If Only.........

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

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!

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

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

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.

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!

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.

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!!!!

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!

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.