The Bridesmaid Diaries

Time For a Move

2011-11-15T17:24:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers,

Back by popular demand (okay fine, three people!) I am back to writing my blog. But due to the fact that

A) I am no longer a bridesmaid nor a bride - I need a new name

and

B) I want to sign into blogger using my current email address and stop having to sign in and out of gmail

I am moving!

The new blog is pretty much the same - except now I am a new wife chartering life in a new city.

Please join me at: www.thenewmrslaw.com

Hooray!

Unveiling Inner Bridezilla

2011-06-21T11:06:00.000-07:00

Again, my apologies for my lack of writing. Apparently weddings have taken over my life (more than before) in the form of my own wedding (next week!) and my wedding show (The Wedding Belles) making time at my keyboard more about tulle than blogs.

But here I am, trying to get back on track!

A week before my wedding and I am thinking I can get my blog back on track?

A week before the wedding and I am calling my future husband AKA the Engineer pretty much everyday freaking out (yes, we are not in the same city, country or even continent right now!). Not that it was much different a few weeks ago. Or a month ago.

About six weeks ago I received my veil in the mail. I ordered it off of my favorite, Etsy and went back and forth for quite a while with Tessa Kim, the designer. I wanted an extra layer, it to touch my shoulders, pouf but not too much pouf - there were a lot of instructions.

I ripped open the box in excitement, thrilled that my wedding outfit was coming together. What I found was a big piece of crumpled tulle that when put on my head poufed out in all the wrong directions and didn't lay as flat as I had envisioned.

I promptly called the Engineer sobbing telling him how much I hated my veil and how much money I had spent on it. He told me to calm down and maybe iron it. I told him I couldn't iron tulle and that it was all wrong and it was too late and I was going to look horrible.

Dramatic much?

I forget what he said then, but I told him I was too busy to listen to him and had to iron my veil.

I wish I had taken my own advice about not ironing tulle. I melted part of it! BLURG! Then I attempted to steam it by puffing out the steam from the iron around the veil but all that did was squirt hot water in my face.

I then texted all the wedding people I knew in a panic and sent out a 911 via Facebook.

And that's when I realized I had been putting it on backward.

Urm, when put on the correct way the veil is perfection. Just as I asked for albeit now with a tiny krinkled bit where I melted it.

So I called the Engineer back and told him.

What was my lesson? To breathe, calm down and realize it's just a wedding.

Right. Until my lanterns got stuck in Canada Post. But that's another day . . .

Will You Join My Book Club?

2011-04-04T12:44:00.000-07:00

I've recently joined a few book clubs in Toronto in an attempt to make friends.

Book clubs have always appealed to me. What's not to like? I like books. I like clubs.

I tried to start book club with my friends a few years back. I was very thorough in the theme department (surprise surprise) - for example, if we read an Amy Tan novel we met at Hon's Noodle Cafe in Chinatown. Angela's Ashes? Irish pub. A Fine Balance? Indian curry and then somewhere to kill ourselves because the world is without hope.

I think I chose food first, fit the book in later.

It didn't really work. We would talk about the book for about four minutes and then gossip. I wanted to seriously discuss the themes, how it made me feel, character arcs, etc. So it fizzled.

I realize now that this is what most book clubs are. And I have embraced it.

The Engineer has a lovely friend whose partner is a lawyer. It really doesn't matter that she is a lawyer, but it will give you some context. Her group of friends consist of social workers, therapists, and other lawyers who work in the realm of government and/or helping those downtrodden. Do not picture a corporate lawyer club - these are all women who are very strong in their convictions and work tirelessly everyday for the better good of man. This is the book club.

And they all met in their feminist club at university.

I too was in a 'feminist' club at university. As long as you count Alpha Gamma Delta, a club that has a cheer about a squirrel a feminist club.

There are no hard rules and lines. I say that it is a feminist club.

I was very excited to go to my first meeting. I loved the book and was very excited to talk about its themes and ideas. I expected a group of grounded, intelligent women to do the same.

