Leafy Life Lesson

Ten minutes ago, a solar eclipse began its process in the sky here in Toronto and other cities along this longitude.  I decided to experience this astronomical event alone, meditating the wonder of such things while I listened to some peaceful music, Reflections of Nature, Zen and the Art of Relaxation.  The sun is low in the sky now, but has not yet set. The lake looks cold and  blue, the sky is clear, a few sailboats linger about before heading in to dock for the night. 

I am continually inspired by nature, the tree canopy below my window, almost full in its fresh lush spring leaf.  I picked a maple leaf off of a tree today, just to hold it and admire its newborn perfection, the perfect points, the almost translucent green delicacy of it.  Year after year, the same trees budding out and forming these stunningly beautiful individual works of art by the millions.  We take them for granted, all these leaves, as they start out so fresh-faced and hopeful before they are battered with wind and rain and the heat of the mid-summer sun and sometimes they war against more than the elements.  They fall victim to insects, or disease and if they are lucky enough to make it to autumn, they begin to darken, dry out and crinkle. 

But just before they eventually fall from their mother branches, most of them gather up the strength for one final show of beauty and resilience.  They wow us with a show of the most spectacular colour, holding on now for dear life.  "Look at me!  Look at me!  It has taken a life time for you to finally notice me!"  And we do.  We notice.  We spend October in awe of these now elder leaves, breathing in the heady smell of ones already fallen, crunching beneath our feet as we pass under the trees that start to drop them.  Brilliant reds, golden yellows, deep oranges. 

Artists paint them, photographers capture them, small children jump and play in the raked piles of them.  Their life has had meaning.  They have brought joy to all those who notice them, to those who appreciate them and they will knowingly return in their next lifetime to do it again.  They fear not the falling.  They accept it as part of the journey.  They were the lucky ones to survive what life dished upon them.  They reached their goal.

If we were to ask these leaves - "Was it worth it?"  Was it worth the strength it took to hang on, to battle the elements, resist the disease, suffer the insects chewing through bits of your perfect symmetry?  I think they would wonder why we would even ask such a question as they softly fluttered to the ground, back to the earth whence they came, on their next journey to feed the earth, knowing another generation of leaves just like them would return again in six months, nourished by these, their fallen ancestors.

"But wait, was it the journey or the destination?", I would want to ask them. "What was the best part?" And they would reply, "without the journey, there is no destination...and a word of advice, their voices would echo as the breeze lifted them, carried them away...the journey goes quickly, don't miss it."

Crossing the Finish Line.....First!

TIME! I just don't seem to have enough of it these days.  Can't remember when I felt so stretched.  I don't know how some women do it; women with several kids, a full-time job, volunteer work, all of that.

I work full-time, have one kid, don't volunteer and only try to say yes to invites that I really want to accept.  I have learned over the years how to say no when it means I will risk becoming exhausted or left with no time for myself.  This is the time that is being snatched away from me lately.  The all-important time to myself. 

It cuts into my work-out time.  This is not acceptable.  I worked really hard to get in the shape I am in now, which is nothing out of this world, but I am at a comfortable level of fitness, weight and good health and I want to keep it like this.  As soon as my exercise routine is disrupted it is only a matter of days before I start feeling sluggish, unmotivated, fat.  Nine days have passed since I last lifted a dumbbell.  I already feel less toned.  I have been flat out sick with a head cold and have had little energy other than to drag myself through my work days, missing only one half day at the worst of it.  It is amazing to me how quickly the deterioration can begin.

So, today is a day off and I had a meeting cancelled this morning which gave me a chance to write a quick blog before I set off on a good long hike along the Humber River and lunch with a friend.  Wonderful, glorious, precious time for myself and with a friend.  These times are really appreciated so much more when you are clamouring for it and declaring it more important than chores or other less soul-feeding activities that are hovering around in the back of my head nagging to be tended to.  Screw it.  My mental and physical well-being are way more important than scrubbing my toilet or vacuuming the crumbs around the floor of my kitchen island. 

