtracks cover a lot of that, so we invented Scrabble words and musical lyrics together - the perfect mother-daughter evening. Won't be long before she can join me on nights like this with a glass of wine as well. Simple pleasures. The best kind. Always accompanied by music.

If enough time passes, you stop wanting them.....

2011-04-24T12:05:00.010-04:00

I'm trying to remember exactly when it began. If I close my eyes and think back, white go-go boots come to mind. Or Barbie's friend Midge. She appears. Then I recall penny loafers and needing to have the shiniest of new pennies in the slots. Perhaps those red, white and blue rubber balls, or the extra long pink skipping rope that was long enough for double dutch. All these items blur together around the same time period. I was about 7 years old, give or take a few months. It was my induction to materialism. Things I thought I just had to have. Things I thought I could not live without or at the very least did not want to live without. Over time the wants became more substantial. More expensive. A new bike - a CCM with a carrier and a bell. I recall a twinge of disappointment that I got a girl's upright instead of a boy's bike with a banana seat and upright handle bars. Seems I was starting to get a little picky, or shall we call it more "selective". A few years later it was my own roller skates - no rentals for me! Of course, the buckskin jacket with fringes that would trail behind me in the breeze as I skated round and round inside that roller rink. That was de rigueur! At 15, the CCM had to go and a 10-speed Peugeot was in order. No - not some no name brand - the real deal, from France. It was twice the price, but just think of the prestige. "That girl has style," they would say. "She has taste. She knows about good quality." Even the adults around me were impressed. "Wow, fancy wheels," they'd say, eyebrows arching up. It fed me. Spurred me on. Two wheels were left behind to the land fill as years passed. Now I needed four. And not just any four. Sure, that was OK to begin with, when I could not afford to buy my own. Whatever car mom was driving at the time - well, I'd have to make do with that. For a short while she actually drove a car I considered cool - it was an old Morris Minor, grey with red leather interior - just different enough to stand out in a crowd - how I saw myself as well. It had a standard transmission and posed a bit of a challenge however, being new to driving at 16, but it still had some panache. My first car was flashy, a special edition red Le Mans with white leather interior. I bought it from my dad for $2000. I had to make monthly payments to him. In the end I decided to strap on a back pack and go see the world (well, Europe and the South Pacific and Western Canada, anyway) and I sold it back to him, or gave it back, the details are fuzzy now. Staying in the city I grew up in was no longer an option. I had bigger ambitions than that. I think I would have to call that trip and the following few years of travel my "break from materialism." Whatever money I earned doing jobs like working in a French vineyard, or as a hotel chambermaid, or a waitress, or a bartender, driving a pizza delivery truck, picking apples in a New Zealand orchard - all just a means to an end. Earn enough to pick up and go somewhere new. See more of the world. Carry my entire life around on my back. Leave a few boxes in a basement somewhere with the rest of my worldly possessions. So simple. So unencumbered. SO MUCH FUN!!!!! Yes, there were times when it was a little scary and times when I felt a little lonesome for home or any home, but I was free and rarely afraid and not hung up on designer labels, fancy cars, home ownership, interior design, or living in the right neighbourhood. What changed? Why did I choose this fork in the road on my life's journey? What made me need those go-go boots again? I'm at another fork now. It feels that way. All these things I thought so necessary in the last couple of decades suddenly hold less and less meaning. I am exposed to the "wanting" every day with my work. Perhaps it's like working in an ice cream parlour. Eventually you get sick of ice cream. I just get sick of the excess. The constant clamouring for more, for newer, for more original, for bigger, for better. And for what? To prove your worth? To get some recognition? Are you taking all that stuff with you? Most of it will end up in a land fill somewhere anyway. Nothing lasts. At least not the average stuff we seem to collect and accumulate. On my recent trip to London, my daughter and I joined the throngs at The Tower Museum to have a glimpse of the Crown Jewels. Such a bizarre concept I kept thinking. Little bits of shiny coloured stones and metals treated with such respect and admiration, as though they were animate objects. How the world holds these silly things in such high regard. What have they contributed to the world? Other than being pretty to behold? The fact that we place such value on them just seems so outrageous to me. Outdated really. If I were the last woman standing, stranded alone on a desert island, what good would they do me? I couldn't eat them. Couldn't trade them. Who would I wear them for? Nothing but a bunch of useless rocks. I suppose I could try to throw one at a fish swimming by, in an attempt to stop it and feed myself. You get my point. I am all for beauty. Don't get me wrong. I love looking at beautiful things. Art, design, nature, fashion, you name it. But do we have to OWN it? That is my challenge from here on out as I walk this next third of my path in my journey through this all too short life. Admire it. Enjoy it. Take a mental snapshot. Then walk away. It won't be easy. But I might get there.

In Case you're Wondering....

2011-03-27T22:05:00.004-04:00

On sabbatical. For awhile. I'll be back. (she says with her best Arnie impersonation)

Ringo! Call Me!

2011-03-03T18:48:00.009-05:00

Two weeks from today, I will be stepping on a jet and flying across the Atlantic with my darling daughter for a whirlwind tour of London during her March break. I whisked her off to Jamaica in December for what we had hoped would be a week of sun and fun. We only had two days of sun, a little bit of fun and spent most of the week sleeping or reading to the sound of pouring rain. So, not to be disappointed a second time in a row, I decided to go somewhere where it is almost guaranteed to rain and with my luck, the sun WILL shine. I know, I know, it's a sort of warped way of looking at it, but it just may work. My first trip to Merry Old England was in 1974. I was 16. The same age my sweet girl is now. It was even around the exact time of year - March break. I recall how thrilled I was that the weather was mild and there were even daffodils blooming. Not sure if it will be this way in two weeks, but I am hopeful. I have had good experiences on my travels to England. Let's hope this time is no exception. My dear friend Janet is from England. I saw her today, her lovely accent reminding me what I will be hearing shortly. Lately, I am surrounded by English accents in fact. I have a new client at work with one and she has shared some tips with me on what to do and see. I have a pretty good idea of what we should not miss, but I'm always open to suggestions. We have a lunch booked with Kate and Wills on day two - looking forward to that - can't wait to see "the" ring up close and personal. We have been debating and debating over what to wear, but decided that since they are young and casual, we would follow their lead and just wear jeans. They insisted. Who am I to argue? We plan to check out the church too. They apologized for not inviting us to the big event, but we're good with lunch and a peak inside the famous house of worship and besides, I couldn't have gotten time off work in April anyway, so just as well. It would have been nice though, especially since my good friend Elton John will be there, but we had drinks with him night before last while he and David were in town for the opening of Billy Elliot, so we would not have had much to talk about a month from now anyway, having just caught up with them here. It was such fun reminiscing with him. I reminded him that Benny and the Jets was number one on the charts when I made my first visit to London and he said "SHUT-UP Deb, you CANNOT be that old," and I was surely flattered by his outburst, but I guess I don't look too bad for an old broad if I do say so myself! I'm still waiting to hear back from Hugh Grant. He is soooo hard to get in touch with these days. I sent him a note weeks ago explaining how I had seen every one of his movies at least twice and I can't even recall HOW many times I have watched Love Actually, so I assumed that would have guaranteed a social engagement, but maybe he is just out of town or on location somewhere. If you're reading this Hugh - CALL ME! We're getting really booked up and I would hate to disappoint you. I have one availability for lunch and one left for dinner, so don't wait too long or you'll miss the boat! And maybe, if he's around, bring that kid with the funny hair cut that was in About a Boy with you, my daughter would be about the right age for him and then you and I could have an adult conversation and they could talk about teen stuff - sound good? I think they may have the same taste in music, just guessing there. The only other call backs I am waiting for now are from Sting, Bono and Ringo Starr. YES, Ringo Starr. I met him when I was there in 1974 and I want to show him the photos we took of him that day in front of the Apple Recording Studio. My God! He looks so much younger in them, but don't we all! And Ringo, don't feel bad about how rude you were to me and my pack of frenzied teen-aged friends that day - we were a little excited to see you and we couldn't get those flashcubes on our cameras changed any faster. I bet it took hours for the little flash marks in your eyes to go away. Sorry about that. This is the best shot of the bunch here above on this blog. What do you think? I don't think we will have time to get to Stonehenge even though my budding ancient historian really should see that wonder. I heard you're not allowed to sit on the stones and smoke anymore the way we did in 74, so it would not be as much fun now anyway all roped off and everything. (see proof in my sidebar!) And it was such a long drive there and back - if we had more time, maybe. Next time perhaps. I soooo wish Biba were still around - I just loved that department store in 74, but Harrods will have to do. I'm told Kensington Palace is a must see as they have some of Diana's old dresses on display. A bit morbid perhaps, but I will admit I am curious. Should be a fun trip all round, even if the Ritz can't take us for high tea - screw them, we'll go to the Dorchester. It's more authentically "English" anyway!

In like a lion...........

2011-03-02T13:47:00.005-05:00

March. Spring is on the horizon. Daylight savings time starts this month. With any luck at all, I might find more time to write this blog. For a genuinely entertaining take on March, go and read my friend Cindy's blog. www.halifaxbroad@blogspot.com

I would love to be able to make March sound so good, but I'll let her version do that job. Nobody does it better.

I've got nothing. Not today anyway.

My New Heroes

2011-02-25T08:54:00.005-05:00

Violet and Allen Large are my new heroes. Not only did they give away all of their lottery winnings to family and more than 65 charities, they don't regret it for a second. They did not spend a cent on themselves. When the day comes that I can feel even close to their level of contentment and peace, will be the day I can say my soul has evolved to its potential in this lifetime. They are a symbol of hope for us all, as individuals and as a collective. The world could stand to learn a thing or two from this elderly couple from Truro, Nova Scotia. Their selflessness and love are awe-inspiring. They "have each other, and that's all they need." In a world gone mad, they are two people to admire.

Best Original Adaptation goes to.....Solution 3

2011-02-24T09:02:00.006-05:00

So, Sunday is Oscar night and for as long as I can remember, I have forced myself to stay up and watch it, boring as most of it is and way past my bedtime. (more so with each passing year!) However, this year there is a new twist in this household. My daughter is planning an "Oscar Party" for her friends and although she said I could come if I wanted, the truth is, she was just being polite. And who can blame her? I know I am a fairly "cool" parent, but no one wants mom hanging around for more than a few minutes with their friends. This will however, impact my viewing of the show as they will have confiscated the big TV in the family room. I could watch it at the kitchen counter on a stool, but 3-4 hours on that stool is not exactly my idea of a comfy spot to sit and diss the stars. I have never wanted a TV in my bedroom - bedrooms are for other pursuits in my mind, but just this once, I wish I did have a big wide screen in there this Sunday night. Of all years for this to happen - I have seen all but one of the Best Film picks - never got around to 27 Days - but I don't think it stands a chance of winning anyway, so no great loss. Hmmmm, I wonder if I can get a live feed on my daughter's laptop? I feel stupid not knowing if this is possible, but it could be the answer to my dilemma. Surely she can sit through the show without her faithful techie companion - the least she could do considering I have been banished. And come to think of it - why are none of my friends having an Oscar Party and if they are, why am I not invited? These are important questions to ponder on the occasion of such a monumental event. Maybe the day has come when I need to succumb to a TV in the bedroom - this will likely not be the last time, and certainly is not the first time I have been banished from the family room. A finished basement would have resolved this crisis for me, but that is a whole other can of worms I best not open here. Right now, I am thinking the red carpet show on the kitchen stool and the rest, if I can, on the laptop. The only problem with that plan is I will surely fall asleep in bed watching it on the laptop as I have enough trouble staying awake to watch it in its entirety while sitting up. I know - solution number 3. Record it and watch it in bits all week long. There is something to be said for no commercials, but it will be old news by then, so what would be the point? On the other hand, it would be great to just zip through the boring speeches, the commercials and anything else I found uninteresting. As a matter of fact, when I think of it, I could probably just watch the opening, select awards that interest me and by the time all is said and done, could wrap up the whole thing in under an hour I bet. Hmmm, I am liking solution 3. Can't believe I didn't think of it in the first place. Now I can still get my beauty sleep (much needed) and stay out of the way of a room full of hormonal teenagers AND save time. That's it then. The Oscar goes to......Solution 3. And please, don't anyone tell me who won - I want to find out for myself on Monday.

Chilling to the Winter's Bone

2011-02-05T07:57:00.005-05:00

At about the half-way point of watching Winter's Bone, I paused the movie to take a bathroom break. After about an hour into this bleak, depressing world, my image in the bathroom mirror struck me as especially beautiful. I don't say this to sound conceited. I say this to illustrate the contrast between my own image and my own life compared to what I had been watching on the screen. I thought I had seen "ugly" in The Fighter.(the ghastly looking sisters are still haunting me!) But not just physical "ugly". The whole thing. Physical, spiritual, emotional. People whose lives you observe and wonder what reason they could possibly have to want to live. People without joy. People without hope. People barely surviving. Winter's Bone, one of this years Oscar contenders was one of the last movies I had not yet seen. I don't even remember it when it came out in the summer of 2010, so when my film buff daughter asked if I wanted to see it, I said, "sure, may as well see them all." Already available to view on ROD, it was an easy option as I did not feel like venturing out on a cold night. I thought I had gotten away without feeling cold, but this movie was not going to let me. The fact that it is filmed in winter in the Ozarks was an obvious image, but no warm blanket around my shoulders could protect me from the chilling images and story of this young woman's plight. We tend to forget how fortunate we are. As I get older I am more and more grateful and aware of my good fortune, but even so, I still need a slap upside the head from time to time to REALLY remind me. This movie is that slap. Director, Debra Granik's stark portrayal of poverty and depravity and addiction is so real it makes "our" privileged lives seem extreme in the opposite. It is the story of a 17 year old girl trapped in a life she did not ask for. Her mother is mentally ill, her drug-dealing father has run off and left them penniless and she is left to take care of two much younger siblings and their home that is being threatened to be taken over by the bank if her father is not found and brought to trial for his crimes, as he has skipped bail. Ree, brilliantly portrayed by Jennifer Lawrence, sets off to try to find her father, risking her life in a seedy world of back woods meth labs and gun-toting drugged out hillbillies, one of whom is her own uncle. She enters a dangerous world she understands but does not partake in, with the bravado and bravery of a mother who was trying to protect her children, even though the easy path for her would be to dessert them all. My daughter loves a good horror flick. She prides herself on being pretty immune to just about every special effect going - nothing gets to her. She is able to laugh most of it off and is super-critical of movies that do a poor job of all the blood and guts. At the end of this movie, even she, Miss Jaded, had to admit, Winter's Bone in its tragic realism, was truly horrific. Some images and characters stay in your head forever. This movie and this heroine will without even trying. And it's not a pretty picture.

Snow Day, Snow Day, Snow Day........Please!

2011-02-01T20:58:00.009-05:00

Snow days. Remember those? If you grew up in any province besides B.C. you surely experienced at least one snow day in your lifetime. What better way to spend a snowy blowy winter day than laying around inside the house all morning in your pajamas watching daytime TV instead of going to school? By afternoon, your mother had had enough of seeing your lazy ass laying about, so she would say "Get your snow pants on and get outside and make a snowman or something." Reluctantly you would layer up and before you could step over the threshold, a momentary guilt would wash over her and she would wrap a woolly scarf around your neck, tight enough to constrict your breathing, but not enough to kill you, and pat your ass on the way out the door. Surveying the lay of the land as you stepped out into the deep pristine powder, your eyelashes thick with flakes in a nan0-second, you would go forth into the backyard and into a world of wonder and magic full of possibility. Snow fort? Snow man? Snow woman? Snow angel? Stopping to snap off a low hanging icicle, tasting it, drawing with it, dueling with it, using it as an appendage on your snow person - again - endless possibilities. The only sound, that of your thick snow pants rubbing as you walked about - only silence when you stopped, or the sound of your own breathing under your now wet woolly scarf. Wet with melting snow and your nasal drip, annoying but warm. For the first while, you remained fairly dry and warm beneath all your layers. Sixteen snow angels later, not so much. No matter how tucked in you thought you were, some snow always made its way into your boot tops, creating a red ring of cold skin where it stopped and packed in on the way down. Now the lining of your boots was starting to get a bit damp, but you didn't care. You carried on. "I know," you thought to yourself, "I will build an igloo just like the Eskimos do and I will sleep in it tonight with a small fire burning in the centre, just like they do." After about a gazillion attempts to create perfectly firm packed "snow bricks", that idea sort of fizzled, but at least you had given it a shot. By now, you had mostly flattened the entire yard, uncovered a bit of the dormant lawn when you rolled the body parts of the snow man you made and were in search of some virgin powder. Now you were starting to notice the damp and wet beginning to annoy you a bit, but not enough to head inside quite yet. Not before you ate a couple more icicles, threw a few more snowballs at various targets and could not stand to go without a tissue for another moment. By now your mother would probably feel sorry enough for you to let you in, so you headed in, stripped off all the wet clothing with the chunks of snow clinging to it here and there, your reddened cheeks, hands and ankles burning as you unthawed. If you had a good mom, you got hot chocolate, a snack and sat back and enjoyed the scent of your woolly mittens and hats steaming on the rad where they were placed to dry off, ready to face another day of a Canadian winter. I hope that at least some kids do this tomorrow - just like I did more than 40 years ago. My own daughter is praying for a snow day tomorrow. Hard to believe, but she has never actually had one. Sure, she has played in the snow, but never had an official snow day in all her years at school. If she does get one, I doubt she will be outside making snow angels at her age, but if she plays her cards right, she may get some hot chocolate in front of the fire and we could both stay inside and enjoy the beauty of the snow falling outside the window. What are the chances we will both get one? We're praying. Fingers crossed. C'mon "snowmegeddon"!

Three things brought Tears to my Eyes today!