After a ten minute discussion, it was all about the wine.

So therefore my kind of book club.

The other book club I joined was through www.meetup.com and aptly named 'Girly Book Club'. The book choices are slightly lighter than the lawyer book club (whose latest choice is about eating meat and how bad it is) and has women from all walks of life. I really enjoy it and have already met some great people.

Same thing. Show up, drink wine, talk book for a bit, drink more wine.

Ergo, my kind of book club.

When I mentioned these book clubs to my friend, she turned to me and said, "Is it that kind of book club?"

Umm, the kind that reads books?

No, THAT kind.

I wasn't following - it took a while to understand.

But here it is:

Turns out, my friend's friend was invited to join a book club by a woman she had just met. This particular girl lives in a fairly affluent neighborhood amongst 30-something women who have young children and wear UGGS/Hunters as their main footwear.

This girl was happy to be asked to join and offered up her own home as her first meeting (rookie mistake).

She dutifully read the book, bought the needed wine, and prepared a little feast. All these women, some she knew and some she didn't, came over and she was so excited.

One glass of wine. No book talk.

Two glasses of wine. No book talk.

Three glasses of wine. Still no book talk.

Okay, this girl thinks, we are just catching up and getting to know one another.

UNTIL THE WOMEN STARTED TO UNDRESS AND MAKE-OUT!!!!!!!!!

Apparently the 'book club' was just a cover for 'swinger moms who want to make out with women but not tell our husbands' club!!!!!!!!!!

Much to this girl's horror, she let it be known that she was uncomfortable and didn't want to participate. I wonder if she kept trying to bring the conversation back to the book.

Eventually, the women poured out onto the front lawn, the neighbors complained, and the swinger ladies spread rumors about this girl so that she wouldn't tell the truth about them.

WOW.

When my friend told me this I was in shock/hysterical laughter. I felt this seems right our of a movie/bad TV show. Is that not crazy?

So many questions arise.

How do you start a book club like this? How do you recruit? When do you think someone is 'suitable'?

My friend is a bit upset they haven't asked her.

I guess it's always nice to be asked to join a book club.

Little Miss Lack of Posting

2011-04-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

I realize over the past year my posting has become . . . well lacking.
Too bad to because I just started to have a fan base of more than just my mum!

Anyhoo, the truth is I am crazy with 'Wedding Belles' and my own wedding - and I don't want to write about my own wedding because I want there to be surprises for my guests!

Then I realized most of them don't read this blog :) HA! So back to the blogasphere!

To Question or Not to Queston

2011-02-28T22:01:00.000-08:00

I heard recently that a Nobel Peace Prize winner (I forget who, I didn't ask) grew up in a house where his dad didn't ask 'what did you learn at school today?' but asked 'what great questions did you ask at school today?'

This is apparently the secret to raising a super smart and Nobel Peace Prize winning human being.

The Engineer has a friend or relative (I forget which, I didn't ask) who when they took their child to the doctor would make the kid ask the doctor a question.

I never ask questions. I don't think I was ever that curious. I am the sort of person who accepts whatever I am told. Pretty much a salesperson's dream. I just shrug and agree with everything they say.

The Engineer is completely the opposite.

He asks TOO many questions. When we first started dating he asked questions about everything. Mundane weird things. When I asked him why he asked so many questions he replied 'that's how you learn!'.

I guess so. But I thought most of his questions were annoying.

Although I must admit they did make me think. And wonder more about . . . . dogs as that's what most of his questions pertain to.

How do dogs know other dogs are dogs?
Do dogs know the difference between feet and hands?
When do dogs decide to growl or bite?
How come dogs can't see themselves in the mirror?
How do you know when Mr. Mop wants to poop?

(this is the one question I have been able to answer in full much to the surprise of the Engineer. But if you have a dog you just know when they are about to go!)

Why can't he be more accepting/non-curious like me?

It would make life so much easier and non-confrontational.

