Potty Training 101

"GEEZ," I thought.....not AGAIN!  How is it that twice in one week, I have been witness to men urinating in public?  Kid you not, twice!  I am not talking about some dude off in the shrubs next to a roadside, trying to conceal his activity.  NO, I am talking about just off the sidewalk, within perfect view of my driver's seat, relieving himself on a wall in one case and a tree in another. 

Did someone forget to send me the memo that this was the latest trend?  The first one had just stopped and whipped it out next to the sidewalk and was watering a maple tree, and the second one had stopped on the QEW, between Erin Mills Parkway and Mississauga Road in traffic that was literally crawling, so I actually was almost stopped beside him and he was not even trying to be discreet at all.  OK, fellas, just because you CAN, does not mean you SHOULD.  Seriously, if you are going to do it, at least have a modicum of modesty and hide "behind" the tree or your car or whatever is available to shield your act from the public eye.

Maybe it just annoys me that women do not have this luxury.  Our bladders can be bursting and there is no way we are stopping at the side of the highway, unless there is something really good we can hide behind, like a forest or thick brush.  Even then, it is would be a last resort.  Once when I was hitching through Europe, my travel buddy was desperate in the back seat of a car doing 100 MPH on the German Autobahn and she finally pulled a thick towel out from her backpack and stuffed it down her jeans and let it go.  It was better than trying to communicate her need to the driver who could not speak English and then what?  Stop at the side of that road? 

Then of course, even if we do have the occasional back to nature experience, there is the dreaded splash back to deal with, or the event takes way longer than you anticipated and your thighs are starting to shake having held them in the squat position for way too long, and you just slightly elevate your ass and inevitably, it is just a little too far and then your stream changes direction and your shoes or socks or both end up with wet spots.  There just is no way to do it in a dignified manner, no matter how hard you try. 

Hopefully my recent viewings were just a co-incidence, not a trend.  I think peeing in private is really the way it should be gentlemen.  And in case you were wondering, it is NOT sexy and it won't work as a chick magnet, in case you thought it might.  In fact, it will totally ruin any chance you might have had - so hold it buster.  Just like we do.  A little suffering might do you some good.  See what it's like for us.  And that's nothing compared to giving birth....don't even get me started down that road.

Toilets were invented for a reason.  As were urinals.  Shit - you even have two choices!  What more do you want?

The dreaded Hunt Begins......

Although it is officially still winter according to the calender, the temperatures here in Toronto are anything but seasonal.  There is a palpable early spring fever in the air with temps soaring in the high teens and there is even talk of 20 in a few days.  It seems I barely had a chance to wear my full length winter coat this year, let alone gloves and hats.  The clothing shops are bursting with spring fashions and so inevitably a girl's thoughts turn to that annual elusive wardrobe essential.....the perfect "white pant"!

Ugh!

Does it exist ladies?  I know for those of you with small asses and thin legs, it does exist.  It probably does not even phase you.  But for any woman with a bit of curvature, the white pant is akin to the perfect bathing suit.  Case in point.  A couple years ago, my BFF and I set off on a mission to find the perfect white jean.  In our minds, we saw ourselves slipping into said trend with the ease of kid gloves on a freshly manicured hand.  What we got instead was an afternoon of stuffing our butts and thighs into something more like ground meat into sausage casings.  A white jean can turn an already slightly heavy leg into something that looks like a candidate for The Biggest Loser's next season.  How is this possible? 

The obvious answer is the colour.  It's not black. Or even dark denim.  It is glaring, neon, bright, flashy, in your face WHITE! And it will emphasize the tiniest of flaws on any butt or thigh, even if you do think you look pretty good in your Lululemon yoga pants.  The truth is, you almost really need to be "underweight" to pull off a tight white jean.  Not to mention you need to be at LEAST 5' 6" or taller.  My unfortunate 5' 3" body has legs to match and even if I sport a really high heel, the white jean is just not doing me any favours.