2011-01-20T18:08:00.006-05:00

I took a "sick" day today. Well, actually, I was not sick, and it was my day off, but I decided to treat it as a sick day. In other words, I stayed in all day, did not put on any make-up, did not really comb my hair other than to sweep it off my face into a tiny ponytail and I did get dressed, but just went from my pajamas to my Lululemon gear, thinking it might encourage me to do a work out (it didn't). I then proceeded to take a late morning nap, get up, eat lunch, read for a while, then took an afternoon nap and then got up, had a snack and turned on Oprah at 4. I have not had a day like this in ages. It was overdue. Oprah was in Australia, and apparently she forgot it was summer there as she was sporting this red taffeta dress that was all billowy and covered every inch of her ever-increasing girth. Don't get me wrong - I love Oprah - so I won't criticize her any further - I just thought the dress choice was odd. The show made me cry twice - once when she was interviewing Steve Irwin's family and his cuter than cute little boy welled up when he started telling the world that his dad was the best dad in the world and that made his mom cry and then I started blubbering and the camera panned all the teary eyes in the audience. Then some local couple who were dealing with cancer told their sad story and by the end of the segment Oprah gave them a quarter million dollars so they could spend some quality time together over the next year while he was fighting the disease and before he died although they left that last part unsaid. More tears. So, considering I had not watched the show in over a year, it reminded me that she still had the touch and she will be missed after this - her last season. I was cheered up considerably when Jon Bon Jovi showed up and sang a couple of songs and flashed his pearly whites at us - the guy has the most perfect teeth I have ever seen. My daughter commented that he was also THE best looking old rocker from back in my day, citing how bad some of the others have fared - like Mick Jagger and Steve Tyler. I had to agree although I do believe he is slightly younger than those two. Still, the hair, the bod, the skin, all still good for his age. So, in an effort to remain on the couch, after Oprah I watched Dr. Oz and sat and nodded and agreed as he told the world about the dangers of sugar. Toward the end of the show, he started to lose me when he stopped talking health and started talking about coupon cutting to save money at the drug store - so I changed the channel and tuned into the new Marilyn Dennis show. I had been looking forward to her new show - this was a chance to check it out - I was excited.....and quickly disappointed. Some dude talking about house plants? Hello - the 70's called and they want their Boston Fern back! Then, some woman talking about various versions of the Kindle that are now available. Marilyn, nodding and interjecting the odd comment - her bubbly persona from Cityline days no where to be seen. And what the hell happened to her face? She obviously took some time in between gigs to get some "work" done and I have to say - I don't think it went very well. Sorry, Mar, but you got robbed. Who did that to you? I want a name. Just in case I ever think about going under the knife - I won't go to him. The only thing that made the show tolerable was that I was eating some nice freshly made sushi while I was watching it - the occasional blast of tear-inducing wasabi keeping me awake and distracted from the tedium and boredom on the screen. As an old fan of her on Cityline, I will likely give the show another chance one day, but it has to get better than it was today or I won't give it a third chance. With 2 hours of TV under my belt along with some spicy tuna rolls, I decided it was time to move from the sofa to the computer, a total of about 6 steps, and here I sit, writing this blog, not really sure what I wanted to yap about, but lo and behold, I have just filled the screen with the fascinating events of my day and it's not over yet! I have a good 3-4 hours left to fill before bedtime - who knows what exciting things I may do with the rest of my "sick" day. I can tell you one thing, by tomorrow, I will be re-charged and ready to face the world again. I'll shower, put on some make-up, fix my hair, get dressed and actually go outside. Maybe.

I Won't be Defeated!!!

2011-01-18T20:23:00.006-05:00

Sabotage! I look around the office everyday since mid-December and it's everywhere. Sabotage! None of us need it, but it seems we all want it. Every desk, the board room table, the kitchen table, no surface is vacant. They are all covered with it. White death. It's everywhere. I wish they would stop bringing it in. I am strong, but not impervious to it. I walk by this one desk several times a day - it holds one of my favourite things. Anything with coconut in it - particularly tempting. Christmas has come and gone and now they all want it out of their houses, so they bring it to work - let everyone else get fat they think - stop it! Why not just toss it in the trash? At least that way it won't end up on the thighs of all the women at work. It belongs in the trash anyway - for the amount of nutritional value in any of it. As I have said before - how can you call something a treat that in the end only makes you feel bad about yourself? SUGAR IS NOT A TREAT!!!!! Ask the millions of obese people around the world if they feel they have been "treated" by sugar? Sure - treated to diabetes, heart disease, joint pain, self-loathing, depresssion - you name it. Treat? I think not. I have looked my enemy in the eye and have decided it will not defeat me. It injured me a bit - added 5 lbs to my ass this holiday season, but that's it. It's over you mother-f cker. You are out of my life - you will not put me back in a one piece this summer - don't even think about it! This is one war you won't win. I have the bigger weapon. Three words - No, thank you.

Never Judge a Movie by the Trailers

2011-01-14T20:03:00.007-05:00

If you have read the reviews for Blue Valentine, you will learn that the story examines the breakdown of a marriage. Nothing new here, but the raw performances by Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams give it an edge that is creating some Oscar buzz and getting the movie-going public to fork out their hard-earned cash to sit through their depressing story. I happen to love this type of film that puts a microscope inside a relationship and lets us play voyeur into the lives of some ill-fated couple. The clever devices used to tell the story are of less interest to me than the director's (Derek Cianfrance here) ability to make the story and the characters believable. I struggled a bit with this one. Dean (Gosling) and Cindy (Williams) appear from the first scenes in the obvious end stage of their marriage. The director takes us back eventually to the early days of their romance when they first met so we can see how they came together in the first place. What we miss out on here is the middle part of the marriage - the critical part where things start to fall apart and the stage where it may have been possible to still save what was left and rebuild. That is the part I would have added as a director. We all are familiar with the beginning and end of a relationship, not much to learn there. What would be of some benefit to the audience would be the portrayal of the pivotal time in between. That time that is often hard to pinpoint. The time that is crucial for rescue. The part that anyone who has been through a divorce can look back on and recognize in hindsight that is where they should have started counseling or gotten help or at the very least admitted to each other that they were in trouble. I found myself trying to figure it out in the movie. From my perspective, Cindy was unable to accept love from Dean because she grew up with a poor self-image in a home where her own parent's dysfunctional marriage was her only role model. Her father mistreated her mother, psychological abuse from what little we learned in this movie and Cindy did not seem to expect much more for herself. She pushed Gosling away despite his best efforts to romance her but that is not to say he was without his own flaws. His lack of ambition and growing attachment to beer for breakfast, did little to woo her, even though he was an attentive and much loved father to her daughter. He married her knowing she was pregnant with another man's baby. At the time, his heroic gesture was welcomed, but as the years passed, his commitment was apparently not enough to feed her soul. Dean was content to be nothing more than a faithful husband and devoted father - Cindy wanted more. But we never get to see where the tables turned. How far into the relationship did they get before she realized his gallant gesture would not be enough to sustain them? At the time he was Mr. Right. She changed and grew and before long, her white knight looked more like Larry the Loser. They never really got to know each other in the beginning. He was a true romantic, writing her a song, blabbing to his co-worker about his belief in "love at first sight". She was more pragmatic, more of a realist, even though in her vulnerable position she allowed herself to be charmed by his heartfelt gestures. Being a bit of a romantic myself (OK - more than a bit), I couldn't help but relate to Dean. However, he did seem to deteriorate fairly quickly. He was helpless to penetrate her cold and angry demeanor and their complete lack of communication skills was so frustrating to me as an audience member, I wanted to freeze frame and play mediator between them. I expected far more from this film and the trailers for it are very misleading. It is more of a tragedy than a love story and the only scene where I actually felt a bit of bittersweet emotion was the one from the trailer where he plays his ukulele and sings a little song for her while she self-consciously does a little tap dance for him in front of a shop window with an appropriately placed heart wreath. Sweet. As for the acting, no question, both Gosling and Williams were giving it their best shot, and nominations may result, but I don't think either of them will be going home with the golden statue this year. Not yet. Worth a look, but if you have a choice, go see The King's Speech or Black Swan or The Fighter, all three a better bet.

Size Matters

2010-12-30T16:35:00.011-05:00

OK ladies - time for a reality check. I know I won't be popular with this blog, but sometimes the truth hurts. I popped into a high end women's clothing shop the other day to check out the after Christmas sales and I spotted THE most fabulous coat. There was only one left and even at half price it was still a small fortune. It was by "Save the Queen" designs and it was sooooo me! It had everything. Originality, varied textures, the perfect cut for my body, some bling attached on the lapel, a cool charm on the zip - the chances of me seeing something similar on someone else would be slim to none. It was black and grey and pink. It was love at first sight. It was attached to a mannequin so I had to ask the clerk to take it off it so I could try it on. It was a medium, and the last one, and I figured it might be a little big on me, but I could alter it if necessary. Besides, you don't want a winter coat to be too snug, in case you need to wear a bulky sweater underneath it. I was sure it would be fine. We stripped the headless plastic body and we made our way to the back of the shop so I could stand before the full length mirror and slip it on. "Hmmm," I thought as she helped from behind, it didn't slide on like I thought it would. I was wearing a zipped yoga jacket over my t-shirt - maybe that was creating a little bulk. I was about to tell her to wait a second while I unzipped and took off the extra layer I was wearing, but then I thought "Wait a sec," it does not matter. "Horrors!", it would not make a difference - the coat would clearly not fit me even if I did strip off. I could go right down to my bare skin and that coat would not wrap all the way around me. And then she informed me it was an Italian label - you need to go up a size or two with these she said. On one hand I was relieved it did not fit and look as fabulous as I thought it was going to, as I was not really in the mood to spend the money, but it was one of those things, that had it looked the way it did in my imagination from the moment I saw it, I would have slapped my credit card down in a nano-second and spent the next 30 minutes of my walk home justifying my extravagant purchase. The point of this story is we live in denial here in North America when it comes to sizing. I know a woman who is clearly a size 18 or 20 and goes around saying she is a size 10 or 12. "Yeah," I think to myself, "on what planet?" In Europe I am a large. In Canada I am a small. In some Asian countries, I am at least a medium and in some American chains, where they have really perfected the art of self-denial, I am an extra-small. Ladies! Let's be real here. I am not "extra-small". Even small is a stretch. Not that I don't love seeing an "S" on my clothing labels. I do. I just know that 25 or 30 years ago, that same "S" would have been a more realistic "M". I know this is true. But I don't mind the lie. None of us do. How else do you explain the existence of Size "0". Or better still "double bloody zero?" Clothing manufacturers figured this psychology out some time ago on this continent, but in Europe and Asia, where obesity is not rampant, sizing is still true. Sorry to burst the bubbles of all you 2's and 4's out there, but the truth is, you are merely a small or a 6. Yes, a 6! Ever since that infamous line in The Devil Wears Prada, "2 is the new 6", American clothing manufacturers saw the opportunity to sell more clothing. They started making their sizing more generous so women everywhere would feel better about themselves and spend more. And several Canadian designers are at it too. Last winter I tried on a Pink Tartan coat in a size 4 thinking there was no way it would fit and lo and behold - it was too damn big! Nice of Kimberly to try to make us all feel so tiny, but COME ON! We may be able to suspend reality somewhat, but sometimes it is just ridiculous. Same thing with Joe Fresh. That wonderful inexpensive grocery store wear that really takes it to a whole new level of bullshit. Remind me to show you my extra small T-shirts I bought there last summer. Of course there will always be women who try to squeeze into clothing that is way too small for them - that's not what I'm talking about. I am talking about getting your head out of the sand and accepting your true size. Unless you are anorexic, you are NOT a size zero. If you have any curves at all, you are at least a small or medium, or between a 4 and an 8. If your curves are starting to spill over into muffin top or your breasts are bursting out of your bra, you are a 10 or 12. If you have been noticing a double chin or none of your rings fit you any more, you are likely heading into the 14-16 zone. After that, you have to start shopping at plus size clothing stores and at that point, it's time to do some serious thinking about joining a gym and checking out the latest Weight Watchers program. I would love to think that one day I could fit into that Italian size small, but the truth is, if I lost that much weight, I would be grumpy all the time from starving myself and my breasts would practically disappear. Neither of those appeal to me. And besides, those European imports are expensive and wearing them in the correct size would make me feel fat - perhaps this denial thing is really the way to go. You're as young as you feel and you're as thin as your clothing label says you are! Tadah!

How old am I again???

2010-12-27T17:13:00.008-05:00

Birthdays! These days I prefer to ignore them, but when I think of the alternative, I suppose I should be grateful to have stuck around for yet another year. I am at an age where I actually have to strain my brain sometimes to actually remember exactly how old I am - unless it is a big milestone year, I forget. I never feel my age, well rarely anyway - maybe if I am nursing a bit of tennis elbow or some other muscle strain from a poorly executed golf swing or the morning after if I have more than two glasses of wine the night before, but that's about it. Generally speaking, I actually feel physically better now than I have in years. About 2 years ago I decided to really start putting me first and that included making time for regular exercise, not just the regular tennis I was playing. It made a big difference to my energy level and my overall fitness and that goes a long way in making me feel younger. I especially like free weights. I like the increased metabolism I get as a result of working those puppies and I also like the muscle definition they give me. I used to hide my arms, now I don't think twice about baring them. At one stage, I tried pushing it beyond my capabilities and realized I just could not devote that kind of time to it, so I have settled for a level of fitness that suits me, makes me feel strong and energetic, but does not keep me from doing other things I love as well. Everyone asks me if I go to a gym. No. I do not. I have a treadmill at home. I have a mat and a big ball, a set of 5 and 10 lb dumbbells, a 15 lb weight, a 20 lb one and my Ipod. I work out in my family room to music that motivates me and I do it consistently - no magic there at all. I don't have to get in my car and drive to a gym, pay money to do it, and I don't have to wipe off some stranger's perspiration from the equipment. I find it saves me time. I dress as though I am heading to the gym and I change the music as it suits me - my current motivational tunes are by Katy Perry and Rhianna and I slow it down for the stretching with whatever brings the tempo down a few notches. I honestly don't think I could do it without music. It turns it into something more akin to dance for me and that is what spurs me on. I do some Pilate's, some yoga poses and some other exercises that I used to do back in the day of 'aerobics" classes that make me feel good. I do some ab work, some core strengthening things and 30 minutes on the treadmill - mostly fast walking uphill, interspersed with some light jogging. It takes an hour, a bit more if I have the time and feel like pushing it and I do it 4-5 times a week. I was doing it 6 days for a while, but that was hard to schedule, so now I am happy with a bit less. I play tennis less than I used to - once a week now - 2 hours of doubles, and in the summer I golf about once a week. I figure this is all doable well into my old age. In the spring, summer and fall I abandon the treadmill for the great outdoors and my walks are longer - at least an hour- sometimes 90 minutes with variable terrain. The treadmill is really just for inclement weather - which is most of the winter - I hate the cold. With the New Year only days away, I plan to step up my work-out a bit to rid myself of the 5 lbs that crept on over the month of December. That, and ridding my diet of that "white death" known as sugar. I allowed it back into my body over the holidays, but it has over-stayed it's welcome now and it's time to say adios to my worst enemy - good riddance too. Whoever decided to call it a "treat" needs to have their head examined. The only thing it ever "treated" me to was a wide ass, cavities as a kid, and hypoglycemia. Some treat. Frankly, working out this morning - THAT was my birthday treat to myself. And one that will pay off in dividends and a smaller waistline! Happy Birthday to me!

Listen! I just heard reindeer hooves on the Roof!

2010-12-25T07:36:00.006-05:00

For years after I knew Santa was not really Santa, I recall still wanting to believe. The image of Santa in my heart and in my mind was so intense and I loved him so much that denial was present for some time even though the rational part of my brain told me to grow up, I really did not want to. At some point, I got on with it as we all do, but every year, I still get a little warm and fuzzy when I see certain visual images of the fat old guy. I especially like those sort of retro images of him with the fat rosy cheeks and when my daughter was little, I always tried to wrap the "Santa" presents in Santa paper just to emphasize where they came from. Not Toys Are Us or The Bay or Mastermind - no my dear - those packages came all the way from the North Pole and that's how you could tell - Santa only uses paper with his face on it - his stamp so to speak. I am quite sure she never noticed this little attempt of mine to convince her he was real, but it was something I just had to do, likely to re-visit my own lost innocence as much as preserve the magic for her in some small way. Now that she is 16, she is long past believing in jolly old St. Nick, but part of me wishes she still did. So, last night, Christmas Eve, as the smell of dinner was wafting through the house, the fire was burning, the candles were lit, and we were listening to Charlie Brown's Christmas (a tradition on Christmas eve in this house) I decided to try to re-create some magic. My jaded teen was partaking in the evening somewhat (she was in the room at least) even though she was sitting with her laptop surfing god knows what non-Christmassy sites, while I was busy lighting enough candles to illuminate the entire neighbourhood, I slipped past her unseen to the front door and opened it, left it open for a few seconds, then closed it. Our alarm system makes an annoying chime every time the door opens, so she would have heard it. I then slipped back past her - ignored and unseen again and went into the kitchen. In a loud voice, I said to my husband, "Did you hear the front door just now?" He turns to me and says - "yes, I did". I then said "Were you out in the front porch?", loud enough for her to hear of course and he says, "no, I have been in here the whole time." "Well who came in the door then," I said to him, then to her - "Emma, were you out in the front porch? - did you hear the front door?" She was somewhat intrigued now, and looked up from her lifeline, I mean, computer, and said "NO - I wasn't." So now my acting skills really took over - I got all "well then what's going on? Who came in the door - this is creepy - Emma! come with me - lets go see - I don't want to go alone - so she actually gets off her ass, and we walk together over to the door, creeping sort of to see if someone is there - and all she sees is a Christmas stocking hanging on the closet door knob. It was not there before. "What's that?" I ask. She looks at it, rolls her eyes and says - "God, you guys are such jerks." I try to continue the facade and say "What are you talking about - I didn't put that there - it must have been Santa who came in." Another roll of the eyes, but this time a bit of a softer look on her face, a little smile and for just a nano-second, some of that old magic came back and she was 4 again. Now, it was Christmas, even if halfway through dinner she asked if she could put Elvis's greatest hits on the stereo instead of Charlie Brown - I had had my moment and it didn't matter what transpired after that. Merry Christmas everyone. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Dear Santa.....all I want is more Time!