Unlike these examples:

Engineer: Why does a wedding cost this much?
Sarah: It just does.
Engineer: Why though?
Sarah: Because it's how much a wedding costs.
Engineer: But why does it cost this much money? Is there anything cheaper?
Sarah: NO! THIS IS HOW MUCH WEDDINGS COST AND IF YOU WANTED TO KNOW WHAT THE MONEY GOES TOWARDS THEN YOU SHOULD RESEARCH WEDDINGS AND SEE HOW MUCH THEY COST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Engineer: Why are you yelling?
Sarah: Because you are asking stupid questions.
Engineer: How will I learn if I don't ask?

Or

Engineer: Why do we need a first dance?
Sarah: We just do.
Engineer: But why do we have to? Can't we just skip it?
Sarah: NO! It sets a precedent for the party and people expect it.
Engineer: But why? I thought we were doing non-traditional.
Sarah: Because we have to do some traditions.
Engineer: But why? What does a first dance mean?
Sarah: WE JUST DO! I WANT TO DO IT AND IT'S NICE AND SHUT UP!!!
Engineer: Why are you yelling?
Sarah: Because you are stupid.

or

Engineer: Why do you want live music for the ceremony?
Sarah: Because I do.
Engineer: Why?
Sarah: Because I've dreamt of walking down the aisle forever and I always imagined live music.
Engineer: But we aren't live music sort of people. Why are you being so traditional?
Sarah: Why are you being so annoying?

I guess I do ask questions after all.

I wonder if it's too late for a Nobel Peace Prize.

Pillow Fight

2011-02-23T09:48:00.000-08:00

It's a scenario fairly common in pop culture. I mean, it makes it into movies like 'Along Comes Polly' and pretty much all home design shows.

I just didn't realize how true it was.

Men really don't like/get pillows.

I have lived on my own for ten years. Therefore I have become accustomed to the way I like to have things. As one does. I realize one has to make adjustments to ones partner as the couple moves in together.

This is called compromise. It's very annoying.

I like pillows. I like lots and lots of pillows. On my queen bed in Vancouver I have four pillows for sleeping and then another four to six pillows that adorn the bed when it is made.

When the Engineer and I first started dating he wondered why I needed so many pillows. I laughed him off. 'Oh you! You are a silly man!'. I never really thought about the day that we would meld households and thus, meld pillows.

I have been careful not to add pillows to our bed. Simply replacing his old pillows was in itself a major task.

On top of my ADD complex, I have a bit of OCD when it comes to the bed. I wash my sheets at least twice a week. It grosses me out to think about sleeping in the flakes of our bodies and whatever else gross micronisms (or whatever small things are called).

Hmmm, yet I ironically let my dogs sleep in the bed and who knows what they are carrying on their paws.

I also replace my pillows at least every two years. I did not always do this - I never really thought about the grossness that might be living in a pillow. My mum alerted me to the disgusting situation of head sweat, flakes, drool and microcosms that infiltrate the unwashable germ infested things. It was a battle trying to separate me from my favourite down pillow (which was at least ten years old!). But after some disgusting facts and sneakily throwing it away when I wasn't looking - I was able to move on from that pillow and find a new (albeit temporary) love.

When I moved in with the Engineer and had to lay my noggin down on his very old pillows (he had two) I felt it was time to clean house. It took me TWO years of convincing him to rid our bed of his old pillows. I know you are thinking "Why didn't you just replace them when he was at school?". The Engineer is very particular about few things. And one of them is touching his stuff. Replacing his property is deemed a horrific offence.

It took moving back to Canada and me being in charge of packing duty that did it. I was in control enough to say "Be gone yee pillow of old! You have done a wonderful job of cradling yee master's head and now it is time to go to your final resting place!".

So it did. And now we have FOUR pillows (ALL BRAND NEW) on our bed :)

Adding decorative pillows onto our bed is not even in the cards yet. I must break the Engineer into this slowly.

Decorative pillows only work when you make the bed. And we both have a bad habit of not making the bed. Even though it is my favourite thing to do. I LOVE A MADE BED. A made bed with a pretty blanket and throw pillows is so inviting. It teases you with its beauty. It says, "come, lay down on me" and when you about to it says 'ah ha ha - not yet! You only just made me! You must come back in 10-12 hours and unmake me".