So, a compromise is in order I figure.....the white pant.  This is NOT a jean, but a perfectly cut pair of dress pants that drape ever so softly past my hip and do NOT hug my thigh, or my calves and are barely off the floor with a pair of wedge sandals.  They may or may not be lined.  They could be linen, but then you have the wrinkle issues.  Ideally they are in a mid-weight soft drapey fabric, have a flat front, a side zip perhaps and make me feel elegant and almost wispy as I stroll through the world.  They feel cool, never hot, and they hug my bottom ever so slightly, but not too tight and the real key to them looking amazing is the right undergarment.  No VPL EVER!  This in itself is a challenge to pull off.  You can't wear a bikini pantie.  You can't wear a white pantie. It has to be beige so it sort of disappears.  The goal is to look as though you are wearing nothing underneath, yet your arse cheeks appear as though they are perfectly smooth and rounded just like nature intended.  (never mind that nature blew it - the perfect pantie will fix that). 

With all this early warm weather, the hunt is on.  That white pant is out there.  I know it is.  And that brings me to size.  Sometimes, as much as we hate to do it, sometimes we have to go UP a size for this perfect white pant.  What looks awesome in black in a size 6, somehow looks too tight in white.  This only adds to the angst of the hunt.  No woman wants to go up a size.  It is an admission of failure.  A defeat.  A "godammit, I did not work out this hard for this!"  Who among us does not have a variety of sizes in our closets?  Some are the fault of the manufacturers - some just fit smaller or larger.  But most as we know are the fault of that unsolicited bread basket on the bistro table, or the three birthday cakes at work in one week, or the forgotten promise to only drink on weekends....c'mon we all know the culprits. 

But the white pant - that's where all bets are off.  It requires weeks of stellar food control, no missed workouts and often going to bed feeling a little hungry and trying to ignore it.  That is if you want them to look great.  If you will settle for OK or good, then go ahead and misbehave.  I do have a little incentive this year though.  I was in my favourite shop a couple of weeks ago and I tried on a top that was part of the new spring collection.  I tried it on with jeans as well as with a black pant and it looked good.  The shop manager and style guru came over and said, "fabulous colour on you Deb, you should see how it looks with white".  That did it.  She brought a pair of white pants over and just held them against the top and I was sold.  Now the top would never look good with anything BUT white.

So, 5 more pounds to go before the intense hunt begins.  I have to now.

I have nothing to wear with the top!

Ignite the Light and Let it Shine

I love views.   I also love vignettes.  Lately the views from my 16th floor have been so breathtaking, I am constantly on the balcony capturing it with my pathetic little camera when what I really need is to be hauling out my old Nikon FG that I got as a graduating present from my parents when I got my Journalism degree from Ryerson in 1985 and my plan was to travel the world and work as a photojournalist. 

That dream never came to fruition, but some of that spirit still lingers on inside me to this day.  The little Samsung digital camera I carry around everywhere with me in my purse is fine for taking shots of client's "before" pictures and candid party shots, but to be able to really take some great photos of nature and the moonlight over the lake, I need to step it up a few notches.  I may re-visit that one day, but for now I  just want to savour this view everyday from now until my lease expires in a few months.  I will miss this place more than I care to admit, but I cannot stay here.  It was only meant to be a temporary pit-stop from the get-go and it has been so great in so many ways, but the time to move on will be upon me soon.

As I sit writing this blog at my kitchen island, I can see the downtown skyline all lit up, the twinkling city lights in the distance, the full moon over the lake, its shimmering path along the water to the shoreline so mesmerizing and romantic - all of it such a visual feast that never grows tired.  Since I was only leasing, I never invested in window coverings of any sort and even if I owned it, I would not bother.  I have complete privacy here, no buildings for miles - a totally unobstructed view.  There are blinds in the bedrooms more for room darkening than anything else, but the rest of the space is open to the world.  I love that.  In this case, I can see out, but only the birds can see in.  The odd passing gull or on a really windy day, some debris might float by. Today, there was actually a plastic bag blowing around and it made me think of that line in that Katy Perry song ...."do you ever feel like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind, wanting to start again". 

That is what these past eight months have been like for me in a way.  Initially I felt so ungrounded, my security blankets all snatched away from me, but as the months have passed, the security blankets are still MIA, but I am overcoming the fear that goes along with that somewhat.  Now, the other lines in that song seem more in line with how I am moving forward with my life. It is, afterall, a song of empowerment. "Baby, you're a firework, c'mon let your colours burst."  Yeah, that is more like it now.  Even my wardrobe reflects this change.  I find myself attracted to bold bright colours and when I put them on, I feel alive and powerful.  I like it. "Flamingo Red" - that's what the tag said on a jacket I bought.  "Volcanic" - a lipstick colour I purchased. "Lime Sorbet" - a slinky wrap I wear. 