2010-12-24T20:53:00.003-05:00

Merry Christmas to all my readers. I hope I find the time to write more in 2011. I miss it and I miss your comments. Cheers! Decomama xo

Travel Inspiration - Coming Soon!

2010-12-19T09:01:00.004-05:00

Some decent blog fodder coming soon - just back from Jamaica - will post something soon - tis the season! TIME!!! NEED MORE of IT!

UNCLE! UNCLE! I GIVE! I GIVE!

2010-11-26T16:56:00.006-05:00

Try as I may, it is now impossible to avoid the cold harsh truth. The Christmas season is upon us. For days now, I have been changing the radio station in the car, trying to avoid the "sounds of the season". I have averted my eyes in shops away from the Christmas displays. I have purposely left up an autumn wreath on my door (I mean - let's face it - it's still American Thanksgiving for goodness sake!). But today, as I ventured out to run a few errands, I finally succumbed. I left the station tuned to CHFI in the car and even welled up with tears when they played that damn "Christmas Shoes" song. GOD! Why didn't I change the station? That song kills me every time. Then I turned my cart down the Christmas aisle in Costco and was actually considering buying a couple of things, but managed to gather my will and keep walking. I thought I was out of the woods after that, until I took a cruise down that aisle I like that sometimes has some interesting colourful thing I just ABSOLUTELY NEED for my kitchen. You know what I'm talking about - a set of new coffee mugs for $11.99 - EIGHT of them - such a deal! I get tired of drinking out of the same mugs all the time - I need something new to brew my David's chai tea latte in some mornings - it gives me a lift. (Pathetic - I know, I know) Anyway, I managed to get down that row unscathed and as I rounded the bend, there they were. The biggest, most lush beautiful poinsettias I have ever seen - I swear! HUGE! Twenty bucks! "NO WAY", I thought - how is that possible? Not only were the flowers great, they came in a big red pot with a faux gold leaf trim around the top edge - I wouldn't even have to find a container. Done. Then I got to thinking, "hmmmm, maybe I could actually do a giant red poinsettia in place of a Christmas tree this year". I had already thought I might forgo the tree since I will be away in Jamaica for a week leading up to Christmas - this might be the perfect replacement. Still festive, but waaaay easier - I can shine a spotlight on it instead of strings of lights and I could still put presents around the base - mount it in the bay window and the outside world can enjoy it too. Now, "THIS is the Christmas spirit I thought". Not quite into it as I have been in past years, but still giving it a nod. I just had to check with my daughter and see if she was OK with it. No way was I going to create some sort of lingering memory of "mom as Scrooge" in her young mind. I could hear it now. "Remember that year you never put up a tree mom?, I do - and I found it soooooo depressing." No, I could not deal with that. So, when she got home from school, I said, "look in the dining room window and tell me what you think". "Are you talking about the flowers, mom?" she said. "Yes, the gigantic poinsettia - how do you feel about that being our Christmas tree this year?" She shrugged her shoulders and said "sure, whatever - that's fine with me." WHAT?! She wasn't going to be traumatized? This was such good news. She totally let me off the hook. Thinking this was going to really relieve me of the effort and work involved in putting up a tree, I figured I had gotten really lucky. But wait - I got luckier. Listen to this. She said she wanted to talk to me about something. She wanted to know if I would be OK with taking all the money we would normally spend on her gifts and buy a bunch of presents for a needy child instead. She told me the Outreach Program she works with at school was appointing a child to each of them - she knew her name - Julia - her age - 5 and she was completely pumped about shopping for her. Apparently this child had provided a wish list which they were to choose an item from. My daughter said she wanted to get everything on the list. She was so excited by the idea, I couldn't help but jump on the bandwagon with her, even though not only had she just brightened Julia's Christmas morning, she had just saved me hours of shopping for her. All I could think was how proud I was of her, how great it was that she wanted to do this and how she was so unlike me at her age. One Christmas morning when she was about 6, she crept down the stairs and leaned over the banister and looked to see what Santa had brought. She could see the huge pile of gifts under the tree, and she stopped dead in her tracks and said, "WOW, I must have been REALLY good!" I have it on video tape and I will never forget those words coming from her mouth, so spontaneous and so sweet. Somehow, this year I feel I want to say those same words. Maybe Santa was keeping tabs on me in 2010. I sure feel lucky.

The Miracle of Lipstick!

2010-11-18T21:35:00.007-05:00

Surely you have all seen these "women without make-up" things on the net. It gives all of us mere mortals an opportunity to say "SEE, with out their make-up these celebrities are all dogs." Of course, the "before" photos are always the most brutal shots available of them - not only without make-up but with some sort of scowl on their faces as well. Still, it is true - make-up is a girl's best friend. It starts when we are teens and as we progress through life it is more and more necessary. We really only get to have "make-up" free years in the beginning and the end of our lives. At some point, make-up will start to make us look worse instead of better. You have no doubt seen the 87-year-old women with the bad make-up job - the lipstick not quite drawn in the lines, like a toddler's colouring book, the mascara a little too thick and dark and the rosy circles of creamy blush painted on all clownish and heavy handed. Makes you want to hand her a tissue and tell her to look in the mirror and make some edits. I don't want to be her. I like to think I will evolve gracefully into my old age, knowing when it is time to back off a little. On the other hand, I know I won't ever give up entirely. I will always want to try and look my best. I had a little taste of "make-up" gone bad issues today when I left my dentist's office. I had a filling replaced and I was so frozen after the procedure, I found it next to impossible to apply my lipstick on my bottom lip. I was so frozen, my lip would not co-operate at all and I had to actually hold it taught with my fingers, and carefully paint it, but even that didn't work out so well, so I sort of dabbed at it and applied a hint of colour and called it a day. Hands down, the most dramatic change make-up has ever made in the history of the world is on the face of Oprah Winfrey. Hats off to her for the many times she has unveiled her bare face to the world. That is one brave lady. If she ever finds herself short of cash (which is doubtful) she could be the spokesperson for any cosmetic company in the world - if make-up can do "that" to anyone - who would not buy it? Ask any woman - what is the one product you could not live without? The answer is usually mascara or lipstick. It depends on your age. I used to say mascara when I was younger, now it is definitely lipstick. I find at my age, the lips need some enhancement. It adds a shot of much needed colour to my otherwise pale face. When I was younger, I was not afraid of the sun and my face was not so pale, so the mascara was more important. My daughter is opposite - natch - she is only 16. So tomorrow night, when she is preparing to step out to her high school's semi-formal dance, you can be sure, the mascara will take the lead over the lipstick. A bit of gloss will do her and I will have to remind her to tuck it into her party purse so she can re- apply later in the evening. She doesn't even get that. You have to re- apply. She heads out the door in the morning thinking (I swear) that the gloss she puts on at 7:30 am will last the day. NOT! It doesn't bother her at all though. I, on the other hand, am constantly touching up my lips. I am in the public eye all day, so it matters to me. I never touch up my mascara throughout the day. Just the lips. And speaking of lips, one of Hollywood's best set of lips has to go to Scarlett Johansson - who just happens to be married to Ryan Reynolds, People mag's sexiest man alive for their 25th anniversary edition. A Canadian I might add. My daughter and I agreed with the choice wholeheartedly - we have been fans of his for years and he totally gets our vote. As much as Brad, George and Patrick fit as finalists, it was time for someone new to take the title and Ryan is fresh and deserving. So, before this blog disintegrates any further, I think I will sign off. Is there a point here? Not sure really. A bit of a ramble about make-up, it's ability to enhance our appearance and how when applied to Scarlett Johansson's lips it attracted the likes of Ryan Reynolds. Nuff said.

The One-Handed Work-out - instant results!

2010-11-13T20:41:00.008-05:00

Possibly one of my worst days at work....ever. Rather than dwell on all the bullshit I encountered today, what I would prefer to talk about is how much better I feel now that I have had a couple of glasses of red wine to erase the pain of the day. Yes, I sometimes resort to this sort of stress reduction even though I know that a good workout can create similar relief. What I like about the wine though is how it takes far less effort and the end result is far more mellowing. Is that a word? Mellowing? If it isn't, it should be. I am also curious as to how it also makes everything look better. As I glanced around my living room, swirling my red elixir around in my long-stemmed crystal vessel, I assessed the room. Over the years, I have carefully selected various pieces - new, antique, old, not so old, an assortment of cheap and expensive elements that have all come together to create a whole. The unifying component is colour. Warm muted golds, blues and reds and varying wood stains, even different periods and styles have all meshed to form a pleasing (to me anyway) palette. It is a room that has been built over time and travel and personal taste that when I sit and consider it in my slightly inebriated state, it gives me pleasure. Funny how the wine brings out the best in the room and sometimes I think, the best in me. I am lucky I am able to know when I have had enough wine and do not find it necessary to drink to get through each day. Perhaps that is why I really notice the difference. Sober versus tipsy. I hesitate to say drunk, because if I were truly "drunk" I don't think I would be capable of writing this blog at all. I would be stumbling into bed into a comatose state. I have done that once or twice in my life, so I know what that feels like. I learned a long time ago, it is not my best self. However, my present state feels pretty good. I certainly feel more relaxed than I did a few short hours ago and all the anxiety I felt then is completely gone. Good riddance I say. Nothing like a nice Australian Shiraz to put things in perspective. I'll hit the gym tomorrow! That's what I call balance. Cheers!

Exercise, Check, Soul Fed, Check.

2010-11-11T15:49:00.008-05:00

I had the good fortune to be able to spend a couple of hours today on one of my favourite walking trails down along the Humber River. It was the perfect sunny crisp fall day. There were still a few leaves valiantly hanging on to the trees while the fallen ones crunched beneath my feet. I generally walk with a friend but today I walked alone, no ipod, just the sound of the running water and the birds and the odd squirrel rustling amongst the leaves searching for the remaining tree nuts to stow away for the winter. It felt like Mother Nature's last hurrah before the snow starts to fly. I could feel the nip in the air when I started out and was glad I had layered. I stopped about halfway to watch the water in its endless journey downstream, hoping maybe a late spawning salmon might still be trying to head upstream, but that was just wishful thinking. I had to content myself with a couple of perfectly executed duck landings. Not exactly a great wonder of nature, but still a simple moment watching wildlife in it's natural habitat. It's all good. Getting out to do this sort of simple thing on a day off is what I think of as soul soothing. A complete break from people, noise, traffic and work. Without these breaks, I am quite sure I would go mad. We are lucky here in Toronto - we have plenty of places where we can go and experience this sort of peace. Whenever I am in New York, I always spend some time in Central Park - what would New Yorker's do without that oasis? In fact, no matter where I travel, I always want to go to that particular city's parkland. There is only so much concrete and so many crowded streets I am interested in taking in. My mind was like a camera today, recording frame after frame of changing vistas. The forested parts with their nearly bare trees, opened up before me with their carpets of leaves - so different from how it looked just a few weeks ago. Now you can actually see the forest for the trees if you know what I mean. You get to see better river views now too - the tall grasses and bushes along the banks less dense, allowing me a clearer look. As I stood near the bank gazing down into the rushing water looking for fish, it occurred to me that I really loved the feeling I get watching clear river water rolling over rocks in the shallows. Is everyone attracted to this, or is it just me? It always makes me want to take off my shoes and put my feet in, or take a drink even though I know it's too cold now and probably too polluted to drink. I am somewhat fascinated by it - not sure why really. Just am. As you can do doubt figure out - my walk did my soul some good today. No ranting. No raving. Just a mellow blog today - a sharing of what I saw, what I did and how it made me feel. Now if I can just figure out how to stay in this place......... And, by the way, as I was looking for an image to post on this blog, I came across a young artist named Chantal-Andree Samson. The painting you see here was done by her recently along this trail. Enjoy. Better still, check out her work - she is very talented.

Caffeine or Crack - it's all the Same to Me!

2010-11-04T13:45:00.006-04:00

I keep missing last call and it's starting to really piss me off. Thirty years ago that might have been a good thing since by that time of night, I surely did NOT need another drink. But now I miss last call on a regular basis at Starbucks and Second Cup. I'm talking about last call for decaf. How can they call themselves a coffee shop when you cannot get a normal cup of decaf coffee after noon? It makes no sense. That is when it SHOULD be available. Most people have had their fill of caffeine by then and decaf should be the order of the day from lunch time onward. But NOOOOOO! They cut it off after twelve. I DON'T DRINK CAFFEINE!!!!!!! EVER!!!!! NO! I don't want decaf Americano. I don't like decaf Americano. Fuck your decaf Americano Starbucks. Bad enough Starbucks started offering up this option to me when they ran out of regular decaf, now Second Cup has jumped on the bandwagon too. Hello!!! Starbucks!!!! Hello!!! Second Cup!!! You are a COFFEE shop - you should have all types of coffee all day long. I don't want to wait while you make me a separate cup of decaf in a paper cone filter - I can bloody do that at home. It does not taste the same. I do appreciate that ONCE someone in a Starbucks offered to do this for me - ONCE I say - ONCE! It was better than decaf Americano, but only slightly. Some of you may be saying, go to Tim Horton's for your damn decaf. Well, if I wanted to drink a cup of hot water with a slight coffee flavour, I would. Tim Horton's is where I go for coffee when there is no other choice available. It's as bad as some no name coffee shop in an airport or gas station. Desperation java. Yuck. I have figured out their strategy. It forces decaf drinkers to order one of their more expensive concoctions like a decaf latte or other such specialty coffees in order to get something that tastes half decent. It's a money grab that I do not appreciate. I don't want a skinny soy decaf half foam whatever. I want a simple cup of decaf coffee, preferably Sumatra or even basic Colombian. Am I asking too much? Is it a volume thing? Make less more often. Gee, I don't know - figure it out. I just want it to be available all day, every day. Not everyone wants to go around shaking and buzzing all day long. I cannot handle caffeine and just to prove it - this blog was just written under the influence of regular Paradiso which I was forced to quaff because Second Cup was out of decaf at 10:50 this morning. I am still feeling the effects more than three hours later. Hence, this rant. A deadly combo - a peri-menopausal woman and a large cup of caffeinated joe. I'll need a glass of wine to calm me down. Expect a different kind of rant after that.

Cottage, Cabin, Tomato, tomatto

2010-10-25T15:09:00.008-04:00

Three eagles, an otter family of five, several Rainbow Trouts, countless dead Sockeye Salmon and one squaw fish. That was the tally of wildlife I saw over the past 4 days. Oh yes, and one unfortunate dead deer by the roadside. Apparently it was unusual that I did not see any live ones. However, hunting season opened recently and they may be smarter than we think. Hope they are hiding well and that they escape the bullets aimed toward them.

I spent the last four days and three nights in Mabel Lake about an hour and a half north of Kelowna in B.C. Four days without television, cell phone signal, no gadgets of any kind and not even a radio or newspaper to keep me abreast of the news of the world. It was heaven.

At first it was a bit strange. I repeatedly turned my phone on and off to see if it was really true, but after a few attempts, I could see it was futile and I left it off for the duration. No texts, no calls, no nothing. Once I accepted this was going to be the drill, I started to relax into it. Days and nights consisted of nature walks, fishing, listening to music and a crackling fire, card games and great meals. We even cooked and ate a trout within an hour or two of catching it - our cocktail hour snack. I think my brother has got it right.

He bought this cabin ("cottage" in Ontario) in this beautiful B.C. lake resort two summers ago and this was my first visit. The reason the salmon were dead is because it has been one of the biggest runs up the Shuswap River in a century and after they spawn, they die. The riverbanks are covered with the carcasses and the smell although a bit unpleasant will only last as long as it takes the birds and bears and other carnivores to get rid of them.

Whenever I am in this sort of wilderness setting, it makes me hate the city. Makes me want to turn all Jeremiah Johnson and live in the bush. However, the reality is, after a few months of having to catch my meals and chop wood for the fire, the novelty might wear off a bit.....or maybe not. Hard to say. In this case, the cabin is perfectly comfortable and has all the amenities 0ne would need to survive - indoor plumbing, all the necessary appliances, good beds, an entire film library and stereo equipment. It also helped that the main fridge was stocked with food and the bar fridge was stocked with wine and beer. Let's face it - not exactly roughing it.

As I was a guest, I also did not have to chop the wood, carry it in, or even start the fire (although I do know how!). My brother is the lumberjack in the family and chivalry reigns, so I was well taken care of too. Getting into the forest, boating around in a fresh water lake, observing wildlife in natural habitats - these are the things that remind us we are Canadian. Life in the city does not do this for me.

And, four days was barely enough. Next time, a week at least.

You hearing that bro? Minimum. Thanks, and See ya soon!

Making Memories........her way.

2010-10-16T20:17:00.009-04:00

Last night she was cruising on the Seine following a visit to the Louvre and a little shopping on the Champs Elysees. Tonight she is home eating a bowl of faux chicken noodle soup and watching a recorded episode of Glee in her pajamas. Night and day, apples and oranges? No, just Paris and Toronto. It always strikes me as such an enormous contrast. The complete reversal of scenarios when one returns from a travel adventure. My kid just got home from Europe about an hour ago. She is fortunate. At 16 she has been over the pond twice and traveled around North America and the Caribbean more than I ever had by that age. I am so glad she loves to travel. Of all the things I have done in my life, I would have to say that travel has given me more than anything. It has enriched my life, introduced me to other cultures, opened my eyes, blessed me with life long friends and now I have planted that same seed in my daughter - the travel bug, the joy of discovery. The stories of her European adventure will seep out gradually over the next days and weeks. She never gives me everything right away. So far I was told about three incidents - her mascara being confiscated by security at Heathrow, the order taker at a German take-out giving my little vegetarian some unasked for ham on her pizza, and dropping her tooth brush on the filthy floor in the train bathroom on the overnight rail ride from Munich to Paris. For the next 24 hours until she bought a new tooth brush, she had to clean her teeth with her finger and some toothpaste. As she relayed these little anecdotes to me, I had to say I was thrilled these were the worst things that happened. I'm quite certain my "incidents" were far worse. The supervision on high school trips these days is seemingly a far cry from what it was in my day. Thank goodness. Looking back, I am amazed we all came back in one piece. The strongest thing she drank on her trip was Red Bull, smoking was not allowed and there was zero tolerance for any mixing of sexes in their rooms. Suffice to say the same rules did not apply on my own youthful adventures. If there were rules, we surely broke them. That is my recollection. It makes me wonder. How will her travel memories differ from mine? It doesn't matter really. What really matters is that she has them. And they are all hers. Welcome home baby.