Both from Potter Barn

The Engineer does not get this.

I think most men do not get this.

What is the point of making a bed that you are only going to unmake again? Well, it's just nicer getting into a made bed is all. Plus, it looks pretty. And makes me feel . . . clean.

Our disagreements over pillows do not end in the bedroom. Oh no. They only continue to our couch.

My couch in Vancouver has a few throw pillows on it. Throw pillows are the BEST things ever. Not only do they add colour and texture to a room, but you can change the look of your home in a few easy props! And you can work with different seasons.

The Engineer is nothing if not functional. When we bought the couch he asked if it came with pillows. The designer salesguy answered (not snidely, quite politely but I could tell he was thinking 'ewww, throw these pillows out because they are factory standard!') that the couch came with two pillows that matched perfectly as they were made of the same fabric.

The Engineer thought this was brilliant. Pillows for free!

Here's the thing though: they add nothing to the look of the couch and are just BLAH. Enter: new pillows!

I have waited until now to introduce decor into this house. But it's time. So I went to my favorite store in the entire world - Homesense - to grab a few things to throw on the walls and couch to spruce the place up and make it feel like home.

When the Engineer noticed one picture he said "so now it looks like your place in Vancouver". Ummm, not that I am trying to make the two look the same but clearly I have a certain taste that gets carried across country. It's not like I dropped my love of French country somewhere over Winnipeg.

He asked what else I got.

I pointed to a woven natural basket now housing magazines and dog toys. Subtle. Nice.

Then he noticed.

THE PILLOWS.

Although not on the couch yet, I had two pillows sitting next to the couch. Just waiting to prettify.

Except they got nixed before they could even make their debut.

I had to tame myself in the throw pillow aisle. Ruffles are very in right now so obviously there are a lot of ruffly pillows out there. My first instinct told me to get the ruffliest pillow out there.

Then I remembered I lived with a boy.

I chose a subtle ruffle pillow. It only has two barely-there ruffles on each end. AND IT IS BLUE. Not bright blue or turquoise, but a lovely subtle grey blue.

The Engineer had several issues.

#1 - As we already move the factory standard pillows away from us, why would we want more pillows?

Ugh. Try answering this.

#2 - Would I really want to sleep on the ruffle pillow?

UGH. Throw pillows are for DECOR! Not for sleeping.
He could not grasp this concept.

#3 - The colour is too girly.

WHAT? WTF? It's a nice GREY BLUE! GREY! BLUE! That is not girly. It's practically manly.

#4 - He does not like the ruffles

But they add texture to the room! And I only got one ruffle! I could have gotten a whole ruffle pillow. I COMPROMISED to make the pillows more boy-friendly.

Sarah: What if I got a brown ruffle pillow?

The Engineer: That's still a ruffle.

Sarah: What if I got that colour with no ruffles?

The Engineer: I still don't like that colour.

Sarah: Why not?

The Engineer: I just don't.

Sarah: But you like blue.

The Engineer: You like pizza. Do you want to decorate the house in pizza?

I can't even come up with an argument.

This is just the beginning of what I suspect might be many decorating nightmares/arguments. When asked what colour he prefers for a bedroom the Engineer answered white. WHITE. What colour in a kitchen? White. Bathroom? White. Why do people paint rooms when white looks the nicest?

U.G.H.

I'll let you know how the pillow debate turns out. I am going to sneak at least one ruffle in somehow.

Just Call Me Sarah Stewart

2011-02-16T07:46:00.000-08:00

DIY weddings are very much in vogue. And budget friendly.

Unless you are like me and trek to Michael's every other day to buy more supplies.

I have decided to take on a few crafts for our wedding. I LOVE crafts. Too bad I suck at them.