I decorated my space with hits of raspberry pink and bright leafy green with ivory and black as the anchors.  Talk about letting my colours burst!  So, just a few more months to go before moving again.  Looking forward to that other line......"after a hurricane, comes a rainbow."

Less drifting in the wind and more colours - sounds good to me.

Therapy in Motion

I cannot work-out without my Ipod.  Every now and again I run out of juice in the battery in the middle of my workout and that's it.  I can't go on.  The only thing that  keeps me moving is the music.  I try to conceal the fact that I am actually moving my legs and body on the treadmill to the beat of whatever song is playing in my ear buds, lest anyone think I am actually having fun.

Remember that scene in the movie Saturday Night Fever where John Travolta's character is walking down the street swinging his paint can and strutting to the sound of some Bee Gee's tune.  Yeah, that scene.  That is me working out.  Every move is choreographed in my head, even if I am just walking really fast uphill on the treadmill, it is to a beat.  If a song comes on that is too slow or I am not feeling it, I skip ahead or back. 

Some nights or days, depending on when I go to the gym in my building, I am sometimes alone in there and that is when I can really enjoy my workout.  When I start my free weight routine in front of the mirrored wall, I intersperse my reps with a few dance moves that I learned taking jazz classes in my youth.  I feel just like I did back then, 16, limber, strong and so in touch with my body, it's like a feeling of complete wholeness, physical synchronicity - nirvana -just me and the music and the energy, not unlike sex actually.  Good sex. Really good sex.

Sometimes I think I missed my calling.  I wish I would have taken dance more seriously growing up.  I really feel in my element when I am immersed in movement and music. I get a similar high watching some forms of dance as well.  Watching an incredibly toned and muscled body moving in ways I could only dream of now - in time with some perfectly chosen musical composition can bring tears to my eyes. I am transported in that moment of sheer perfection to a place where time stands still and nothing else matters.  Hmmmm. That is sounding like sex again.  Good sex.  Really good sex.

So back to the work-out.  I know this was going somewhere.  At least I think it was.  I have also become uninhibited in the gym.  By this I mean, if I am on the treadmill and some music motivates me to break out into some boxing moves, I just let er rip.  The people around me likely think I am completely wacko but I don't give a shit.  It really ramps up my heart rate to be walking uphill fast and punching the air at the same time.  It may look a bit crazy, but it feels good and there is one song that just cries out to me every time to break out in that move, so I do.  If there is someone who has pissed me off that day, I even imagine I am punching them in the face and that is particularly good for any stress I may have on any given day.  If you have any anger issues, I highly recommend this move - try it - it really works well.  Better than alcohol or any other stimulant you may turn to - food, drugs, whatever - it's a real physical release.  Almost like sex. Really good sex.

And here is a wee confession.  Ever since I have been living alone again, well not quite alone, but more alone than I used to be, I dance alone alot in my condo.  I crank up the music and just dance and dance and dance while I look out at the world from my perch.  Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes controlled, sometimes out of control, whatever mood strikes me, that's what I do.  It feels AWESOME.  I used to do a bit of it before in my house, but not nearly as often as I do it now.  Think Tom Cruise in Risky Business, but way more feminine and no pink shirt.  And speaking of feminine - I bet there are some exotic dancers out there that could take a lesson or two from me.  There, I said it.  I do that too.  Alone.  And look out if I have had a glass of wine - it gets really good.  (in my mind anyway!)  Kinda like sex.  Really good sex.

Self-expression. Take some time for it.  It's like sex.  Really good sex.

From what I remember anyway.

Get Twiggy With it!

There seems to be no end to the organic twiggy trend in design these days and I for one, love it.  I recently scored this awesome Bill Sofield lamp at the close out sale at Studio B in Oakville and I was so excited at my luck, I could barely contain myself!  That is it in the photo above - it looks better in real life.  The base is covered in ivory leather and the actual twiggy part is a bit more gold in tone.  I have not put it anywhere yet, as I actually do not have a spot for it.  I plan to put in on the hallway console table I have yet to buy! 