Nothing Fishy - Just the Truth.

2010-10-08T18:35:00.006-04:00

There are days and weeks and months that can pass in my life when nothing particularly magical happens. This, from someone that sees messages in the the most uninspired things. I am a firm believer that the universe delivers messages to us on a regular basis if only we are open to hearing, seeing or noticing them. I try to stay tuned in to my intuition as it has never failed me. I, on the other hand have failed it - countless times. Whenever I don't listen to that inner voice of mine, I always regret it. It can be as simple as not listening to the voice that says, "Deb, you should turn off this route now or you will get stuck a few blocks up the road." I actually have a voice that says things like that to me. When I ignore it, I end up in gridlock. Every bloody time. Or, it can be something far more serious. Like the voice that told me I should not trust that used car salesman in 1986 that ripped me off for a thousand bucks at a time in my life when a thousand may as well have been 10 thousand. I won't go into all the boring details, but suffice to say - he got my grand and I got nothing. Nothing at all, not even a cab chit to get me home. I still hope that bastard got the bad karma that he deserved but I'll never know. It was all I could do to not visit his pathetic little car lot one dark night and torch the place, but I don't have any desire to spend time in prison, so I didn't. So, I was going somewhere with all of this - really I was, but my glass of wine is almost empty now and I tend to ramble when under the influence of a nice glass of red. Oh yes, I was going to tell you about the little bit of magic I experienced today. It was the perfect autumn day here in Toronto. Warm, breezy, sunny, the colourful leaves beginning to flutter to the ground, crunchy beneath my feet. The smell of the decaying leaves not yet offensive, just a little heady and earthy. Like I said, perfect. I decided it was a good day to take a long walk along the Humber River. I walk this trail pretty regularly and it is always a joy. But at this time of year, it really takes on a whole new face. The bits through the forested areas are my favourite. The leaves, the last blush of summer still alive, all the birds and squirrels feasting on the nuts and seeds that are plentiful now - it is truly nature at it's best. As if that was not enough, the recent rains have left the river high and flowing fast and the salmon are heading up river. I stood and watched these incredible fish struggling to climb the various levels of the river. How determined. How fascinating. Watching them battle the fast-moving waterfalls and failing time after time was almost painful. I found myself cheering for them, egging them on, wishing for them to succeed. Apparently many of them do not. I decided I would stand until at least one of them made it up and over. I did not know how long it might take, but I did not care. I knew eventually one of them would make it and then I could go on my merry way. It only took about 10 minutes before I saw one of about 75 fish make the jump. I did a fist pump in the air for that fish. I shouted "Yes!" I was so happy for the success of this one salmon. Imagine - all these salmon, so determined to return to their home to spawn. It is the only thing they need to do. And then they die. It is their sole purpose in life. It is their "truth". We humans seem to complicate things way too much. We have countless distractions and life choices that prevent us from reaching our "truths", unlike the simplicity of the salmon. They heed the call and move toward it. As I waited for one lone salmon to make the jump to the next level in the river, I told myself that if just one salmon could make it, there was still hope for me. Still hope that my life will count for something. That my "truth" is still attainable. Good news. One did.

John Hughes Would Approve.....surely.

2010-09-20T20:19:00.013-04:00

It happened again. OK, I'll admit it. My daughter dragged me kicking and screaming to yet another "teen flick". This happens quite regularly. I have been subjected to some real trash.....but every once in awhile, a real gem appears. I have to give her credit - for a 16 year old, she has fairly good taste in movies and even considers herself a bit of a film aficionado (thanks to 2 summers now at "film camp"). Note I did not say "movie buff", but "film aficionado". There's a diff - don't ya know! The most recent "film" she introduced me to was Easy A. That's right - Easy A. I had sat through a trailer for this movie a few weeks back (not really paying attention) and recalled her saying she wanted to see it and I paid her some sort of lip service at the time saying it might be one she would like to see with kids her own age as opposed to moi. I guess she was paying me lip service when she agreed and then last Saturday night insisted I see it with her. So off we went. I went without any pre-conceived notions other than I thought it was quite likely I might catch a few zzz's at about the half way mark. How bad could it be? For starters, I think I started laughing within the first two minutes. I sat upright and paid attention as soon as I saw that the lead character's father was played by one of my very favourite actors - Stanley Tucci. What is it about this guy that is so damn appealing? He just keeps getting better. Most recently I loved him as Julia Child's husband in Julia and Julia. His wife in this movie is played by another great actress - Patrica Clarkson and the two of them together were just brilliant. Not only were they the kind of parents everyone wishes they had, they are the kind of parents every parent wishes they could be. I found myself excited every time they were included in a scene. My only criticism of the movie in fact would be that I would have liked more scenes featuring their witty banter. And is it my imagination, or is he getting sexier every time I see him? So, enough about the secondary characters, on to Emma Stone in the role of Olive Penderghast. Move over Lindsay Lohan - this actress is about to kick your butt. If only poor Lindsay could have kept herself together, but alas, now that she is so messed up, it was only a matter of time before she was replaced. Not only replaced, completely outdone in my opinion. Olive is too clever for her own good in this movie, but of course she comes out on top in the end and even scores Penn Badgley. And by the way, speaking of Penn, great to see him outside of his brooding Gossip Girl character for a change. He may have a future on the big screen if this is any indication of his abilities. Go Penn! Another little side-plot involving Lisa Kudrow and Thomas Haden Church as the married guidance counselor and popular teacher adds some interest as well. Let's just say one of them throws us a little unexpected curve ball that I did not see coming at all. The moral of my little story here is never under-estimate your teenage child's ability to judge a decent movie or the sex-appeal of a bald man. Decomama declares Easy A...... worth the admission price.

Let's get Philosophical!

2010-09-06T17:05:00.008-04:00

I read somewhere recently that you could tell right away if someone was a baby boomer if they were nostalgic. Apparently more recent generations are less nostalgic than those of us born in this era. When I read that, I was a bit insulted that "being nostalgic" was a flaw, a fault of some type, a negative thing. It felt like someone had been unfairly critical of my generation. What was so wrong with nostalgia? I wondered. I pondered. I forgot about it. Until today. I was reminded just how bloody nostalgic we are when an old friend of mine from California tagged me in a photo on Facebook last week. The shot had been taken at a party in the late 70's and there I was, for all to see, fresh-faced moi. This started a series of comments and more photos being scanned and posted and more of us boomers looking back on our (skinnier) selves and having a few laughs. It was more than 30 years ago, but looking back, it could have been a week ago. The memories came back in waves. At first, I forgot the names of some of the people in the shots, but as the conversations unfolded, the names got mentioned and the moments frozen in time took on life again. This friend of mine who lives in California - San Diego at the time, hosted these annual parties. I flew in twice for them - they tended to last 3 days or so and they were considered by all who attended as "don't miss" events. I won't go into "all" the details, but let's just say there was no shortage of mind altering substances to be had and there was a hot tub. Not just any hot tub, mind you, this hot tub was a "magic" place. If you dared to soak in this particular hot tub, particularly under a starry sky, there was no limit to the brilliance of the philosophizing that would take place. I had forgotten that. Over the last few days, it was comforting to remember some of it. I have always loved nothing more than to share a conversation about "the meaning of life" with friend, an acquaintance, hell - total strangers for that matter. You never know what gem may come out of it. I miss doing that - I don't do enough of it anymore. Remember dinner parties that would go on and on into the wee hours, wine-soaked brains solving the problems of the world? Now, we go to a dinner party and talk about our kids, the real estate market, local politics, federal politics, current events - that stuff bores me. I want to talk about what makes us tick. I did then and I still do now. What gives you joy? I want to turn to someone at a dinner party and ask that question. I want to see their face light up when they start to describe it. But I want it to be the truth. Not some made up bullshit thing. Dig deep. Don't tell me your new BMW or your new Jimmy Choo's. And if you don't have something to tell me, tell me what you "think" would give you joy. There was something about that hot tub that levelled everyone. If there were any pretenses, they remained outside the tub. That's what I want. I want all my social engagements to contain that kind of honesty. So, in an effort to make that happen, I will summon up my nostalgic "hot tub magic" each and every time I attend a function and maybe my life will be richer for it. One can only hope.

Not a Typical Chip off the old Block!

2010-08-28T20:45:00.004-04:00

Dare I admit - for risk of sounding "old' that I have only just recently become "text savvy". I know, I know, it makes me sound sooooo "out of it"! I just never really seemed to have a need but now that my daughter is texting all the time, I had to get with the program. I am always a bit reluctant to adopt any "new" technology for some reason in an attempt to avoid having to read any sort of manual (I hate that!) or admit that it is necessary ( a bit of a stubborn streak in me) but eventually by desire to "keep up" with the rest of the world wins out and I succumb. I just finished a short but sweet conversation with my daughter via text that made me laugh. She is away at a friend's "movie marathon weekend" where I had some concerns about the possibility of under age drinking..... or worse and it was comforting to text her and get a near immediate response that reassured me that the weekend was legit and not what it would have been when I was her age - an excuse to get shit-faced. This generation, from what I am experiencing and learning is far more responsible and dare I say more intelligent than mine was at her age. She will turn 16 in a few short weeks and to date has not to my knowledge (and I believe it to be true) ever been drunk, stoned or.....well, I'll leave that one to your imagination. She is a great kid with a good head on her shoulders and I am so proud of her and the choices she makes. She is genuinely thoughtful in her choices and is sooooooo much smarter than I was at her age, it almost seems it can't be possible she came from the same gene pool. I'm lucky. Not all parents are so fortunate. I would like to think I had something to do with it, but I can't take all the credit. She is her own person. She has opinions. She is not a follower. If she sticks to her current path, she may just turn out OK. Perhaps better than OK. She is not perfect. She is working through teenage angst like most kids her age and the good news is she is working through it without the crutch of drugs or alcohol. And even better news, she actually talks to me. She is more open with me than I ever was with my parents and I am so grateful she feels she can share some of her innermost feelings and thoughts with me. She constantly surprises me with her honesty. If I had to pinpoint any one thing that has led her to feel able to do this with me, I would have to say it is because I have never tried to bullshit her. I have always been honest with her about my past, my successes, as well as my failures and have always let her know I was human. I have made mistakes. I have not always been perfect - far from it. She loves nothing more than to hear some of my wilder stories of my misspent youth - in fact, she seems to love that more than anything - knowing her mom was not always a "good girl". If that is all it takes to make her more of a "good girl" , well I'm glad I was honest with her. Maybe it is the best policy after all.

Meeting on the Magnificant Mile

2010-08-23T20:42:00.005-04:00

So - breezed in last night after a weekend in the 'windy city" - or so it is often referred to - Chicago, chi - town, home of Oprah Winfrey, The "Chicago School" of architecture, and oh yes, Vince Vaughn. Had to throw in Vince's name since we actually bumped into that famous wedding crasher down on the lakefront on Saturday morning, sweating off a few calories like the rest of us. You're looking good Vince - keep up the good work. It was my annual getaway with my BFF and since we were trying to find somewhere to meet in the middle between Toronto and Austin - sort of, we chose Chicago this year. We did New York last year and have concluded (this being our second trip to this mid-west mecca) that it has as much to offer as the big apple without the offensive smell and the possibility of a breeze in the middle of a hot August heatwave. It did not stink and we finally did feel a breeze by day three, so we counted ourselves lucky. We had both just finished reading Loving Frank and so Chicago seemed a rather apropos destination considering Mr. Lloyd Wright's humble beginnings in the city's Oak Park neighbourhood. I highly recommend the river cruise with the guided tour of Chicago architecture. I spent the weekend in the newly re-furbished Ritz Carlton where art deco reigned supreme and with the many buildings done in the same style throughout the city, it lifted the design world's current love affair with the "modern glamour" look of the moment to a whole new level. But this blog is not intended to be a travelogue, so I won't bore you any further with the details of my trip, other than to say, if you get there any time soon, check out Million Dollar Quartet for a fun night of musical theatre. And.....beware of a geriatric, bleached blonde female cabbie wearing a cocktail dress, five-inch stilettos and a thick German accent who is completely unfamiliar with the word "sisterhood". Thaaat beeeech is von scarey frauline. While you're at it, avoid the needy "new to town" driver from Louisiana who never shut up and forgot his GPS at home. We don't care - we really don't. We just want you to know where the friggin hotel is and we want you take us there NOW. If you don't know the downtown very well, head back to the burbs bub - do I look like a bloody native? Anyway, New York does have a leg up in that department - cabbies who actually have personalities and know where they are going.....most of the time. Where was I? Oh yeah. The whole point of this blog was supposed to be about my weekend and what it meant to me. I know I have spoken of this before in past blogs but it is worth repeating. I look forward to these "girlfriend" weekends more and more all the time. For a few days, in some far away city, I can just be "me". I am not someone's wife or mother, or employee. I only need to be a friend. Surely, it is a form of escapism. A departure from the daily grind, the roles we need to play and a maid to make my bed everyday. What more could a girl ask for? In fact, on the one drizzly morning, as we laid in bed watching a movie and eating room service breakfast in our thick white bath robes, we stopped to ponder our good fortune and I knew (we both knew) how fortunate we were and how grateful we both were to be there surrounded in a sea of comfort and luxury yet again, another year of friendship under our belts. We always, always, always have fun - as Oprah would say - I can count on it as "one thing I know for sure".

Lyrics that should fall on deaf Ears

2010-08-11T20:29:00.008-04:00

It's been awhile since I felt like ranting but this morning's drive into work has left me with a bad taste in my mouth all day. Admittedly, I tend to either listen to my own mix CD's in the car or 680 news for the traffic reports or the ultimate MOR station - CHFI, but today, I felt like listening to Marilyn Dennis who I miss terribly since she left CITY TV, so I switched the station to CHUM FM. For years I was a faithful CHUM FM listener, but CHFI seems to have suited me more in recent years. CHUM FM plays more current music and I figured it might also be a good idea to listen to some new music, step outside my aging box, so to speak. The first song that came on was a rap tune that I actually found myself digging a bit, could even imagine dancing a bit and then I started focusing on the lyrics. Had I just heard what I heard? Wow! A giant step back for women - that was how it struck me.

"If she ever tries to fucking leave again I'mma tie her to the bed And set the house on fire Just gonna stand there And watch me burn But that's alright Because I like The way it hurts Just gonna stand there And hear me cry But that's alright Because I love The way you lie I love the way you lie I love the way you lie"

The first stanza is sung by Eminem and the second by Rihanna. I have not felt so deflated by what I heard in a long long time. Is this what my 15 year old daughter and her friends are listening to? Do they think it's OK? So I hauled my daughter out on the patio tonight and talked to her about this. Thankfully she thinks Eminem is an asshole and does not think these lyrics are alright - but what about other girls her age? Do they? I think it's time for some real uproar here. I would like to see young women everywhere banding together to protest such demeaning, anti-feminist, unempowering thoughts on the airwaves. When I looked at a few websites with comments about this song, I was even further horrified at how many listeners thought this song was "awesome." Was I missing something? Do young women find these lyrics acceptable? Did Rihanna not just escape an abusive relationship? What would possess her to sing this song? Help me out here folks. I don't get it. I started to think maybe the whole idea of "freedom of speech" was at the core of this. Maybe it has something to do with that - admitting sado-masochistic leanings as some sort of freeing anthem. The same sort of attitude that goes along with the idea of oral sex not being "real sex". The things I hear about today's teens equating fellatio with nothing more than a good night kiss. I hear this stuff and think - maybe it's not that prevalent and it's more urban legend than reality. But the more I hear, the more I wonder if I am naive now. I find it depressing and sad and if that makes me seem old than so be it. I feel sorry for any young person that views intimacy between two people to be so void of emotion or connection that they place little or no value on it. Is there an entire segment of this generation that have separated love and sex so completely that their hearts have become frozen to the potential of genuine love? I question. I ponder. I wonder. Maybe they need to consider doing this too. Question. Ponder. Wonder. The answers might come.

The August of my Life?

2010-08-02T10:43:00.008-04:00

How is it that it is August already? Summer is waning and I feel as though I have barely gotten into it. My legs are finally a shade darker than neon white (thanks to gradual self-tanning creams), my daughter has gone and come home from summer camp, the garden shops are starting to stock fall mums and I have eaten the first corn and tomatoes of the season.

All signs of endings, not beginnings.

Kind of like mid-life. My own personal August for all intents and purposes started a couple of years ago I figure. Suddenly it started requiring far more "maintenance" to remain looking like January to June and not July to December. I have to work out harder, eat less, drink less, sleep more ( as difficult as that seems to be), fuss longer with my hair and make-up and spend more at the salon than I did in the first half of the game.

I notice that when some women reach November and December in their lives, they actually start spending less as it must seem hopeless at that point. Why bother? I don't think I will be one of them. Every now and again I bump into a November or December gal who still works hard at pulling herself together and I admire her - "that will be me," I think to myself. "I won't let myself look like the women in my hair salon with that "old lady" hair.

You know - the ones who get their white hair permed and then go for a weekly "set". It looks like a tightly curled helmet. Just shoot me if I ever look like that. There is one woman in her late seventies that still looks hip and every time I see her, I congratulate her for not giving in. She still sports a spiky cropped do that requires a bit of "product" to make it stand up and she easily shaves ten years off with that style. She also still wears jeans and has not given in to the polyester, elasticized waist pants that so many others her age seem to have done.

I am forever inspired by that paparazzi photo that was taken of Helen Mirren a few years back in her red two-piece bathing suit at 63. She looked fabulous and if she can do it, so can I! It is a fact of life that it is easier for men. Case in point - the photos in the news today of Bill Clinton at his daughter's wedding. We look at his white hair and his sagging jowls and think - "hmmm, not bad for an old guy." However, we look at Hilary and all we see are her flaws. Kind of like we do to ourselves. Some days, I can look at myself in the mirror and see the same face I have seen my whole life and skip out of the bathroom full of vim and vigour, but some days I pause too long and start to examine the fine lines and start pushing and pulling my face this way and that to see what I might look like with a little nip here or a tuck there. Never a good plan.