I had dinner last week with an old friend who I only see every few years and when we get together, we catch up and it is like we never had any time pass in between.  She said something to me once she heard a detailed account of the last couple years of my life which has stuck in my head for days now.  She said,

"Deb, this is how I see your life.  The word no is just a speed bump on your way to yes."

Really?

I thought about what she said.  And the more I thought about it, the more her analogy struck a chord with me.  I suppose it means I am determined.  That is true about me.  I don't even like the word no.  The word no to me is like a gauntlet being thrown before me.  It made me recall several instances in my life where it was life-changing for me. 

The time I got a decline letter from Ryerson University when I applied to get into the Journalism program there in 1982.  I was devastated.  No bloody way, I thought.  This HAS to happen.  It is what I had my sights on.  We will see about this, I thought.  I called the Chairman of the Department.  He agreed to meet with me.  I pleaded my case, sold my attributes, convinced him I was worthy.  A week later, a new letter arrived.  I was in.  My friend was right.  That decline letter was just a speed bump.

More recently, I was declined by another landlord for a condo lease in this building.  He did not see me as a good tenant for whatever reason.  Once again, screw you buddy.  I found another BETTER space several floors up and that landlord thought I was fine.  No one was keeping me out of this building. 

Another time, a professor at Humber College declared the first day of classes that he never gave perfect scores on papers.  Really?  We will see about that.  It nearly killed me buried in research, but I ended up with 3 perfect 100% papers that year.  Ask me anything about the History of Furniture and I will likely have an answer.  Or, I could break out the 1000 pages plus that I turned in that year and look it up.  I still think I should make a coffee table book out of all those pages. 

Am I competitive?  Is that it?  My mother thinks so.  My tennis opponents think so.  My kid brother thinks so - just ask him about every board game, every tennis match, every race.  I play to win.  I am a much better loser now than I was at 8, but I still try to beat him and celebrate when I do.  We both do.  It's fun, we have fun doing it. 

I suppose I should sit back and analyze this about my nature and sometimes I do ponder it and try to figure out how much of my ego is involved.  As I mature, it matters less and less, but I have a sneaky suspicion that there will always be a little part of me that wants to compete. Nothing like a good solid fist pump between friends.....right bro?

Winner take all.....most of the time anyway.

Just Love this Poem.....

I stumbled across this today, and I just want to share it with all of you.  It is by J.L. Sanders.

Other Paths

There must be other paths,

More winding, tangled

Into sweet nothingness,

Insignificant

Sleeping hidden, overgrown,

Darker, deeper

Rock bound paths

Misted and rain drenched,

Where with one mishap,

You might stumble,

You might slip,

If you are lucky,

Into a real life.



Too tired to write my own words, so.....

Juan Valdez never had this problem!

I drive 25 kms to work each morning, five days a week.  You would think that somewhere along this route which includes city streets and highways in Canada's largest city, that I would pass by at least ONE Starbucks or ONE Second Cup (my second choice) but alas, no, I do not.  I pass by one "non-drive-thru" Tim Hortons one Timothy's (yuck).  This is a problem.

Why? Because the coffee at work sucks.  I only drink one or two cups a day and I need them to be GOOD cups, not mediocre cups, or weak-ass cups or tasteless cups - GOOD cups.  There is a Starbucks about 4 blocks from where I live, but it is in the wrong direction opposite the route I take and that would require me leaving at least 10 minutes earlier and that is entirely out of the question because I can barely get out the door in time to get to work when I have to, never mind trying to add an out of the way coffee stop onto my closely shaven morning routine.

I have to come up with a solution.  Today I actually left extra early so I could make the stop at the less than desired Timothy's along the way, and bloody hell, if there wasn't a police barricade on the block it sits.  I kid you not.  I had to detour around the road block for several blocks, now putting getting to work on time at risk and so I thought I remembered a Tim Hortons one block north of my new work that might have a drive-thru that might work but when I got there, it was backed up with at least 15 cars, so I had to skip that plan and just head to work COFFEE-LESS!