Or, alternatively, on the desk I have yet to buy.  It is in my storage locker for now, and every now and again, I look around my condo and try to figure out a place it could go in the meantime, but there really is no spot for it no matter how hard I try. Crazy, right?  Buying a lamp I cannot use.  But I will, and soon. Either that, or one of my friends is going to get a really nice hostess gift at their cottage this summer!  Hopefully before the twiggy trend goes by way of the coral trend.  OK, so the coral can still work in certain applications - surely in your Hampton's house or your Caribbean villa, but in Toronto, it's a bit of a stretch.  I would allow a nice chunk on a book shelf, or one piece of wall art, but PLEASE, stop at one.  Don't repeat.  Even though repetition is something we use in design, that is not what we are talking about.

Same for the twiggy thing.  One hit.  Not twigs and branches everywhere.  There are some great twiggy lighting ideas on this website - take a look.  www.instyle-decor.com.  One wall sconce in particular.  Love this one below.

You could do a pair of these depending on the wall size and what you were flanking, but again, exercise caution.  Two could be overkill here.

 

As for my lamp, it will remain rooted in my building basement for now, perhaps it will be ready for its debut, its leafing out, so to speak in the spring or summer when the proper home is found. 

Perhaps a reclaimed wood console table base with a nice glass top.....I will be hunting.

If anyone sees one on sale, let me know! 

Oscar and Me

This will be a live streamed blog as I watch the Oscars.  It is now 8:47 pm EST.  The red carpet show is over and the actual awards have begun. 

First things first.  With all the dresses available in the world, you would think there would not be even one ugly dress worn.  But, alas, there may be a lot of money available to spend on them, but that does not guarantee the buyers have taste.  Or even an eye for what looks good on their own bodies.  My GAWD, what are some of these women thinking? For starters, forest/hunter green belongs in nature, not on one's body, unless you have red hair and alabaster skin - Glenn Close - take note.

On a more positive note, everyone could take a lesson from Gwyneth Paltrow - the best dress, hand's down - elegant, feminine, sleek.  And you can say, well, anything would look good on that body, but in her case, it is both.  She has the body to carry anything, but she also chooses the most tasteful gowns in the softest most luscious colours and fabrics and the simple addition of just a diamond studded cuff and big dinner ring, no earrings, no necklace - so understated - perfection.  Close behind was Penelope Cruz in her steely grey chiffon with that off the shoulder wrap neckline accentuating the sexy curve of her neck and collarbone and fitted bodice followed by the full billowing layers of silky chiffon - the ultimate princess dress that any girl would look great in, no matter the body shape or size.

Third place is awarded to George Clooney's girlfriend, (former wrestler! WTF!?), Stacy Keibler.  Maybe George likes being pinned down? Anyway, her dress looked like spun gold, draping her tall lithe figure like the designer just took the fabric and wrapped her in it and fashioned a rosette on her right pelvic bone - like those DIY drapery swags we used to do on our windows in the 80's, but much better of course.  Her golden blonde hilighted hair worn long and pulled to one side, the opposite side of the rosette, was the perfect balancing act and her chunky diamond drop earring that was so boldly exposed was the right weight and shape for her face and added the ideal sparkle and glam.  She looked exquisite. 

A few other observations.  Emma Stone - too much bow!, Jennifer Lopez - too many creases, Milla Jovovich - too much shoulder padding, Michelle Williams - one too many poofy layers, Meryl Streep - too much fabric.

Good to have Billy Crystal back as host - he is perfect for the job.  Never a bore, liked by everyone; his opening number is always a chuckle. He did not disappoint.  They could do away with the lame attempts at humour by some of the presenters.  They mostly fall flat, with the exception of Chris Rock who does not know how to be anything but funny.  But what is up with his hair?  Are afros back?  Did I not get that memo? 

The Cirque de Soleil performance was just simply WOW - what they are able to do with their bodies is extraordinary and as Billy Crystal so aptly put it, he "pulled a hamstring just watching!" 

Some of the winners so far, some artsy looking guy with long silvery/white hair won for cinematography and when he got up to give his speech, and the camera zoomed in, it surprised me that he did not actually have a face that matched the age of his hair, if that makes sense.  A good candidate for Grecian Formula if he wanted to look a decade younger at least. 

