Shine on "Pirhana Bitch"

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

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?

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.......

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!

"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.....

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....

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

Ringo! Call Me!

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...........

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.