John Hughes Would Approve.....surely.

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

Let's get Philosophical!

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

Not a Typical Chip off the old Block!

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

Meeting on the Magnificant Mile

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

Lyrics that should fall on deaf Ears

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

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

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

The August of my Life?

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

All signs of endings, not beginnings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen to that.

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

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

Same gene pool, different as apples and oranges!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our National Obsession

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Am I Carrie or Samantha?

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

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

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

If Only.........

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.