Ugh!  Left with no choice but the in-house cafe version of joe, I opted for tea.  There is caffeine in tea, right?  It would have to do.  I would need to main-line the coffee they serve there if I had any hope of even a slight jolt and even then, it was doubtful.  By now, I have started to think, I have spent way too much time and energy thinking about the much desired java I was craving and maybe it was time to just give up drinking the damn stuff anyway.

So, now I am thinking it is time to invest in one of those travel coffee thingies but I have gone down that road before and they always end up getting left somewhere, or I forget to bring it in from the car, or I buy one that is too big for my holder in the car or I end up drinking it all before I get to work and then I feel I did not really enjoy sipping it while I commenced my day in front of my computer screen, checking emails, phone messages and settling in.  You see, it is part of the settling in routine - the coffee. 

My daughter in her infinite wisdom would refer to this dilemma as a "first world" problem.  So now I feel guilty even complaining about this in the first place.  It is like people who complain when their plane takes off 15 minutes late and it will take ALL that extra time to get to Paris now, godammit.  We are soooooo spoiled.  Air travel, being relatively new in the big scheme of things, our ancestors had to sit on a ship for 2 weeks to get to Paris, how would this generation ever cope with that inconvenience. Pfffft!  Like I said, spoiled rotten - every last one of us.

Still, this coffee situation must be dealt with and dealt with soon.  Maybe I need to  map quest some different routes.  Surely one will pass by a Starbucks or Second Cup. 

Hey!  What about delivery?  Now there is a concept.  The Starbucks guy shows up at your workplace with a big tray of coffee strapped on like the dudes at baseball games who sell soft drinks and peanuts in the stands.  It costs a little extra, but the employees are so grateful to have it show up they don't mind.  No fancy coffee drinks, just basic bold grande coffees. 

Listen up Starbucks and Second Cup - it could work.  There are a lot of bad bad coffees being consumed out there at offices and workplaces all over the city.  It does not have to be this way. 

Does it?  My quest will continue.  It may be a "first world" problem, but that is my reality.

Thank goodness.

Elvis for Easter?

I was thinking of heading out for a bit of a hike, but the wind is really howling out there today and I am not in the mood to be blown about.  I am sitting here in silence just listening to the wind.  It is so strong, that it has pushed drywall dust out from under the baseboards in several spots around my condo.  It is a new building, so things are still settling, including that I guess.  Obviously the walls are not 100% sealed and the wind has found it's way in somehow.  There are whitecaps on the lake and now and again I can see the spray of water hitting the breakwall off in the distance near the Port Credit Yacht Club.

I am not a big fan of wind.  Must be my Capricorn earth sign.  It stirs up all that dirt and makes things feel out of control, like the newspaper and plastic bag that just went flying by my 16th floor window.  In any event, it is a good excuse to stay in and write instead of getting some exercise.  I can do that later when it calms down this evening, which it likely will. 

Today is a work day for many but I am off, as is my daughter and she continues to slumber late.  I will allow this, as it is back to school for her tomorrow and teenagers need more sleep so I am told. We had a good time together yesterday.  We spent the afternoon with my parents and we always enjoy our little road trips together.  She brings the music and she surprises me with a  vast range of selections.  I never know what to expect.  Yesterday we sang along to everything from AC/DC's Back in Black to the Leah Michelle version of Barbra Streisand's "My Man" to Scottish band, The Proclaimers hit (I'm Gonna Be) 500 Miles! And we crank it up loud.  Really loud.  This, I believe is my middle-aged revenge toward my own parents for telling me to turn my record player down all the time when I was her age.