Octavia Spencer's win for The Help - no surprise there - well-deserved.  And, GO commonwealth countries - so far, Canadian,  Christopher Plummer in Beginners and just now, a Kiwi, Bret McKenzie for best original song for The Muppets Movie. 

Ok - time out - what is it about Angelina Jolie that annoys me so much?  Gee, could it be that she comes across as so insincere?, or was it just that stupid move she just made with her leg - as in- "look everyone - I have a high slit in my dress and I wanna make sure you all notice." Ugh! Gag me.  Brad could do so much better. And for Christ's sakes girl, eat a bloody carb! Your arms are positively skeletal, creepy really. You actually CAN be too thin - she did not get THAT memo!

Now we are getting to the part of the Oscars that I find the most tedious.  The last hour when I can barely keep my eyes open any longer.  But the hour where the most important awards are handed out.  Will I make it? Not if they keep doing the awards we don't care about.  Snore.

Now - the scrolling of everyone who died this year - still hanging in there....was Steve Jobs an actor?  Not in alphabetical order - they saved Liz Taylor for last for dramatic impact - it worked.

Now I start thinking about how early I have to get up and how much staying up this late will impact my day tomorrow. 

That's it folks - can't make it.....but George and Brad, head to head - really wanted to see that award.  Pushing through here. Here it comes. Best actor. Neither. The Frenchman - Jean Dujardin. I liked that film - The Artist.  He was great.  Brad and George can battle it out another year.

Now I am done. Nite. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........no wait  - best actress next - ok, five more minutes. This was a tough one - but Meryl, the queen, The Iron Lady - she was incredible Now I am crying. Either she was really speaking from the heart, or she is even better than we know.

Ok, Ok, one more award.  Best Picture.  And the oscar goes to.......

that silent film.....The Artist.  Thanks for making me see it Ems.  You were right.

Meditations on Design

How did I end up in such a quandary?  A lifetime spent admiring and appreciating design.  Fashion design, interior design, graphic design. Visuals. Lines. Curves. Forms. Textures. Finishes. Colours. Patterns. Art. Crafts. Creativity.

Beauty.

Beauty enough to make you weep sometimes. Beauty you want to surround yourself with.  Create a cocoon of it around you.  An Hermes scarf about my neck. A Barcelona chair in the corner. A Scavolini kitchen to prepare my food in. A Maserati to transport me to work. A Chanel bag to hold my lipstick.  Do I need any of it? No, of course not. Is it even possible? Some of it - maybe. (I do have the Hermes Scarf) Does it mean anything in the end? Not at all.

Then why, oh why, do we enjoy it so much?  What drives the world to covet these things?  Have you ever studied the fine details of such things?  The perfect and precise stitching on a designer handbag, the luxurious silk lining, the soft and supple leather, the well thought out interior details for function and the quality of the clasps and handles or straps? There is no comparison to a mass-produced fake leather bag.  None whatsoever.  So, is it really the logo we want?  Maybe for some, but not for me.  I am not fussy about which designer logo is attached to it.  I am more concerned about the quality of the item - no matter what it may be. 

I am definitely not interested in the latest and greatest.  I would just as soon find a fabulous bag at a consignment shop despite the year it came out, as long as it was well maintained and in good condition and the real deal, not a knock-off.

I did the knock-off thing once in NYC.  Ventured down to Canal Street and slithered into a low-ceilinged basement with some Asian woman in flip flops and baggy pants.  It was an adventure to be sure.  Seedy.  Illegal.  Creepy.  I bought a knock-off Chanel bag, a Gucci bag and wallet and my bff bought 3 bags as well.  We made off with our green garbage bag full of loot and within a year, all of our bags had either broken straps or clasps and were toast.  I have a lovely Fendi bag I bought nearly 10 years ago that still looks and functions great.  Living proof that quality trumps every time. 

Anyone with a sense of style does not have to have the latest of any collection every season.  That is easily executed with accessories.  Add those to your quality basics and you are good to go. Good design does not have to be out of reach.  You just have to be savvy and know where to shop and snap it up when it presents itself.  That of course is doable with fashion, but what about the bigger ticket things?  The kitchen and the car?  That may take a little more work.  But when I figure it out, I'll let you know...or not.