I am finding it difficult to face the fact that I am in the August of my life. I don't even believe it some days. It's as though it has come as a shock to me suddenly, like some unexpected surprise I was not at all prepared for. I see old friends faces on Facebook - women from high school or university and for the most part, they shock me. Not all, but some. Do I shock them? Do they look at my face and do a double take? One thing I do notice though is their eyes - that is how they are still recognizable even if the rest of their face has become distorted by time.

And that about sums it up, does it not? The window to their souls. That's always still there. That part of them that is forever young, timeless and beautiful.

Amen to that.

Rake this meat over the Coals.....Please!

2010-07-25T21:42:00.006-04:00

I recently had new neighbours move in next door. I have not met them yet and based on past experience, may never. The house is rented and the tenants seem to last a year at best. The last ones seemed to be the type that would stay forever considering the amount of crap they hauled into the place and deposited all over the back garden, but alas, they are gone, along with their white plastic planters and lone plastic pink flamingo and I never even got the chance to say "hey". The latest residents appear to be a bit more tasteful in terms of lawn furniture ( I can see their back yard from the second floor of my house), and they also seem to have twigged to the latest trend in outdoor cooking. A return to the charcoal BBQ. According to a recent issue of Toronto Life magazine, this is "hot" (pardon the pun). As I sat poolside with my glass of wine tonight, the smell of their dinner wafted over the fence into my nostrils and evoked memories of childhood BBQ's where my father would drown a steak in Heinz BBQ sauce and as it would drip onto the hot coals, the aroma was wonderful. It reminded me of the kind of hamburgers I ate as a kid - juicy, medium rare, fatty, dripping, greasy and bloody delicious burgers - the exact kind you can no longer order in restaurants for fear of the dreaded E-coli that may lurk within. A few years ago, we bought a big bag of charcoal to take to a rental cottage that only had an old fashioned BBQ, but when we got there, turns out there was a gas BBQ, so we never used the bag. We stowed it in the garage and it has sat there on a shelf for about 6 years. My husband said maybe we should give it to the neighbours since they seem to use it. That's when I thought - NO - let's keep it and go and buy an old fashioned BBQ and just once, maybe, I can experience a REAL hamburger - the one I remember from 1967. I'll go and buy some decent ground beef from a reputable butcher and hopefully eliminate the threat of e-coli and I will cook it so that it is still pink in the middle and I don't want low-fat, lean, extra lean or anything associated with lean - I want the real deal - the high fat - regular ground beef that will cause the flames to fly up and when I bite into the finished patty, the grease will drip out and it will be soooooo moist and I will put some of that bottled BBQ sauce on it and I will be transported back in time. So, sorry new neighbours - you'll have to keep yourself supplied with your own charcoal. I am going to use this bag - maybe even more than once and I may even break down and grill a hot dog too (poison as far as my daughter is concerned) and I will top it with chopped onions and gobs of mustard and relish and if I want to really go back in time, I'll buy a jar of Kraft Cheez Whiz for good measure and slop some of that "cheese product" on it. The whole thing could be like a giant flashback to the sixties for me. I just need to find my old "I Love the Monkees" pop top that I wore to Expo 67 in Montreal at a used clothing store and I'll be tripping down memory lane on a hot August night in style. Care to join me? Call me - we'll set a date.

Same gene pool, different as apples and oranges!

2010-07-14T15:09:00.005-04:00

My daughter just called from camp. She sounded so full of joy, it nearly blew me away. She loves it there. It's an arts camp and the kids who go to this particular camp are kids like her - a bit different, not the type of kids she came up against during her 4 summers at your typical Muskoka-type camp. She much prefers the quirky, creative personalities she has met there and it is wonderful knowing she feels so comfortable with this crowd.

She was OK at the other camp, but as the summers ticked by, she became less and less enthused about going. Not the outdoorsy, athletic type that revels in overnight canoe trips and sports field activities, she never really got into the groove up there. A good swimmer, she never even bothered to go for the requisite "badges" as she couldn't be bothered. The water was "too cold" and she was not motivated by the "prize." "Who cares about some stupid badge?" she said to me one summer when I asked her why she had not shown them what a great swimmer she was. She is nothing like me. I loved badges. As a kid, I went to brownies and the more badges I got - the better I figured. I am competitive. She is not. ( accept when we play Scrabble - that is another story!)

She is not one for sports. I love golf, tennis and any activity that requires a ball and a target. Bring it on! How did I manage to produce a kid that would rather get a root canal than swing a tennis racket? Her father is also sporty. I can't even blame his genes. Sometimes it's hard to reconcile that I won't likely ever get the opportunity to show her some of my moves on the links or the courts. She hates riding a bicycle too. I recall when she was very young, getting one of those kid carts attached to the bike to get her interested. She didn't even really want to be hauled along back. We sent her to bike camp one summer - she could barely master it by the end of a two week session.

We have enrolled her over the years in soccer, baseball, tennis and gymnastics in an effort to see if there was even one sport she would like. Nothing. She did enjoy ballet for many years, but dropped that a couple of years ago, once she discovered she did not really have any talent or the body for Swan Lake. At least she learned something.

I think it is important for kids to have at least one physical activity they really enjoy. For her, it is swimming, but now that she is a teenager, she is all shy about her body and shies away from public displays of her curvy figure. My hope is she will get over that one day and just ignore her feelings of insecurity and go for it. As a parent, I have felt it was my responsibility to encourage and support her efforts at anything she attempted and I have, but now it is up to her as she gets older to take on some of that responsibility herself.

My job may not be done, but the time has come for my little fish to swim on her own. I hope she can.

Our National Obsession

2010-07-06T12:29:00.008-04:00

Yes, readers, (if I have any left), I am still alive and I do still want to write this blog occasionally! What can I say? Life just seems to have gotten in the way of late. So, I finally have a moment to devote to this and I am a bit stuck about what to talk about.

When in doubt, perhaps I should do what most Canadians do when they have little else to say - talk about the weather. I don't even think we realize it, but as a nation, we are positively, absolutely, nearly maniacally obsessed with our weather. Since we are in the midst of a "heat wave" here in Toronto, now seems as good a time as any to focus on this obsession. So here goes.....

Let's start with last night's power transformer explosion that left half the city without power for several hours last evening. The weather finally heats up and the grid just can't take it. KABOOM! The Kipling power station has an explosion that knocks power out covering almost the entire west end of the city from Bathurst to Kipling and a bit beyond. I work a little further west and all I experienced was a flicker of the lights but no full blown outage that might have resulted in an opportunity to leave work early - just my luck!

However, getting home was another story. Correct me if I am wrong, but if you go back to your basic driving training, however many years ago, we all learned that during a power outage, all traffic lights become "all way" stops. Do ya think many drivers retained this knowledge? It would appear NOT. The bullies just pushed on through without considering the cross traffic and the timid sat there afraid to go anywhere. Chaos ensued. What would normally take me 5 minutes, took 35 minutes and if everyone had remembered their training, might have taken 10.

Major intersections were manned by police, but the rest were essentially "every man for himself". Now, anyone who knows me, knows I am a fairly aggressive driver, so I applied the "he who hesitates is lost" approach and if some timid soul was off the mark in the "all way stop" department, well, I admit, I took advantage of their fear and moved on through. By the time they realized it should have been their turn, I was long gone. Patience is not one of my strong suits.

However, I am off topic, I was supposed to be talking about the weather, but this does all relate - sort of. I think many of those timid souls may have been affected by the heat. Canadians only experience this kind of temperature serge once or twice a summer or if they travel outside the country, so it takes it's toll on the aged and the youngest of our population. It's just too much for many. I will admit, last night, I was a bit knocked out by it too. I sat in my backyard in the shade and after coming out of my air-conditioned car, it was such an extreme contrast, I felt a bit light-headed. It was time for a swim. I am lucky. I have a pool in my backyard, so with no power and no A/C, it was a godsend.

I couldn't help but wonder how old Queen Liz fared as she carried on her Canadian tour, her pale yellow dress and matching jacket covering the full length of her arms and her stockings stuck to her legs - not a bare patch of skin showing anywhere. She probably couldn't wait to get back inside to the A/C and back to England for that matter. Wonder if she had a little sweat on her brow and wished she was anywhere but Waterloo and the exciting tour of the RIM plant. Surely, she would have preferred to be poolside with an icy cold Pimms or something English like that.

So today begins day two of the wave and "cooling centres" are available throughout the city for those poor souls who have no where to go to cool off. I sit here in air-conditioned comfort writing this blog wondering what it would be like to be stuck in the heat with no where to go, melting, withering, miserable. It's hard to imagine.

Do note however, I am not complaining. We pay millions of dollars a year to travel to hot countries to be in this kind of heat. For once, it's free, so we should just suck it up, slow down, remain calm and allow our minds to travel to mid-January - that's enough to make you put a sock in it.

No pool? Run through your sprinkler. No A/C? Find a nice shade tree, pour yourself a glass of iced tea, and chill. Just try to appreciate it.

And do the un-Canadian thing - don't talk about it.

Am I Carrie or Samantha?

2010-05-28T09:04:00.007-04:00

"NO! Not tonight Emma". That was my first response when she asked if I wanted to go to the opening night of the new Sex and the City movie. I hate standing in line-ups for one thing, and I am past the point in my life where it matters if I see a movie the day it opens or a few days or even weeks later. I know I will get to it eventually and my ego is not wrapped up in being "first"! Don't get me wrong, I definitely wanted to see the movie - just not last night, I had put in a 10 hour day at work, had closed a big deal by the end of it and all I wanted to do was come home and have a glass of wine and congratulate myself, shoes off, feet up and early to bed after that. However, not good at saying no to her, and the consequent guilt I would feel disappointing her, I gave myself a shake, freshened up my make-up, threw on some comfy shoes (gold Juicy Couture flats in keeping with the occasion - sorry - just couldn't muster up the energy for stilettos) and a little navy blue summer frock and headed out to dinner and a movie with my kid. So glad I did. It turned what had already been a good day into a great day. Dinner was surprisingly good - a piece of grilled black cod that was incredibly moist and delicious washed down with a perfectly chilled glass of Beringer Chardonnay, and a short stroll over to the theatre to settle in to watch my favourite group of gals and their various men for 2 and a half hours. Staying awake was going to be my challenge and Emma only had to nudge me once or twice about a third of the way through but I managed to hang in there for the eye candy festival. The clothes were awesome as always. The bodies were taught and tanned. The locations shots were appealing. Kim Cattrall looked awesome at 52 - the same age as me - so it gave me hope that I still have a little something too. Maybe not her bank account, but at least some of her shall we call it "enthusiasm" for life. You go girl! I know these movies are mostly fluff and fun, and I would never profess to describe them as anything but, however, once in a while it does a girl good to sit in a theatre surrounded by other like-minded women, (there were only about 4 men in the entire place) and share some laughs, some tears (although - this time I did not shed any like I did in the last one) and catch up with that fab foursome - Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda. Talk about a gold mine. They could probably pump out one a year and we would all keep going - just to spend some time with them. It is a bit of a cultural phenomenon when you really look at it. If you are not a fan, then you won't understand, but if you are, you know what I am talking about. We just can't get enough of these women. We want their wardrobes, we want their careers, we want their men (well, some of them) and we want more than anything - friendships such as theirs. The good news is, I have been inspired by their wardrobes over the years, had some career success, a few good men and some really awesome friendships. Hey, wait a minute. I don't need to envy them. I am them. I really am. PS. A combo of the two - call me Ms. Bradshaw-Jones.

Victoria - she may have a weekend named after her, but she was no beauty!

2010-05-21T08:58:00.007-04:00

As many of you are aware, I have been an absentee blogger for a few weeks now. My hectic schedule has gotten in the way not only from a time perspective but from a creative perspective as well. Just too pooped these days to write. This morning is different. I have four glorious days of freedom spread out before me. There was a time when it would not have seemed a big deal. When I worked for myself it was easy to create a four day weekend - I did it all the time. Now that I am "owned" by corporate America, those four day weekends are a faint memory. I only found out about my good fortune when the schedule was reset about a week or two ago, so I didn't really have a chance to think much about what I would do with my time off. I didn't rush out and make a plan, or book a flight or even contemplate the possibilities until it was really too late to do much of anything. So now, I have this big open window of time to fill. My husband had a plan in place weeks ago for a golf holiday with the boys, so he is off tomorrow for a week, leaving me and my daughter alone together to plot and plan. So far, I see a little shopping, at least one movie, a drive to my home town to visit the folks, and the odd fitness walk along the Humber River. I'd also like to fit in some gardening (aka - weeding), some organizing chores inside the house, a couple of drinks poolside to try and diminish the ghostly white colour my legs have turned over the winter and at least this one blog. I may get ambitious and write another before the weekend is up, but I'm not putting any pressure on myself to make that happen. I have had blog ideas lately, but nothing urgent enough to make me sit down and tap out a tale. One idea was about men who dump beautiful women - or rather - screw around on them and consequently get dumped. I have a hard time with that one. I don't get it. If you are a man and you are married to Halle Berry or Sandra Bullock or Elin Woods, what pushes you into the arms of another woman? I would like to examine the role beauty plays in relationships. We live in a world where beauty certainly equates with success in love, but when it comes down to it, obviously it is not everything. Where did these marriages break down? I think that topic is almost worthy of a serious in depth study - a book perhaps. A thesis. It fascinates me. It is the talk around thousands of water-coolers around the world. I must not be the only one fascinated by it. "She was the perfect woman! How could he?" I hear it over and over. Perfect. That is just it. There is no such thing. What looks perfect initially, never lasts. Is it possible to make it last? How do you dig beneath the superficial and get to the guts of a person, to their soul? What happens if you dig and there is nothing there? Is that what happens in these marriages? Are the beautiful shells empty or are the diggers looking for something that does not exist? Is their disappointment in not finding it what drives them to look for it elsewhere? As I ponder these thoughts about relationships in my garden this weekend, maybe some answers will come to me. Or did I just answer my own questions? Not sure. Stay tuned - I may come up with some more answers or maybe just more questions as my four days unfold. Right now I need to stretch and move and see about these pale limbs of mine. Later.

If Only.........

2010-04-26T20:24:00.005-04:00

If you are a regular reader of this blog you will have heard me mention and promote my good friend Cindy - aka - Halifax Broad and her absolutely hilarious blog. I continue to support her blog and encourage all of you to read it, if for no other reason than to be entertained and hear what it's like to be able to truly say what you feel like saying without any fear of repercussion from anyone. Cindy says what most of us want to say but are afraid to say. It pisses me off. I want to enjoy that kind of freedom on my own blog. But I can't. I can't because I have an employer that might fire me for speaking my mind, a husband who gets his feelings hurt easily, a daughter who would kill me if I embarrassed her, and family who would find it hard to take the truth if I started spewing about them. So what does that leave me to talk about? Diddly squat, most of the time. I have volumes of good material that is stored up in my brain but I can't use it. She laments the fact that she is single, estranged from her mother, self-employed and broke, but without all those labels, she could not write with the sheer and utter reckless abandon that she does. She is like the Don Rickles of bloggers. She does not care one iota who she insults, how politically incorrect she is, or who is offended by the things she says and that is what makes her soooooo worth reading. Sometimes I am envious of her freedom of speech. I was the one who encouraged her to start writing her blog in the first place. I had no idea she was going to produce the award-winning blog she does (Marketing Magazine's winner of the Creative Face-off award for 2009), nor did I expect she would become a contestant on CBC's Canada Writes, but she has and I am so happy for her success. As for me, I'll have to wait until I am unemployed, widowed, old enough that my daughter doesn't give a shit what I say anymore and all my relatives are dead, before I can really say what I want to say. Maybe by then, I won't feel like saying anything anymore. Who knows? I do know, I wish I could be more ruthless, throw caution to the wind and just fire off thoughts and expletives, willy nilly until I was blue in the face, but I won't. Not now. Maybe not ever. In the meantime - kudos to you Cindy - for having the balls to do what I wish I could. You go girl! www.halifaxbroad.blogspot.com Decomama xo

Finding the Perfect Pink with my BFF

2010-04-16T15:44:00.008-04:00

Over the years, I have spent many an evening with my best friend Peggy drinking wine and indulging our taste buds in some very very lovely restaurants in cities all over North America. We have been friends for a long time. Over 30 years. Last night we were clinking glasses right here in Toronto near Yorkville at a lovely little restaurant called Malena. We sampled a variety of wines before the wine steward finally found one that pleased both of our palates. The wine list was extensive, but contained a unique number of wines we had never heard of or tried before. Most of the labels we might have been familiar with were absent. He managed to remain patient and cordial with us while we turned up our noses at his first 4 attempts. On his fifth try, we finally both smiled and said, yes, that's the one. That set the tone for the rest of our dining experience and by the end of the evening we were completely satisfied and happy with the recommendation of the hotel concierge who had sent us there. It helps that my long time friend works for The Four Seasons and whenever she is in town, we manage to squeeze in a little "girlfriend" time there. They rarely steer us wrong and had in fact done a similarly stellar job the night before as well. Our "girlfriend" time has meant more to me over the years than you can imagine. We may live miles and miles apart, but we are never really that far away from each other. We have met up on average about once or twice a year for these adventures for the last 25 years or so. We have walked the magnificent mile in Chicago, shopped til we dropped in NYC, cruised the California coast from LA to San Francisco, teed it up in Texas, hit the beaches in Miami, discovered New England from Vermont to Boston, ferried to Nantucket, and hiked through gardens and rain forests from Vancouver to Seattle. We have covered a lot of territory. We have indulged ourselves with spa treatments, plenty of retail therapy and many room service breakfasts. In the early days, although I have always been grateful for these getaways, I don't think I really "got" just how precious these times were until more recently. They have always represented complete breaks from my day to day life. Hers too. For a few days each time, we are catapulted into a different world. A world of luxury and decadence that some people could only dream of. For a few days, we feel different too. We shop in stores we really cannot afford. We spend too much on dining out. We rub elbows with the rich and famous and when we see them, we pretend we really don't notice them. (Kate Hudson is even prettier in person - don't ya know). Every outing creates a new memory. And every outing gives us a chance to re-hash the memories of past adventures. Our story book keeps growing and growing and we never seem to tire of the tales. There is the "underwear incident in Nantucket", the "paper thong incident" in West Palm Beach, the "miracle face cream" incident in Miami, "the Guy Fieri" incident in New York, the "Bonnie Raitt, Cadillac and smoking" incident in Santa Barbara, and a new one to add after yesterday - "the white jeans, Hermes scarf" incident in Toronto. We have always been there for each other and I see no reason for that to change.....not ever. So thanks again Peg for yet another "peak" experience. See you in Austin later this year. Love ya. Decomama xo

Triumph over Tragedy

2010-04-11T19:18:00.006-04:00

And so another Master's Tournament comes to a close. The Master's is like the Wimbledon of golf. It's the one to watch every year. The course at Augusta is surely the most beautiful golf course in the world and the tournament itself is never without a little drama and this year was no exception. My schedule did not permit me to actually watch as much of it as I normally would have, but I followed the leader board in the news and caught the highlights every night. Instead of sitting glued to the TV all day today watching this annual spectacle, I spent the day golfing myself. A participant in the sport versus an armchair spectator (always preferable in tennis or golf as far as I'm concerned). I still managed to catch the last few holes when I got home, so all was not lost. I didn't have a fave I was cheering on, I only knew I didn't want Tiger Woods to win. I'm not ready for him to golf his way to glory yet. I haven't forgiven him yet. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Instead, it was heart-warming watching Phil Mickelson marching up 18 toward his birdie putt, knowing the difficult year he had been through with his wife Amy. Here was a man who we felt deserved to win. As he sunk that putt on 18 and headed toward the arms of his loving wife and family, it was as though karma had played out it's magic right before our eyes...our very tear-filled eyes. These are the emotional moments in sports history that one never forgets. Forever more, the camera-shot of a lone tear trickling down the cheek of the champion as he embraced his cancer-stricken wife will be etched upon our memories. Reality television at it's very best. Nothing scripted about a moment like that. These are real people with real-life problems. The contrast of one families jubilation amidst potential gut-wrenching tragedy brings us all one step closer to our own personal struggles and victories. A reminder there are no guarantees in this life and how important it is to try to live in the moment - every day as though it could be the last. It's not easy, but it's not a bad goal. Lofty perhaps, but better than worrying and fretting about a future that may never transpire. It lifted my spirits watching Phil and Amy celebrate his moment in the sun. It far surpassed the negative and disappointing Tiger Woods saga. Given the choice, I'd rather share in someone's personal triumphs over someone's failures any day. I'd rather my soul be fed. Phil and Amy fed my soul today. Hope I'm not alone.