Besides, when the music is loud and you are singing along, it is more difficult to hear your own bad voices!  The day turned out to have a bit of musical theme actually.  The subject of Elvis came up at the dinner table and Emma shared with her grandparents that she thought had she been a teen in the 50's she would have been one of those screaming fans tossing her panties on the stage at him. 

My dad disappeared shortly after that and went to the basement.  He has never been one to sit still for long so we did not think anything of it.  He emerged from the basement with a box.  It contained a 5 disc set of the complete Elvis Presley collection from the 50's along with a nice book and assorted information - even some Elvis stickers.  It was one of those things he had ordered off the TV years ago, listened to once and shelved.  He handed it to her and said, "Here, take this, I never listen to it anymore."  Her face lit up, she jumped out of her chair and hugged him with such genuine gratitude that it surprised me.  It is not often she reacts this way.  He had found a way to impress her and please her and it's not everyday a 73 year old man can bring such joy to a 17 year old girl.  It was a lovely moment.

He is also getting more and more nostalgic as he ages.  Every time we visit, out come the photos from back in the day.  They are not in albums.  They are completely disorganized.  Hundreds of them in boxes and bags.  This time they dated back to the 70's and 80's.  We all looked so young. Emma was not even born yet.  Hell, I had not even been married yet.  Usually I recognize the photos, but yesterday there were a few I did not remember ever seeing.  One in particular of my mother.  My mother is a pretty modest buttoned-up woman.  Never one to look "sexy".  But here was a shot of her looking exactly that.  Her long hair, her low cut top, her face lightly made up.  I would go so far as to say - pretty hot. (see photo below). She was an attractive woman when she was young.  Not that she is unattractive as an older woman, but she is not turning heads any more, other than my fathers.  After 55 yrs of marriage, that is pretty good.  I think he still sees her as she was in that photo.  That is love.  He would be lost without her.  He drives her crazy.  But they keep going.

I don't know how they do it.  I have not had the stamina for it.  Their generation takes a different view of marriage.  It's forever.  Short of serious abuse, you stick it out.  I don't necessarily agree with that attitude, but it is pretty common old school thinking.  I see it all the time.  Couples who stay together more out of habit than desire.  There is no right or wrong here.  Whatever works for the individuals involved.  Truth and authenticity are not words bandied about with them.  Were I to raise those issues, they would likely look at me like I was from another planet.  Those things are not really a consideration.  If you read Elizabeth Gilbert's follow up to Eat Pray Love, a book called Commitment, there are even fewer reasons in some cultures for ending a marriage.  It is not even a concept. You marry. You stay married.  End of story.



Sometimes I wish I could stop looking.  That path is not littered with obstacles and precipices and leaps into the unknown.  It is sure and steady and accepted. 

Perhaps the reason they took that path, is so that I have a safe place to go once in a while, where I can veer off my own rocky road and rest for an afternoon.  I did that yesterday. 

It was a peaceful break.  A soft place to fall....even if it was only for a few hours.

Never Hesitate

It never fails to fascinate me how one moment in time and the decision you make in that moment can alter the course of your life.  Last spring I was at a cocktail party.   It was quite a gala affair and I was supposed to go with a colleague and at the last moment she could not go.  I was a little apprehensive about going on my own, but I knew it was going to be a great party and I figured, "What the hell?", surely there would be at least a few people I would know.

It was an industry event and the chances were good I would bump into someone I could chat with.  When I arrived at the event, the crowd was already assembled - I was fashionably late and so it was a bit difficult to see through the well-dressed bodies.  I would have to snake my way through the gathered clutches of wine-sipping revellers until I recognized someone....anyone.  There were a few local celeb designers that caught my eye but they were already engaged in conversations and besides, I did not really "know" them.  One of them was talking to a woman I knew, so I elbowed my way into their private little circle and said hello to the gal I knew.  She did not introduce me to her celeb friend, but I was just grateful at that point to have someone to talk with.  The usual small talk - Hi! How are you?  Wow - you look fabulous!  Have you lost more weight - every time I see you, there is less of  you.  Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. 