My grandmother taught me, very patiently, the love of crafts at her wooden table on the farm. We made monster masks out of paper bags when I was really small, then mop dolls (super cute dolls made out of colourful mop heads!), pillow-case dolls, Christmas ornaments - you name it, we made it. She had this awesome do-dad drawer full of pipecleaners, sparkles, craft paper, glue - it was a drawer of hope. I loved going into it and turning random objects into happy things.

Therefore, I am trying to channel my grandmother's spirit when I attempt to make ribbon wands and fascinators (or as my mother calls them: terminators). Unfortunately, her spirit is not coming though so much in my clumsy and impatient hands.

First: the fascinators.

I LOVE the fascinator. Who wouldn't? It makes every outfit awesome. We don't get much call to wear fascinators in Vancouver, so my wedding is the perfect excuse to make every guest don one. Yes, that's right: make.

Fascinators are quite expensive so I thought it would be fun to try making them. But after buying the bases, feathers, flowers, netting, sparkles, birds (YES, birds), nests, butterflies, and whatever else I thought would be fun and whimsical - I am sure I have spent the same amount I would have if I had simply bought them.

But what's the fun in that?

The problem is, I have no idea how to make them. I watched this video:

Then I read some instructions on ehow and gathered some pictures.

And finally, made some bridesmaids come over to make them for me.

Which is exactly what they did.

Actually, it does remind me of working with my grandma: I think I used to get her to finish everything to make the final product nicer.

We only made a few before realizing I needed more supplies. So now I have a drawer full of fun whats-its and do-dads to make fascinators.

Anyone want to help?

Next on the agenda: ribbon wands.

I love these at weddings instead of confetti or rice. When we say 'I do', the 'audience' waves the ribbons in the air. Hooray! Plus they have little bells so when they want us to kiss later they have to wave the wands.

Super cute.

Once again, I could have ordered these on Etsy, but I felt they would be so easy to make.

Blurg!

First, I have to spray paint the wands from the blah wood colour to yellow. The results are globs of paint on the wands and spray paint all over my patio, the glass on the patio, my fingers and my Lululemons.

The fun part is really the ribbons. I have become slightly obsessed with ribbons.

I went to M & J Trimming in New York which is like a happy mecca of ribbon wonderfulness. I chose four colours in narrow width.

When I got home, this was not enough. Everytime I went to Michael's for fascinator supplies, I picked up a spool of ribbon. Then I found some ribbon on Etsy in every colour imaginable. I started to stare late into the night at my computer screen of ribbon stores all over the world.

I can't get enough ribbon! It's so pretty. Now the wedding will have ribbon wands, ribbon on chairs, ribbon on my bouquet, ribbon in the air. Ribbon everywhere.

Style Me Pretty

I could have a whole house of ribbon to just stare at.

I was supposed to have my ribbon wands done by now and shipped to Italy. They are sitting in my do-dad drawer.

I think if I ply my bridesmaids with enough champagne and food, they will do it for me?

So not exactly channeling my grandmother, but on the day I know she will be there in spirit and think my crafts are perfect even in their flaws.

In the Spirit of Chocolate

2011-02-16T06:59:00.001-08:00

After our evening of chocolate making, I was highly inspired to eat more chocolate.

As if one needs a reason.

Plus it just so happens to be the first annual hot chocolate festival in Vancouver. Who knew such a thing existed?

A few days after the Cocoa Nymph experience, my mum and I trekked to Thomas Haas to grab an almond croissant and an Aztec hot chocolate. And a couple of macrons. AND a snowdrop.

http://phoodjournal.wordpress.com/2010/03/13/thomas-haas/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/tinybites/4167468220/

God. It was soooooooooooooooooo good. And soooooooooooooooooooooo much. Both in terms of filling and financially. Two hot chocolates, three croissants, and two macrons = $32!!!!!

Whatever. It was worth it.

Then, a few days later (and an extra workout at 30-Minute), I met with my friends, K and Dee - the latter had been my chocolate cohort from the beginning - at Mink for more hot chocolate goodness.