This Picture Says it All

2010-04-02T19:36:00.007-04:00

I just took a moment to read my fave blogger's blog and she talked about exactly what I was about to talk about......time......or rather the little spare time I have. Since I started working for someone besides myself last fall and became accountable to a "boss" I have had to completely re-prioritize my life. When I had my own business, I called the shots, and things like tennis and golf and lunch with the girls were pretty much always scheduled in before work. That may have had something to do with the reason I no longer run my own business as I can see now that I was not as devoted to the success of my business as I was to my social calendar. I now find I have little time leftover in the day to barely keep my life running with a modicum of order. I look back on those years and realize now how lucky I had it. Why is hindsight always 20/20? Day's off are no longer day's off of anything. They are jam-packed with a list of errands, appointments and chores with the odd pleasure thrown into the mix like tennis or a golf game (thank god, or I would go insane), but I never have the luxury anymore of a "do nothing" day. You know, the kind of day where you hang out in your pajamas til noon, watch TV, muck around in the kitchen or the garden, read a book - stuff like that. I haven't had a day like that in months. I am beginning to feel like a rat on a wheel. I hardly ever have time for this blog anymore and I miss it. When I do get some time to blog, I am so tired mentally and physically, I can barely muster up an interesting thought or topic to blab about, so I don't bother. I have even considered giving up this blog lately, but I am reluctant to do so. Once in a while, I feel the need to blog about something. It is as simple as that. I hit the links today for the first game of the season. If you live in Southern Ontario and you are reading this, you don't have to imagine how awesome it was spending half the day golfing in the warmth and sunshine of one of those rare freaky hot days in early spring. It made me realize how important it is to make the time for this sort of activity. Not that I ever have to be coaxed into a game of golf. One of the things about golf is how it totally removes your mind from work or anything else you may have been dwelling upon. It is the ultimate escape - like a good drug without the nasty side effects. It is addictive however, make no mistake. I could have easily gone on for another nine after eighteen today. Maybe it was the weather, but I think it had more to do with the euphoric feelings it created. On the back nine, a turtle made it's way across one of the fairways and I stood for a moment and watched him stretch his neck out soaking up the early spring sunshine. He looked as happy as I felt. He was on the golf course on a sunny spring day and so was I. We were both lucky.

Pick yourself up and dust yourself off...and learn from your mistakes

2010-03-26T06:28:00.010-04:00

It would seem that Sandra Bullock has been weaving in and out of my psyche as of late. I watched her performance in The Blind Side last night and think it was Oscar worthy, although I still think Meryl Streep was better as Julia Child. But that is not what I wanted to talk about. I want to talk about what is happening to her. Not only has she been in the news with her successes, but her personal failures as well. I suppose "personal failure" is an unfair description, but if she is like most women, she probably does blame herself in some way for the crumbling of her marriage to Jesse James. Once the perfect man in her eyes, turns out he was nothing more than a lying cheating prick. She picked him out of millions of others that were available to her, so she must have been a poor judge of character. At least that is possibly how she sees it now as she takes her journey down the path of pain and humiliation. I journeyed down that same path once. My first husband couldn't keep it in his pants either. I was lucky he didn't bring much baggage into our marriage and left with little as well. No kids before, and none during. It was a simple even split of what little assets we had accumulated in our 4 year union and he walked out the door with his tail between his legs, muttering how sorry he was. The mutterings were too little, too late. I was, and have never been the forgiving kind. One of the benefits of a failed marriage I later learned was the opportunity it presents for self-analysis. It really almost forces you to stop and take stock of who you are, who you became during the marriage, and who you will never be again. That process doesn't necessarily happen immediately. There is usually a period of anger and blame and sadness that comes prior to that journey, but it ends up being the best part of the whole damn thing. I hope Sandy moves on to that part quickly for her sake. That guy isn't worth a single wasted negative emotion from what we can see, but she won't likely move into that zone quite yet. It was one thing for a gal like me to go through the agony of separation and divorce, but quite another thing for someone like her doing it in the public eye; millions of strangers following her along her path like voyeurs peering through her fish bowl existence. She has no where to hide. No where to pause and lick her wounds. The paparazzi will lie in wait for her first public tear, or better yet, an angry confrontation with him in a restaurant or her driveway, or some other place. I can see it now. The tabloids commenting on her appearance. Headlines screaming - "Bullock fading away - unable to eat!", or "Sandra spotted at fast food joint scarfing down burgers - eating away her pain!" What is it about someone else's problems that interest us? Why should we care? Celebrities we have never met become the topic of office gossip. We take sides. Remember the "Team Aniston" and "Team Jolie" T-shirts that made the rounds? I know there are folks out there who manage to ignore this type of fluff. They are usually academic types who profess to have bigger, better and more important things to think and talk about, but even they hear the news. We live in a society that worships celebrity. No matter how much we reason they are just human like the rest of us, we still can't help but be intrigued by their stories. Why are their broken hopes and dreams any more or less important than our own? They're not really, but they have risen to the top and we have a sort of sick obsession with observing their rise and fall. And the fall almost always comes. The pedestal we perch them on is never strong enough to hold them forever. They are simply human like the rest of us. Surely it is only a matter of time before we all fall. There are the likes of Obama and Oprah and Ellen - the ones we love.....for now. We loved Tiger and Brad once too. How long before everyone stumbles? It's in the picking yourself up after the stumble that creates the necessary change. Humans have evolved, but we're not there yet. Some of us, apparently more evolved than others.

Tattoo or not Ta Too, that is the Question

2010-03-22T20:43:00.012-04:00

As mothers go, I think I lean toward the permissive type. I don't have a lot of rules, don't enforce chores the way I probably should and I rarely have to say no to my daughter since she rarely asks for anything inappropriate or outrageous. She is a great kid. She is obedient to a fault sometimes. In fact she is far more rule abiding than I even expect her to be or need her to be for that matter. She does not hang with a fast crowd. She does not go to parties or gatherings where there might possibly be drinking or drugs as she does not feel comfortable around that sort of thing (yet). She is only 15. She is self-composed, happy in her own company, and mature for her age in many ways. Perhaps because she is an only child and has spent most of her life surrounded by adults, she actually does not enjoy being around a lot of noise and chaos - aka - small noisy children. If we are shopping or anywhere out in public and a toddler starts screaming, or a baby starts wailing, she finds it very annoying to the point she wants to leave the area. One of her great loves is music. Crying babies are apparently not music to her ears. I have to admit, I am not a big fan myself, so when she was a baby, I made sure I tended to her every need before she ever had to cry, 9 times out of 10. With no siblings vying for my attention, it was easy. She was fed before she got too hungry, changed before she got too wet, and hugged before the boo boo had a chance to smart. It worked for both of us. Silence reigned supreme. But I digress; back to her love of music. She is self-educated when it comes to various music genres. She may ruin us financially one day with the amount she spends on I Tunes, but we don't discourage her interest. She is not much interested in fashion or other expensive hobbies, so we allow a generous allowance for books and music, (books being high on her list as well). Most of her friends know little about the kind of music she listens to, and as time has passed, it has become her stamp of individuality. She thinks I lived through the greatest era for music and laments the pop and rap that have defined her childhood. Complete crap as far as she is concerned. To commemorate her love of music and anything to do with Japanese culture (another interest - think... Manga), she asked me if she could get a small tattoo for her 16th birthday. She wanted the small Japanese symbol for music (pictured above) or possibly the symbol for fate/destiny in a discreet location just behind her shoulder. She impressed me with her choice for starters. I have never been a fan of tattoos, but that is a generational thing and I know her generation think nothing of inking their bodies with expressions of their individuality. She said she did not want a "tramp stamp" (that was a relief!) (for those of you unaware, that is the tattoo just above one's ass crack). She had brought this topic up a couple of years ago. At that time I was adamant that there was no way any kid of mine was going to desecrate her pristine skin with permanent marks administered by some seedy middle-aged ex-biker in an unsanitary parlour with questionable needles. That was then. I have mellowed since. In fact, I have mellowed so much, that I decided if she really wanted to, she could have one even prior to her birthday later this year. Being the ever-obedient kid that she is, she scolded me, saying, "MOM, you have to be 16!" Hold on a second. Who is the parent here? The reason I gave her the go ahead now was because she was heading west to spend a week with my brother and his family. My nephew's wife is the only person I know who is what I would consider a tattoo expert. She has several artistic inkings herself and I figured she would be the one to talk to and the one who would know the best place to have one done. I was right. She knew of a very reputable "studio" that specialized in "tattoo art" and they even had a lovely website with samples of their intricate work. All I had to do was sign a parental consent form and she was good to go. I signed the form this morning and as far as I know, she will get her tattoo tomorrow. I hope it is not too painful and that she does not regret it one day. That is really my only fear. But she won't be alone. Now it is almost odd in this decade to NOT have one. There was even a funny line in an episode of 30 Rock when Alec Baldwin said he had an idea for the next big money-making venture of the next decade - "Tattoo Removal Clinics" for all those regretters out there in the years to come. You may call me permissive, but she calls me cool. At 52, I'll take cool - it sure beats "my mom is a strict mean old bitch." Any day.

Don't look back Sandy!

2010-03-19T21:14:00.006-04:00

How could he? How the fuck could he? Who in their right mind would intentionally fuck around on Sandra Bullock. She's pretty, smart, talented.....and bloody wealthy! Surely to god Jessie what's his name must have stopped for a brief moment before he rammed it into Miss Tattoo and thought - "Am I out of my mind?" But apparently not. Not only had she married the asshole, she had taken his 3 kids under her wings like the ideal step mom should. She publicly thanked and adored him for her Oscar, her Golden Globe , her Razzie, and whatever other awards she just scooped up recently. The woman was crazy about him. But that was not enough for old Jessie. Nooooo! He just couldn't keep it in his pants. He had to risk everything for a bite of the forbidden fruit. One of the girls I work with today had a theory. She pointed out how almost every Best Actress Oscar recipient in recent years experienced philandering husbands shortly after they won. The list is impressive. Halle Berry and Kate Winslet for two. She reckons it is an ego thing. They can't cope with their wives success, so they have to get stroked - quite literally by some piece of trash they just happen upon shortly after, or just before as was the case with Jessie James (stupid name too). How pathetic. Clearly, beauty, brains and wealth are no competition for the adoration of some no-name broad. I must admit, I always wondered what Sandra saw in him. I didn't think he was all that good looking and he was no match for her talent or wealth. Maybe he was good in bed - that was what I figured. What else could it be? He wasn't exactly a good catch. She on the other hand, could have her pick as far as I was concerned. She obviously deserved much better. As painful as this entire thing is for her, in the end she will be better off without him. We're all pulling for ya Sandy - fuck him.....NO - don't do that.....ever again, but you know what I mean - FUCK HIM! Maybe Tiger can fix him up with his therapist. Obviously he needs some help.

If it's Custom, it ain't CHEAP!

2010-03-10T05:43:00.010-05:00

For whatever reason, I was a little impatient with some of my "potential" clients yesterday. One of the girls in my office claimed it was probably because Mercury was retrograde, but I just think most of the people I had to deal with were a bit moronic for the most part. By the end of the day, I had a pretty short fuse and a phone call was directed to me from an inquiring (no) mind. His accent put me off from the get go, as politically incorrect as that seems, but there are certain cultures that are stereotypically and notoriously CHEAP and I knew as soon as I heard him start to talk where the conversation would lead. He wanted to know how much it would cost to make a custom made valance box for a 4 foot window and he expected the answer to roll off my tongue as matter-of-factly as his asinine question had rolled off his. Well, I said, in my forced patient tone, that depends on quite a few variables. What type of fabric are you considering? That will influence the cost. Silk or burlap? He did not know. What about the design? Are you thinking a simple rectangle or something more decorative and intricate? (likely simple like him I thought). He did not know again. And would we be doing the installation, or was he capable? So I told him that I could not really give him a price without knowing a little more about his project and that the sky was the limit really depending on his choices.

This was not good enough for him however. Still he insisted on an estimate. OK, fine, I thought - you want an estimate - here you go. "You're probably looking at a minimum of fifteen hundred dollars for a custom treatment of this nature but it could be much higher depending on the things I mentioned a moment ago."

"FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS!!!!", he shrieked into my ear. "Why so much?" Did I not just finish explaining why to you moron? At that point I wanted to tell him he could go buy some plywood from Home Depot, a mitre saw and a few nails and some fabric from some place like Fabricland and make his own and install it himself if he felt paying a fair price for custom treatments was too much.

However, in my ever diplomatic fashion I told him it might be a good idea to come into our showroom and have a look at the type of things we do and we could discuss his project in more detail.Where in his experience did he ever associate the word "custom" as a synonym for "inexpensive"? He told me a friend had referred him to us as a good place to have this done. His friend obviously understood "custom" but was unaware of his friend's limited budget and ignorance regarding such things. I hate time-wasters like this. Like the woman the other day who wanted to be able to finish off her living room with an assortment of tables and accessories for 2K including taxes. She was obviously in the wrong showroom. No matter how I tried to work it out for her, it was not gonna happen. I told her I would contact her when some floor models went on sale. It was the best I could do. Maybe these bargain-hunters are new at the game. Maybe they don't know the first thing about bargain hunting. Don't get me wrong - I love a bargain myself, but I know where to shop for them and where not to bother. And I would never waste the time of an employee of a higher end retailer with my idiotic questions that would never give me the miracle answers I was looking for. I don't go into Hermes and ask which scarves are half price or Prada to find a purse for under a hundred bucks. I know better. It's not rocket science. Someone needs to tell them. Please.

90 Days may be Rushing it!

2010-03-05T17:22:00.006-05:00

For those of you waiting for my "getting ripped" update, you may be waiting a little longer. The program is in my hot little hands and I have watched and even participated in a few of the workouts, but the part I am struggling with is the 6 day per week commitment and the sheer difficulty of some of the exercises. So.....I am incorporating some of the new moves into my present work-out which I thought was already fairly capable of getting me at least half-way ripped over time. This fitness program is HARD! P90X is not for someone trying to start a new exercise program after years of sedentary behaviour. I have a pretty active life, have been working out regularly and a lot of it is beyond me. I am not saying I am giving up - I am only saying I'm not sure I will be able to keep up - hence - 90 days to a "ripped body" may not work out for me. Perhaps 180 days or longer. And truth be told, maybe "ripped" is not what my goal needs to be. I am thinking, toned, strong, flexible. I must admit though, "ripped" just sounded so amazing. And of course, the followers in the DVD's - male and female are certainly "ripped". It's like watching fitness porn. Sinewy, defined muscles staring at you from the TV screen taunting you to work harder, faster and longer. They make it look easy, although even they break a sweat and have moments of trembling whilst trying to hold some positions. So you can imagine what happens when I try to do some of these things. Ouch! I sort of wish I would have gotten motivated in my thirties to getting and staying "ripped". It's harder now in my forties. (Did I say forties?) Whatever! Stay tuned - I may get there yet.

Silk and Crystal Tie the Knot

2010-02-24T13:07:00.015-05:00

As my house slowly returns to a semi-state of normalcy after a mini-reno, I find myself disinterested in re-hanging the old art or adding back the old accessories. I still like some of it, but I can't get excited about any of it. The trouble with a freshly painted space is, I want the rest to be fresh too and it's not. So I am procrastinating. I have leaned much of the art where I think it will hang. I have not unpacked the precious accessories or even the not so precious ones.