Once that was exhausted, it was time to move on and go check out what all the hoopla was about in the first place, the opening of a new section of the showroom and adjoining art gallery.  It would give me more to talk about in the next familiar encounter.  It was also a chance to top up my wine at the bar.  The music was live and actually exceptionally entertaining.  There was a band and an old school R&B singer who also had a personality and people were actually listening as well as talking.  I stood and listened myself for a time and was so impressed, I thought it would not even matter if I talked to anyone else all evening - this was really good.

As I stood there swaying a bit to the music, I glanced around me, again, wondering if there were more people I might know.  I noticed a woman who seemed to be on her own as well.  She was leaning against the arm of a modern white leather sofa.  I checked her out from top to bottom.  She was an older woman, elegant, petite, so well put together, she stood out in the crowd.  Compared to the rest of the room, she really had it going on.  She had a confident sense of style, her clothing betrayed her age, yet did not look too young for her.  She was dressed in soft hues of silver and white from her casually draped silk scarf to her strappy sandals.  She could not have weighed more than 92 lbs. soaking wet, but it suited her perfectly.  She was not tall.  About 5' 1" without her heels would have been my guess.  Her hair was short and spiky and silver as well.  The good kind of silver - not old lady silver.  Her make-up was expertly applied and her jewelry was bold and artsy.  I could not take my eyes off of her.

I kept thinking she must have been waiting for someone to join her.  I waited a few minutes, but no one approached her.  She seemed quite content to continue listening to the band.  I had this sudden overwhelming urge to go tell her how lovely she looked.  I was also curious about this woman who looked like she should be in a Vogue magazine shoot for "how to pull off 70 with style".  She truly was the best looking woman in the room.  I followed my instinct to go and tell her what I had been thinking.  I walked across the room and approached her from the side and tapped her on the shoulder, "Excuse me, (she turned to face me) I just want to say that you look amazing. You are the most stylish woman in this room."  She looked at me, a total stranger and her face lit up like a freshly struck match.  "Why, thank you so much,"  she said as she extended her hand to shake mine.  We introduced ourselves to each other and after that it was non-stop chatter for a good 20  minutes.  She too was a designer, owned her own business, loved shopping for her clients at this showroom and we talked about the trials and tribulations associated with running your own business.  We had a very pleasant conversation and she even shared some personal things about her life that endeared me to her even more.

At one point in our conversation I mentioned that I had always wondered what it might be like to work at this place.  She asked me if I would like to meet one of the managers and I said sure.  She escorted me across the room and introduced me as though she had always known me and left me to my own devices and disappeared into the crowd.  For the second time that evening, I was engaged in an interesting chat with a woman I had never met.  She asked me to send my resume to her and told me that she was always looking for talented people to join their team.  At the time, I did not feel the need to do that, but I kept her card and filed it away.  

I owe a big thank you to "Ilona" and her gracious introduction. I start my new job April 17. 

I must seek her out and tell her.

Karma at work. That's how I see it.....

.....and a bit of serendipity.

Prosecco and Crab Cakes

Yup, that is my dinner tonight.  I drove home from my last day of work at my now "old" job thinking, "Shit, I should have made a plan for tonight."  I should be celebrating the ending of one chapter and the beginning of another, but I kind of blew it.  I actually thought my last day of work was tomorrow, but the boss had given me tomorrow off on the schedule because of the Good Friday holiday at the end of the week, and so even I was surprised when I realized today was the day.

I drove home and thought, well, maybe I will take my daughter out to dinner and we can celebrate together, but I also forgot she had plans for the evening, so that was out.  I stayed in my work clothes, still unsure what I felt like doing.  It just seemed like I "should" be doing something special.  It was too late to start calling friends.  I had already texted everyone I knew proclaiming my good news.  Now what?  In the past, whenever I have left a job, there was usually some sort of going away party, or at the very least drinks at the local bar after work, but that was not the case this time.  I was leaving for the competition and although they wished me well, it was not a happy day for them.  Only for me.