But back to my quandary.  How does one relinquish the attachment to these things and still work in the design field? I read a quote the other day - it went something like this - "Freedom belongs to the rich and powerful, or the artist or monk who relinquishes all attachment to things."  If that is true, then most of the world is living in that middle ground. Does that mean that the majority are not free?  And does not being free mean they are unhappy? Is it so black and white?  Can freedom only be attained at either end of that spectrum? 

Does that mean the entire group in the middle are either trying to become rich and powerful or shedding their possessions and moving to an ashram in India? What to do? What to do?  The answer I think lies in living in the moment as much as possible.  Practice being grateful for the things you do have and don't kill yourself trying to attain that bag or that car or that kitchen.  Stay open to the possibility that anything can happen in your life and that whatever does happen, happens for a reason that you may or may not ever figure out.

You don't have to own a Picasso to enjoy one - just google it!  Or frame a poster. Go to a museum and sit and stare.  There are choices. There are ways.

One thing for sure - I won't lose a minute of sleep worrying about it.

Not one.

Where were "you" in 1977?

When I ran my own business up until 3 years ago, I ended up on a gazillion mailing lists and a lot of it is still coming to me despite the fact that most of it is useless to me now.  I just toss most of it, but there is one that keeps coming that I continue to look at just because it is so inspired and beautiful to absorb. I don't know how I ended up on their list, but I regularly receive invitations to openings at this art gallery called Sundaram Tagore Gallery.  The invites are lovely to look at and are printed on heavy glossy card stock with stunning photos.

There are three of them, one in NYC, one in Beverly Hills and one in Hong Kong.  Even when I did run my own show, I never attended any of their openings although the thought of it always intrigued me.  They feature the most amazing artists and their spaces are all airy and open and I am sure their patrons are members of those city's upper crust, cultured and interesting, educated, well-heeled and pretentious crowd.  Mixed in with that group would be a scattering of genuinely unique and talented individuals that would attract me, make me want to engage in conversation with them.  They would provide me with some jolt of inspiration or motivate me to get in touch with my own creative yearnings.  I would leave the evening of wine and chatter renewed and ignited - I love it when that happens.

Recently I watched Midnight in Paris and anytime I read or watch anything related to that whole artistic movement back then, I long for such an experience myself.  The closest I ever came I suppose was when I was backpacking through Europe in 1977 and spent a day with George Whitman at Shakespeare and  Company in Paris.  I was a naive 19 yr old girl with not much more than a spirit of adventure and the desire to leave my small town life behind me and see the world.  George died a couple of months ago, his daughter now runs the shop, but I will never forget that day with him and the sign in his office - "To those who cherish freedom, practice equality and seek justice, Welcome!" 

Imagine the lessons I learned that year.  I started out in September and returned in December an entirely different gal.  It was the best education I could have had.  That afternoon with George was just one of dozens of life-altering experiences that took place that autumn.  So today, when I read something on an astrology blog that said for the next month we should try to reflect back to 1977, because something that happened that year was likely to repeat itself in the next few weeks. Since that trip was the highlight of that year for me, I can only imagine that whatever is about to manifest must have something to do with that same thirst for change and adventure perhaps.

I did something ballsy that year. I was fearless.  I had no real plan and not much money, but I acted totally on instinct and desire and went for it.  It was awesome. I figured it out as I went and just relished each new experience as it presented itself. I experienced wonder, joy, danger, fear, surprise, awe, growth and learned so much about myself and the world around me daily. More than the entire 18 years leading up to that adventure.

It was one of the best times of my life. Unforgettable. Life-changing.

Me at my very best.

So the question is - what could possibly mirror that? 2012 may start to get really interesting.

Just Try and Stop Me!

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

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

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

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

Just bloody be.

This one's for the Girls!

Everyone else should get in line!

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

The Heart of the Matter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is your figure less than greek?

Is your mouth a little weak?

When you open it to speak,

are you smart?

Don't change a hair for me,

not if you care for me,

Stay little Valentine, stay,

Each day is Valentine's Day

"My Funny Valentine"

by

Lorenz Hart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bootyliscious AND Organic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned.   

Taking a Break

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

Decomama xo

OK, OK, I'm coming!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

It's all Greek to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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