The new chandelier is the only thing I am excited about and it is presenting an installation problem. So it sits in the dining room bay window teasing me, taunting me, begging me to hang him. He knows how badly I want to see him dangling from the ceiling medallion in all his new glory. Each time I pass by him, I stare at him with longing. I yearn to see him all lit up, fresh shades attached to his tiny bulbs, glowing on a dark winter night above the old dining table. I find his presence there almost cruel now, as we try to figure out a way to get him mounted.

As I await the day he will hang, the dining table is cast aside so the moment the installation happens, the floor beneath will be open and available. Last night I used this wide open space to exercise. I laid my mat on the dining room carpet and stretched and crunched surrounded by the new open space. It added an air of formality to my routine that gave it a freshness I did not expect. It made me think that working out in a pretty room was not a bad idea and that it might even motivate me to work harder. It was enjoyable, but I'm not certain it made me work harder.

As I huffed and puffed, I studied the space and changed my mind about the new window treatments that I am about to introduce. So, in a way, you could say it did make me HAVE to work harder. Work harder at making more money that is. One of the things that has always surprised my clients over the years is the price tag on window treatments. There is no other way to say it - they are ridiculously expensive. Sure, you can go to Ikea and dress your window with whatever flimsy blind or curtain they have available at the moment, but to truly do a window justice, you really must reach deeper into your pocketbook. It doesn't matter if you do blinds, shutters, shades, drapes or something more elaborate, once you are doing anything custom - CHA-CHING!

With all of my connections in this business, even I cannot go cheap here. Well, I could, but it would not suit the rooms and as we all know, you get what you pay for. In this case, truer words were never spoken. Even keeping it simple is not cheap. An undressed window is just that. Naked. Exposed. It allows the sun to become an enemy to your furniture and carpets. There are instances where bare windows are desirable - but unless you gaze upon the Pacific Ocean, The Rockies or Central Park, I would not recommend it.

And the pairing of some silk panels with a handsome chandelier is a marriage made in decorating heaven that every house deserves.

If mine ever finally do walk down the aisle, you can pop over and see the new couple once the honeymoon is over. I want them all to myself for a couple of weeks.

Even if I have to do sit-ups in front of them while they get used to each other. Hope they don't mind me perving.

Totally "Ripped" or totally "ripped off" - time will tell

2010-02-18T22:19:00.005-05:00

I hemmed and hawed a bit over whether or not I should fess up to this but two glasses of red wine with my next door neighbour tonight has left me feeling all open and a bit "throw caution to the wind-like" so I am going to say it. I succumbed to an info-mercial the other night and tonight when I got home from work, the box had arrived on my doorstep a solid 6 days before they promised me it would. It caught me a bit off guard actually. I didn't expect my box of goodies to arrive until late next week which would have given me more time to psyche myself up for it, but now that it is here, I have to dive right in - tomorrow I suspect. I watched this particular commercial 3 times over the last two months, each time mesmerized by the testimonials, yet still leery. The third time finally got me and I picked up the damn phone and pulled out my credit card and placed my order. The promise of change is alluring, tempting, downright compelling. As I sat and listened to the converts spill their tales of how it changed their lives, I couldn't help but imagine how it might change mine too. Who wouldn't want to be "totally ripped" in 90 days? It is February. I calculated that by the end of May - that could be me too! Just in time for bikini season. There was even one 45 year old women who had given birth to seven - yes SEVEN kids and her before and after abs looked so awesome, I just had to see for myself if this fitness system would work for me. I am now the proud owner of the P90X extreme home fitness program. There are 12 DVD's in the box. Each DVD focuses on a different body part. My favourite is number 12 - Ab Ripper X. I may just skip 1 through 11 and go right to that one. However, I will try to control my urge to do that and follow the instructions so that I don't end up with great abs and a flabby ass. I need to balance the various workouts so that my entire body will be "totally ripped", not just my abs. My plan here is to give weekly updates on my way to this promised new "ripped" body and in the end, I will make my recommendation on this system "created for those seeking a higher level of fitness". Can she do it? Can she cut it? Can Tony Horton motivate her to never seen before levels of core strength, cardio endurance and that sought after 6-pack? Wish me luck. I'll keep you posted.

May you all find your Love Match this weekend.

2010-02-13T06:36:00.007-05:00

It's hard not to avoid thinking about love this weekend - everywhere you turn, red hearts jump out at you from shop windows, radio stations crank out love songs, boxes of chocolate in heart-shaped boxes are stacked to the rafters of every grocery and drug store. It's the Hallmark Holiday to end all Hallmark Holidays. This year in addition to the usual barrage of pink and red, the movie Valentine's Day was released yesterday. My daughter and I love nothing more than a box of buttery popcorn and a good sappy romantic comedy, so off we went to the matinee yesterday (she was off school) and tucked in for a couple of hours of escape. It did not disappoint. Cleverly pieced together, the various story-lines of the cast of characters kept you wondering and guessing and sometimes even though you could figure out where they might go, it was still fun and charming. I laughed. I cried. What more can one ask of a movie? AND.....some pretty decent eye-candy to boot - for both male, female, gay and heterosexual audiences. Director, Garry Marshall had it all covered with his all-star cast. With all that love ooozing off the big-screen, it got me to thinking about love and one partial Rumi quote that was used in the movie. "What you really want is love's confusing joy." I thought about that one, pondered it, and tucked it away in my mind until this morning. A strange thing happened to me recently. As most of you know, I play tennis. Over the years I have played with many club members, male, female, singles, doubles - truth be known, I'll play with just about anyone that can still hold a racquet, still see the lines and still connect with the ball. I have played with much younger players, much older players, and players my own age. It's all good. So when one of my winter club members started leaving phone messages to get together for a game, after ignoring his plea for several calls, I decided to call him back and set up a match. It started out innocently enough. He was someone I had played with once, and against once, in a friendly round robin. He was a decent player for an older gentleman and I knew he could give me a bit of a challenge, so I figured, "what the hell?" Much to my surprise, he apparently had more than tennis in mind. He not only wanted to play tennis with me, he told me he wanted to take me out for a drink after the match. When I told him (figuring he didn't know I was married) that my husband might not be too keen on that part, he says to me "What he doesn't know, won't hurt him." Well, I was quite taken aback by his cheeky response to say the least. It seemed he was not going to take no for an answer. To make a long story short, this man started to call me everyday. With call display, I could see who it was, so I stopped answering the phone. Eventually, he became so annoying that my husband finally had to answer one night at 10:30 (he obviously also had no phone etiquette) and tell him to stop calling. This man was not attractive. He was scrawny, hunched over, beady-eyed and apparently completely oblivious to his own appearance and yet he still managed to muster up the courage to pursue me, despite his obvious short-comings. I thought he must have figured he had nothing to lose. I had written him off as a sort of creepy old stalker until I digested that Rumi quote. After a little detective work of my own, I found out that this man was considered pretty harmless. Never married, known in tennis circles and not likely to be waiting for me in some dark alley one night. It was a relief to discover this information and I even spoke to him last Thursday at the weekly round robin, having told him the previous week, that his advances had been upsetting my husband. He seemed to have gotten the message. He may cherish the game of tennis, but what he is really craving as so succinctly put by Rumi, is "love's confusing joy." You can't really blame a guy for that. Happy Valentine's Day to all of you out there looking for love.

All work and no play.......not my idea of living!

2010-02-10T05:41:00.008-05:00

Over the years I have had friends and colleagues who have worked for American owned companies. It seemed to me they were always required to work harder and longer than those working for Canadian or other internationally known companies. One glaring difference has always been the American attitude toward vacation time. Vacation time is for wusses. The American "work ethic" shall prevail and ye shall work thyself to death for "the man" and your paltry pay cheque (or check, as they like to spell it). I know a C.E.O. who recently proudly exclaimed to a group of his minions that he did not take a vacation for the first ten years of his career with the company. He seemed proud of this fact and the group of listeners stood in awe of his proclamation. Was he for real? Did his audience think it was a good thing? Personally, I find that sort of dedication to work completely unbalanced. What about the rest of your life? Your other interests? Your family? Your health and well-being? Is any employer or any group of shareholders more important than those? The Europeans have it right. Plenty of holiday time there. Life is too god damn short to devote every waking minute to making money. Not for yourself or for the company. I'm fairly certain I will not want my headstone to read - she worked relentlessly for "the man" her entire life - what a trooper! Screw that. It better say, she worked hard, played harder and stopped to smell the roses....among other things. And where has this so-called "American work ethic" gotten them? They are viewed upon by the rest of the world as consumer driven, over-worked, over-fed capitalists who worship the almighty dollar - their precious green back - not so precious these days I might add. So I say unto you - my neighbours to the south, reconsider your motivations, do without that umpteenth pair of Manolo's, drive a less prestigious car, stop trying to keep up with the Jone's. Like I always say - this ain't no dress rehearsal. Life is for living and the time is now. Take a vacation. "The man" will still be there grinding away when you get back. Count on it.

What constitutes surviving, thriving and being happy? Damned if I know.

2010-02-07T19:05:00.011-05:00

There is nothing like being forced to empty a couple of rooms in your house to make way for repairs and painting to realize you have way too much STUFF. I had to pack up the contents of the china cabinet, a sideboard, an armoire and bookcases. I had to pack and wrap up decorative accessories, remove all the art, move out all the furniture, roll up the carpets and FINALLY get rid of the drapes that had been hanging in my windows since we bought the house that I have never liked. Now I have an opportunity to pare down the space after the painting is finished, weed out the art I no longer like, rotate the carpets between rooms and update the chandelier and window treatments. It would be nice to replace the furniture as well, but the budget will not allow for that, so I will have to live with it for a while yet. I help people do this for a living. I plan their new spaces, choose furniture, pick paint colours and try to stick to their budgets. It's easier doing it for them. I don't have any attachment to their old things. Banish them I can say. Not so easy with my own old things. I suffer from the "what if" syndrome. What if my daughter can use these old tea cups and saucers handed down from my great aunt and grandmother one day? How do I banish them? What if I decide I want to start polishing silver again - maybe I need to hang on to all these useless pieces of old silver. What if I start using that silver tea service when I'm 75? What if, what if, what if? I used to save old crap in case I bought a cottage one day. I stopped doing that when I realized if I ever did buy a cottage, I wouldn't want to fill it up with a bunch of old crap anyway. I would want to fill it up with fun new colourful stuff from Crate and Barrel or Pottery Barn. Screw all those mismatched plates and glasses - a new cottage would call for fun new stuff. We live in such a consumer-driven world. The work I do contributes to the hype. I struggle every day between wanting and needing. On one hand, I imagine myself living surrounded by all the beautiful things I see everyday and on the other, I crave simplicity. A minimalist existence with only the barest of necessities. Am I alone? Or does everyone share my struggle? Is it because of what I do for a living that creates my schizoid view of how I don't know how I want to live? I want to run away sometimes and leave it all behind me. Live like I did when I backpacked through Europe when I was young and unencumbered with "things". How did I get from there to here? I carried my entire life around on my back for almost four months. I survived. I thrived. I was happy. I did it again a couple of years later in the South Pacific, Australia and New Zealand. I survived. I thrived. I was happy. Now I have a house full of stuff. I do still survive. I just don't know if I'm thriving.....or happy. And for the record, I am NOT turning my old silver tea pot into a lamp - the way I see it, that's a stretch for even the most avid of recyclers out there. (see photo above for what NOT to do.)

I want Minnie Driver's necklace!!!!

2010-02-06T06:23:00.004-05:00

MUST HAVE the necklace that Minnie Driver was wearing in last night's episode of Modern Family. Did any of you see it? It was an awesome statement piece - bold, chunky, citrusey, FABULOUS! I just googled around a bit to see if I could find a shot of it somewhere, but all I found was several other female bloggers saying the same thing. Guess I'm not the only one who noticed. If anyone can find it for me - I am offering a reward....I'll let you borrow it once. Keep me posted! (It's not the one in this photo above!) Decomama

Hey Aunt Flo! Don't go away mad...just go away!

2010-01-30T00:45:00.004-05:00

You wake up, often in a sweat, you're sure it must be nearly morning and then you look at the clock beside your bed and think, Shit! Not again. For me, it's usually around 3:00 am. But sometimes, like tonight it was 12:30 am. Barely asleep for two and a half hours, I lie awake, wide awake. Welcome to peri-menopause. So far this remains my most annoying and inconvenient symptom indicating that change is on the horizon. The dreaded sleep disturbances without the benefit of the cessation of the monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Aunt Flo, that bitch, she keeps turning up and getting more annoying all the time. I remember the first time an old girlfriend referred to "Aunt Flo". I had never heard the term before, but it stuck with me. However, I'm not here to talk about her; I'm here to talk about the days, weeks, months and years that lead to her disappearance. Like tonight. Here it is, somewhere around 1:00 am now, and while the rest of the house snores and slumbers, I sit here, wondering if I will eventually feel tired enough to go back to bed and finish what started off as a potentially good night's sleep. Not one to resort to sleep medication, unless it comes in a heady red or a crisp fruity white, I have to rely on my own devices to head back to the land of nod. I take refuge in this blog, or catching up on email correspondence. When that doesn't do the trick, I read for awhile or as a last resort, head to the kitchen for the proverbial glass of warm milk. I am thinking I may have to head there shortly. First however, allow me to mention that I know I am not alone in my quest for the perfect night's sleep. Women my age complain to me all the time about the very same problem. Occasionally, when I am firing off emails at 3 or 4 in the morning, one will arrive for me from one of my peers, obviously having her own middle of the night wanderings. It's like a secret club. We all know we're out there in various semi-darkened rooms busying ourselves with quiet tasks so as to not disturb the rest of the family. Sometimes we have to change our bed clothes thanks to the "night sweats"; another charming feature of this stage in life. As an interior decorator, I often get some of my best, most creative ideas during these nocturnal awakenings. Some minor glitch that had been challenging a project during the day suddenly sorts itself out almost magically at three in the morning. Go figure. I think peri-menopausal women should be able to put in for overtime pay when you consider how many of us are actually "working" in the wee wee hours of the morning. But how do we prove it? Perhaps we need to start keeping a time log of the hours we spend when no one can see us. Still, who would believe us and who would really care anyway? So there, that helped a bit. I am feeling a little less alert now. It's chilly here too and I am starting to think about being warm again. Time for that glass of warm milk and my second attempt of the night to sleep. Wish me luck. Good night....again.

Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer got nothing on me!

2010-01-20T21:22:00.005-05:00

This is officially the longest I have gone without writing a blog.....I think. It seems that way anyway. One week. Seven days. Where did they go? I have been swamped at work, crazy busy at home (reno-hell) and just generally stretched in too many directions to find the time. Even now, this minute, I should really be doing about ten other things, but it occurred to me I might enjoy doing this more than some thankless chore, so here I am. I know things are bad when I am planning to go into the office on my day off on Friday as I see no other way to meet a couple of deadlines other than burning a little midnight oil so to speak. I have a client on the other side of the world in a different time zone, making things more complicated than usual. I have clients right here in the city waiting for elaborate design proposals by Sunday, and that, combined with the demands of family and self-preservation are posing quite the juggling act for me currently. So tonight, when I walked through the door later than usual, planning to get into my workout gear and hop on the treadmill, my inner voice said "no". It told me to get into my pajamas, grab a glass of wine and chill in front of the boob tube instead. So that is what I did. I have competed with my daughter at Wheel of Fortune, then Jeopardy and following that, I tuned into American Idol and ate a bowl of popcorn.....with butter. Sometimes, I find when I have been going full speed day after day after day, the day comes when I just have to be a slug. So it only made sense that I would ignore the dryer full of clothes that need folding, the bathrooms that need cleaning and sit here in front of my computer and hammer out a few words instead. But once I sat down, I felt so wiped out, I didn't really even have any clue about what to write, so in the spirit of Seinfeld, I have just written a blog about nothing. Did you notice? Hope not.

What's the statute of limitations on belated birthday celebrations?

2010-01-13T21:36:00.006-05:00

Anyone who knows me even the least little bit knows I have never been a big fan of the birth date I got stuck with. That's right - I was a Christmas baby - well almost - December 27th - close enough. Over the years I have threatened to officially change my birth date to June 27th so I could have a lovely outdoor garden party, dressed in a summer frock and a slight tan, sipping a cocktail by the pool. But noooooo, I am stuck in the week between Christmas and New Years', the dreaded week where I am completely partied out from all the weeks of socializing leading up to Christmas and trying to save one last push of small talk for a possible New Year's fete before the start of resolution season. Because of the inconvenient date of my birthday, many of my friends have suggested belated dinners and lunches in the month of January when my schedule is freed up and I might actually enjoy a meal out once the holidays are past. And they are right. So, in recent years, this is how it has gone. Mid to late January tends to be the time I join my friends for my birthday. Today was no exception. I just got home from a lovely dinner out with a couple of my closest friends and I appreciated it far more than I would have in December. This afternoon at work, the staff gathered in the lunch room for a little surprise birthday cake (actually it was fruit skewers with yogurt dip in honour of my aversion to sugar) with two candles (guess they think I am much younger than I am!) and it was a lovely gesture that although late, was much appreciated. Then, when I got home and checked my email, there was an invite from my tennis ladies for yet another belated gathering with them. Three different birthday plans on the same day, almost an omen to officially change my birthday to today - January 13th. But I am also a little superstitious, so I am not comfortable with the thirteenth either, so now I'm not sure if I should just go with my original plan of June 27th or keep it closer to the date it actually is - December 27th. Such a serious matter. What to do? What to do? So, I thought, why not take a vote? What do you think? Help me pick a date. Help me enjoy the next 50 birthdays on a date other than December 27th. Send your vote for your choice for Deb's new birth date. Solve my dilemma. Let's bury the old date for once and for all. All suggestions will be considered. (But only if I like them.)

Half of these cards are from dead people!