Normally when I get home from work, I shed my business attire and slip into something more comfy, usually work-out gear to head to the gym, but I was not going to the gym tonight, so I did not feel like changing.  My dress said party, but my wallet said STAY home!  It was time for the "fridge stare".  Open the door.  Stand and stare.  Nope, not that. Nah, don't feel like that. Ugh, too much chopping. Too healthy.  Not healthy enough. Too many carbs. Eggs? Not breakfast for dinner again. And then I spotted it!  Hidden behind all the milk and OJ and light cream cartons, the salad dressings and condiments, a small bottle of Prosecco that had been in the  fridge since Christmas.  The perfect solution to my quandary.  And wait! It gets better!  I opened the freezer and there were 6 frozen forgotten mini crab cakes in a box that had not expired yet.  Bonus.

Mock champagne and semi-good crab cakes.  I could make it work.  I even had some creamy Renee's Dill and Cucumber dressing for dipping.  I figured I would leave my dress on as though I was really going somewhere, put some music on and short of lighting a candle, I was set to make my own private party into an event. I prepared the seafood painstakingly in the microwave, hit the "that was EASY" button and cracked open the screwcap on the "champagne".  Just as I sat on my counter stool to imbibe and nibble, and enjoy my cityscape and lake view, everyone and their brother started texting me, emailing me, calling me. 

Here I was alone, but not alone. I wanted a party, and oddly, I sort of had one. 

So, let me say thanks to everyone who called, texted and emailed.  There have been many friends and family on this journey with me and I appreciate the support and the encouragements and the congrats from the bottom of my heart.  

The next chapter begins April 17 at Elte.  Come and see me.  Bring friends. Be inspired. 

I know I will be. 

Cheers!

Saying "YES" to Life

"I didn't follow the plan.  I'm happy to have so many things that I still haven't figured out."

That is a quote from Susan Sarandon in the April 2, 2012 issue of People magazine.  I knew there was a reason I have always loved her.  I can relate.  It is exactly how I feel about my own life right now.  Following the plan was killing me.  So I stopped.  She did it at an even scarier age.  Still stunning at 65, she jumped into the single life 2 years ago after splitting with hunky hubby Tim Robbins, 13 years her junior.  Screw age.  Now she is involved with a man in his thirties.  You go girl!  In the article she admits to a bit of lipo-suction under her chin and eyes and she is open to trying other procedures down the road.  Why not? 

She also says in regards to her "sex symbol" status, "...it's really more of an attitude.  Sexuality means that you're saying yes to life."  As a recently more mature single woman, I could not agree more.  I don't feel my age these days.  In fact, I feel great.  I notice the looks.  When I was married, any looks I might have gotten, went unnoticed.  I was not available.  Now, I sense it.  Or maybe they sense my status change.  Not sure.  But there has been a shift.  There is no question about that. 

The other thing that shifts is friendships.  I am someone new amongst my old married friends and I also relate more now to my single friends, some of whom are new as well.  I just spent a fun weekend with two girls I work with. (see us in the photo below) A total of three decades separate us, but what I noticed was that was the only difference.  We have more in common than not.  We all long for love and success and happiness and age does not discriminate in that department.  The youngest of the three could be my daughter, the one in the middle was apparently my daughter in a previous life (I was her father) and we got along famously.  We all had something to learn from one another and that is what is so great about it.  There is a reason these women have come into my life and I into theirs and it is all part of each of our personal journeys.  We may not realize why right now, but the reasons will reveal themselves over time and that in itself is precious.

Susan Sarandon also describes her new single status as "terrifying and exhilarating" all at once and I get that too.  Their split has given both of them "a chance to live a more authentic life".

Saying yes to life has that effect.

I concur.....wholeheartedly.

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.