2010-01-10T15:58:00.007-05:00

There's nothing like being forced to prepare for tradesmen coming into your house to get you to go through your drawers and cupboards with an eye for ruthlessness. My china cabinet has been stuffed to the max for years now with stuff I didn't even realize I owned as it turns out. I finally had to face the bulging drawers and shelves because it had to be emptied in order to move it away from the wall for the electricians that are arriving on Tuesday. I hate to admit it but I am a bit of a pack-rat. I found partially empty packets of napkins with clowns on them from a birthday party I threw for my daughter about 10 years ago, an assortment of paper plates in groups of 2, 3 or 4, in varying patterns that I would not even use if I had to they were so dated and ugly. There were dozens of half melted candles in an assortment of colours that I thought I might use again, but never did. The list goes on. I used to scour garage sales for treasures. Many of the things I thought of as treasures at one time, looked like complete junk to me now. I had the boxes all lined up. Keep. Toss. Good Will. Store. I had no idea one china cabinet, one armoire and one bookcase could hold so much. I got rid of vintage linens I had collected. If they were stained, they went. If something was ugly or useless, it went. It was cleansing. There was a drawer in my antique bookcase at the bottom of the stacked rows of shelves that was full of old greeting cards - easily 15 years worth. There were so many, I could no longer open and close the drawer without a struggle. I had to take a trip down memory lane to get through that one. I didn't re-read every card, but I sorted through them all and pulled out the hand-made ones from my daughter, a few photos sent by friends of their children and the odd card that had some sort of sentimental value. I got a bit choked up reading cards from both my grandmothers, a great aunt and a few other old folks that have since passed. I couldn't keep them all - now they have been re-cycled - ashes to ashes, so to speak, just like them. The circle of life. I now have an empty drawer - a miracle in my house. Makes me wonder what will fill it for the next 15 years. It took me two half days to complete this task. Starting Tuesday, my house will be upside down for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, while the old wiring gets replaced, electrical outlets are added, the chandelier is moved to the right spot, the ceiling gets repaired, the trim and moldings are repaired and or replaced and a fresh coat of paint is applied at long last! By spring, I hope to have a bit of an updated living and dining room to come home to at the end of the day. Just in time for golf season when I will no longer care to be inside. Ah well, next fall when I head back in, it will have been worth the mess and chaos. I hope.

Limbo in LaGuardia

2010-01-08T15:05:00.011-05:00

Aaahhh yes, the airport blog. The blog we write whilst sitting bored waiting for our delayed flight. Today I sit here at LaGuardia in NYC waiting and waiting and waiting. I would read a book if I weren't so tired, so this seems like a much less taxing exercise to deal with my boredom.

The reason I am so tired is because of that third glass of Merlot I should not have had last night, but it was the last night of the Design Intensive Week and the girls seemed ready to let their hair down a bit, so I joined in on the fun and now I am paying the price. I don't get hangovers like I did in my misspent youth, but I do get a bit fatigued the following day now that I am a bit older and obviously not much wiser. When will I ever learn?

The thing is, the fun you are having at the time seems to outweigh the price you pay the next day, and so I occasionally find myself in denial at the time, when everything seems funnier and everyone is more animated and the lovely red liquid seems to be sliding down so easily.

We worked on this personality assessment this week that categorizes people into one of four types - Analytical, Dominant, Expressive or Solid. After completing the testing, it turned out I was an Expressive/Analytical - a rare combo apparently, as usually Analytical types are not all that Expressive. I was no where near the Dominant type and had very few Solid characteristics.

However, I think if everyone were to re-test after a few cocktails, they may find they are far more Expressive than they thought they were. Their answers would likely be different and their behaviour was quite obviously more animated than it had been before Happy Hour. I have tested this theory myself and found that I often feel much more creative in my writing when I have had a wee drink.

As we know, some of the great writer's of all time were complete drunks. I doubt Hemingway would have produced much of anything worthy of reading had he not had a serious drinking problem and I'm sure he was not alone. What is it about alcohol that allows our brains to free flow? I am not up on the scientific aspects and I don't really care about how it actually works from a physiological perspective, I only know it does make a difference.

So on my way back to my room last night I had this idea for a blog that seemed really cool and creative, but by the time I finished packing for the morning and getting ready for bed, I had totally forgotten what it was. Another casualty of the drink. So as you can see, the effects do not always produce the intended results.

Anyway, while I am sitting here at the airport, if the idea I had comes back to me, I will blog about it, but I have my doubts.

Maybe I will read my book after all.

It's Hard work, but someone has to do it!

2010-01-04T21:14:00.007-05:00

There's nothing like a cross-section of women away from their respective partners, children and homes to share a glass of wine, a meal and lively conversation. This is my experience this week, every night with a group of thirty women (well, twenty-eight women and two gay men) as I am immersed in my companies Design Intensive program at their corporate headquarters here in Connecticut.

For most of us the luxury of time away from our responsibilities at home far outweigh the intense course load. Most of us have lovely king-sized beds, masses of pillows and fresh crisp bedding to retire to nightly, no meals to prepare, no laundry to fold, no homework to help with and the camaraderie of like-minded women to share drinks, meals and stories.

On top of all that, we spend the days being inspired by all things beautiful and creative. This could actually be defined as a "working holiday". My most difficult task is fitting in an hour a day in the hotel gym, which I am managing. OK, so I miss happy hour, but my liver will thank me for that.

The great part is, and this is a secret, is that our spouses and kids think we are "enduring" the week without them, working and missing them and wishing we were home, when the truth is, the majority of us are getting a much needed break from the reality of our daily lives that require an outrageous amount of break-neck multi-tasking and planning to run even close to smooth. It's almost like when Martha Stewart went to prison. It was like a holiday from her crazy life, where she was able to find time to work-out daily, spend relaxing times creating craft projects with her fellow inmates and getting a solid 8 hours of sleep per night. She came out of prison looking and feeling refreshed and fit.

I am not recommending white collar crime to get out of the drudgery of housework and parenting for a few months, but let's face it, there isn't a woman out there who doesn't need a break now and again. I have proof - 28 of them right here, representing several American states...

and one Canadian.

That would be me.

An Ode to 2009

2009-12-31T19:14:00.013-05:00

Twas the night before Jan first, two thousand and nine, A voice deep within me said things aren't so fine, I knew it was time to make changes and fast, So I made resolutions and vowed past was past. Not sure what was needed, I thought and I thunk, One thing I knew surely, my life was a funk. The world was evolving, leaving me far behind, Social media took hold, it's what I would find. I joined Facebook and Linked In and started to Tweet, And old friends appeared in my life - it was sweet. Writing this blog got my creative juices flowing, Not long after that, my weight loss got going. The recession had put my business on hold, So I figured it time to make change, make it bold. The offer I got came out of the blue, It almost seemed really too good to be true. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I accepted their offer, sent my business south. Rejoining the work world, employed by another, Took bravery and compromise, now I'm one busy mother. The gains have been many, The losses much less, Life as I once knew it, Is history I guess. The changes I made in my bod, hair and work, Have bettered the Debra that here used to lurk. Two thousand and nine and the change that was great, Has been more than welcome, not a moment too late. So I say unto others, go boldly, go forth, Resolve to be different, Make changes for growth. You'll never regret it, change makes life more exciting, Get out of your slump, live your life 'stead of dying. Always remember, this quote I've loved dearly, Life's no dress rehearsal, now I see that more clearly. To you and to yours, Happy New Year, be healthy, May 2010 find you happy and wealthy. Whether you measure your wealth in dollars and cents, Or if success in your mind means something more, May this be your year, May you shoot, may you score!

How was your path to 2010?

2009-12-31T07:03:00.002-05:00

Check back here for my year in review tomorrow. Cheers! Decomama

Forget the sugar plums and pass the Almonds please

2009-12-26T06:27:00.007-05:00

And another one bites the dust. Christmas 2009 is over. This year was a bit of a departure from the last few years as I was unable to devote the full-on "Martha" approach as I have in the past, and "lo and behold", everyone survived! There are not several tins of leftover baking sitting around for another week that would slowly but surely be devoured by New Years. That's a positive thing for my waistline. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't recall EVER fitting in a work-out on Christmas Day in my life, but this year I did. While sugar-plums were still dancing in their heads (my daughter & husband), I was in the hotel gym, all by my lonesome, ipod blasting, sweating off the mashed potatoes and gravy before I had even lifted a fork to my mouth. Even after I indulged later that day at my mothers, I noticed I could still hold my abs in without too much effort and I didn't feel like I wanted to lay down and die after dinner. My plate was full, and I even had an extra helping of my mother's famous cole slaw and a second scoop of turkey dressing, so it's not like I didn't eat more than usual. I did. But then I stopped. I ignored the cookies, the chocolates and the ice cream. That would have surely sent me over the edge. And that has been my secret weapon all year this year. The elimination of sugar. White death. It has never agreed with me. I have always known it. This year I finally came to terms with my addiction and said adios to my personal poison and I feel soooo much better having done it. Now I have the rare indulgence versus the daily affair I used to have with my evil nemesis and the results have been welcome. Whoever coined the phrase "have a treat" when referring to sugar had it all wrong. It is not a treat when it lands on your ass in the form of fat, which it inevitably does. And sugar's close cousins - pasta, bread and potatoes are happy to land there too, so I have reduced my relationship with them as well. I still eat them, but in smaller quantities and less often. I have adapted the "deck of cards" theory with protein too. Any meat or fish or poultry is fine, as long as it does not exceed the size of a deck of cards. Everything else is up for grabs. I eat plenty of fruit, vegetables, nuts, foods with healthy fats like avocados, olives, nut butters and even the occasional saturated fat like butter on popcorn. It's all in the choices I make. It only took a couple of weeks of sugar withdrawal before I no longer craved it. It still tempts me from time to time, but if I cannot resist, I have one or two bites of a dessert or one piece of chocolate and move on. I know if I have more, I won't feel good and that is what keeps me in check. It will be nice to start the new year without the added 5-7 lbs I normally would. Instead of resolving to lose weight this year, I will resolve to maintain my weight and improve my fitness level. Now, if I can just find that fountain of youth, I'm all set.

You can open ONE tonight!

2009-12-24T06:14:00.006-05:00

One present on Christmas Eve. That was the rule in my house growing up. But which one? My brother and I would scan the pile under the tree. The gifts from Santa would not be there yet of course, but there were still plenty to choose from aunts and uncles and grandparents. God forbid you should choose a box that contained clothing or something you couldn't actually play with. In the early years, Christmas Eve meant visits from relatives, Bing Crosby crooning on the record player, a good soak in the tub, my hair curled into rollers for church the next day and the ONE GIFT. I recall choosing a couple of duds - some game I had never heard of or new pajamas, so each year I became more selective until I learned eventually that there was one gift I could always count on to please me. Christmas Eve always warranted a visit from Great Uncle Ken and Aunt Laura. I was in awe of them. They were childless and rich. (compared to us anyway). They never bothered with toys. They would come bearing gifts with cold hard cash attached to them. And not coins or one dollar bills. Initially there would be a fiver attached, then as years passed it became a ten, and then years later it became American greenbacks (they spent the winters in Florida). They would attach these crisp bills to a nice gift pack of Laura Secord Chocolate and sometimes there would be a little trinket mixed in with the candy. Once I got a little faux gold chain bracelet with small carved wooden mice charms attached. They had little leather ears glued to them. I loved it. I know five or ten dollars doesn't seem like much, but in 1963, it was a small fortune in my mind. I would spend days dreaming about how I would spend it. I recall one year when I was about 10, taking that money and buying my first LP - Herman's Hermits - There's a Kind of Hush...all over the world tonight. You remember the song...I hope. (If you don't, you're too young to be reading this blog). Their gift provided not only a good tooth-rotting experience, but the opportunity to spend the rest of the evening dreaming. Laura Secord chocolate was a treat back in those days before more upscale candy companies like Godiva arrived on the scene here in Canada. I even recall being impressed with how it would be presented, all wrapped in cellophane and ribbon. Not your everyday penny candy. And there would always be a good quality candy cane in the middle - not like the crappy ones that hung all over the Christmas tree, a solid jaw-breaking stick that could last for days if you stuck it back in the wrapper when you tired of sucking on it. My daughter continues the same tradition, except in our case she gets to open one gift on the 23rd because in recent years since the Santa myth has been shattered, we open our gifts after dinner on Christmas Eve. That way everyone gets to sleep in on Christmas morning and we have more time to get ready to make our way back to my childhood town and my parents house for dinner. She will have Godiva chocolate in her stocking and her monetary gifts will far surpass the five or ten dollars that so impressed me as a child. I wonder what she will have to say about it all when she reaches my age and if her memories will be as precious to her as mine are to me. Time will tell.

This one REALLY missed the mark!

2009-12-23T05:50:00.007-05:00

Last night I was painfully reminded why it is a bad idea to see a movie over the holiday season. Not one for line-ups, I put my aversion aside and lined up. The problem with that was, I lined up for an utterly lame movie as all the movies I am interested in seeing right now don't get released on the big screen until Christmas Day. My daughter was in the mood for a night out with mom however, so I said, "pick something we will both like or something we will at least agree upon". She had already seen Avatar last weekend, so she suggested some flick starring Hugh Grant and Sarah Jessica Parker. I had seen a trailer or two, and it looked mildly amusing, so off we went to see Did you Hear about the Morgans?. I do consider myself a bit of a movie buff, but I am no expert. I often like movies that have been panned by the critics and I tend to like sappy romantic comedies that are generally never considered Oscar worthy. Based on what I knew of this flick, I figured it would fall into the SRC category. I liked the actors and it was an SRC, so what did I have to lose? For starters, Hugh and Sarah was a bit of a stretch from the get-go. Separately, they are great, together, not so much. She has never been able to move beyond her role as Carrie in Sex and the City, and Hugh has finally reached an age where his boyish bumbling is completely unconvincing. I could see the pessimism behind his (now wrinkled) eyes and he seemed to be almost tortured at even having to be on a movie set instead of the golf course where he apparently now spends most of his time. The script was so pathetic, I wondered what failing film school student had written such crap. It was written and directed by Marc Lawrence (remind me to find out his credentials and NOT send my daughter to the same school). Twenty minutes in, I was nodding off as there was nothing to keep me interested, much less engrossed. There was zero chemistry between the lead characters and even less chemistry between the couple that were supposed to represent true love (Sam Elliott and Mary Steenburgen). Like I said, on a good day, any of these actors can pull off a decent performance, but this was quite obviously not a good day for any of them. I started getting restless leg syndrome about 3/4's of the way through this one and it was all I could do to actually finish watching this sad attempt at film-making. The premise of the film was two native New-Yorkers, a separated couple, (Sarah and Hugh) witness a murder and are forced into a witness protection program and sent to some small town in Wyoming where the city-slickers are faced with life in the country. The cliches abounded and there was not a single unpredictable moment in the entire movie. Even the mildly amusing lines were delivered poorly by Grant and Parker. I would have preferred staying home and watching old Sex and the City episodes or any of my collection of great Hugh Grant movies. In fact, it is just about time to pull out Love Actually - a Christmas tradition in our house. Just cover up the kiddie's eyes in the odd scene and you're good to go. Don't line up for this one folks. No need to hear or know anything about the Morgans. Trust me.

This Year, she came Back

2009-12-20T20:20:00.006-05:00

Christmas cards. Lavish light displays. Over the top interior Holiday Hall Decking. Christmas Baking. Chopping down your own tree. Christmas Open Houses. I used to do all these things. Now they are a distant memory. Welcome to the world of full time work. I admit it. I am incapable of "doing it all". For those of you who are - well - you are better time managers than I. How the hell do you do it? Maybe by next year I will figure it all out. In addition to my new job, I also decided 2009 was a year of shifting priorities. I decided to make myself a priority. Doing that has meant that many of the things I used to dwell upon, like my house, my garden and my family take a back seat to my attention to my health and fitness. So now my house is messy, my garden is full of weeds, my Christmas decor is a half-assed effort, there isn't a single fattening Christmas cookie in the Santa cookie jar and my Christmas cards might not arrive until the New Year. Will the world come to an end? Will my family starve without chocolate macaroons or pecan shortbread? Will my friends suffer from open house withdrawal? The obvious answer is no, no and no. But I will likely live longer, look better and I do feel 10 years younger. Despite how difficult it has been for me to shift the priorities, I am pretty sure my new "to do" list will be the better path for me, my family and my friends. The old Deb is back and she likes it. Hope you all do too.

I'll settle for a two-pack

2009-12-18T09:52:00.005-05:00

So I was just about to step on the treadmill to work off last night's party and figured I would take a minute to blog a weight update. As we all know, this is the absolute hardest time of the year to stick to a healthy eating plan, but last night was the last official Christmas Party I have been invited to with the exception of Christmas Day at my mothers, so I think I can safely say I made it through without too much damage. I just stepped on the scale and I am up two pounds. Not bad considering I have five fetes under my belt. As one friend's husband once said, "that's nothing more than a good dump". Crass as that sounds, he is not far off. I prefer to sweat them off and with any luck, I may be back in fighting form by Sunday. Just picked up a copy of a magazine I have never read - Oxygen, a women's fitness magazine. If the women in this rag don't inspire you, nothing ever will. I haven't seen that many female six-packs in one place in my life! I thought I was looking OK until I flipped through this collection of photos. I used to think buff and pumped up women looked almost alien, but these gals look hot. If I could even get half way to where they are, I would be ecstatic. A two or four pack maybe. They make it seem possible. However, upon closer inspection, I noted that the majority of the ads in this magazine are for over the counter weight loss pills, protein powders and concoctions I didn't even know existed. Surely steroid use is common in this crowd as well. One product called MPower claims to be the "only supplement designed to immediately stimulate mitochondrial biogenesis - a natural "energizing" process that burns fat and increases energy. Wow - send me a case of it! The woman in the photo is a mass of tanned muscles - surely a result of quaffing back this stuff every day. Yeah right - and 4 hours a day in the gym. The ad doesn't mention that though. I didn't know it existed, but apparently there are women who work as "fitness models". That's right. They are used exclusively for these types of ads and so that is their job - to look fit and tanned and muscled for a living. Well, shit, I could look like that if I had all that time to spend in the gym every day too. It's like the winners on the Biggest Loser. They spend 6-8 hours working out every day - who wouldn't lose weight rapidly? As it is, I struggle to find an hour a day for my fitness regimen. I'm down to 2 hours a week of tennis and golf is now just a pleasant memory until next spring. I could do more I suppose, but when would I find time for the rest of my life? When is what we are finally good enough? I'll let you know when I figure that out.