This was our sumptuous 'lunch' order:
- s'mores for two (with dark chocolate)
- fondue for two (with milk chocolate)
- lavender hot chocolate

The 'meal' arrived at the table and we immediately dunked the amazing pound cake into the warm, hot and gooey milk chocolate. A-M-A-Z-I-N-G

Then time for the s'mores. Which arrive on the plate with a mini hibachi and a bunch of graham crackers & marshmallows.

Unfortunately we couldn't quite get the hang of melting them.

At first, K placed the graham cracker directly onto the little hibachi. Then added the marshmallow. Nothing happened.

So I stuck on another graham cracker and pressed down with my fork.

Urm. This is when the smoke started and our graham cracker was set on fire. We called out for help but the line-up was too long to help three idiots trying to make indoor s'mores.

K used her fondue fork to wave the fire out. Note: call K when in fire emergency.

Finally, Dee figured out that we were supposed to roast the marshmallow over the hibachi, dip it into chocolate, and then smoosh it between the graham crackers.

The result was delicious.

And messy.

Dee's baby got hold of melty marshmallow and smeared it into her mother's hair, on her clothes and pretty much anywhere marshmallow should not be.
I jumped up to search through the baby-bag for the boogie wipes (a real thing - much like a wet wipe but for a nose) while K 'helped' out by grabbing my fondue fork.

Clearly, this girl's answer to life's emergencies is to don a fondue fork.

Anyhoo, the meal was delicious, if not eventful and messy. Poor K had to go back to work with a chocolate dollop on her cream, ruffled blouse.

If anything, go just for the pound cake that goes with the fondue. I am fairly certain it has some sort of sugar crack in it.

Chocolate Nymph Night

2011-02-14T23:07:00.001-08:00

A few months ago, Living Social had a deal for a night of chocolate making at half price.

I love Living Social, Groupon, Wag Jag, Team Buy and the plethora of other coupons I get in my inbox each morning mostly because I love discovering businesses in my city that I have never explored.

Like Cocoa Nymph.

Who knew that there was a cute little chocolate shop in Rainy City that offers chocolate making classes? I sure didn't.

Three girlfriends and me took advantage of the 50% off deal and trekked in the rain to this cozy little comfort shop that envelopes you in a cloud of chocolatey goodness the moment you walk in the door.

Not eating dinner beforehand, I was STARVING for chocolate. I think my friends were as well because when the owner/chef/chocolatier passed around a sampling of actual cocoa, we gobbled it up like no one's business.

Now had we been really paying attention during the chocolate history lesson, we would have remembered that raw cocoa is actually super bitter. Europeans are the ones that added the copious amounts of sugar we add today.

Needless to say, our first bite of 'chocolate' was not what the smell of the shop promised. It was like eating wood.

On to a few more pure cocoa tastings and they get better and better (and sugarier and sugarier). Fun fact: chocolate is similar to wine in that you can taste the terroire (if you will) in the cocoa! Who knew? Also, the reason Hershey tastes a bit weird even today, is that they use sour milk! Mr. Hershey was cheap and he started using sour milk to save money. Now they use it for fun.

Rachel, the owner, was full of fun facts!

After our lesson and pure cocoa tasting, it was off to the real chocolate/truffle making.

Firstly, you get a BIG SLAB OF GANACHE!

If you ask me, this is reason enough to go. A SLAB OF GANACHE!!!!!!!!!! SO GOOD!

The order is this:
1. Cut up ganache in shapes you want. Either using a cookie-cuter or your hands (which you have to do with the end bits anyways. Unfortunately, our 'hand made' bits looked like little pieces of poop)
2. Dip said ganache in more chocolate.
3. Dip that in either crushed nuts, cocoa powder, or decorate with cocoa-paper transfer (that's how they get the fancy pictures on chocolate!)
4. Put in fridge
5. Eat.

I didn't necessarily follow this order.

I ate a couple pieces of ganache. To test it after all. Deeming it was good, I proceeded to dip my pieces of poop like chocolate truffle into a vat of melted chocolate. How I did not just dunk my face and drink is beyond me. I suppose common courtesy and being in public made me rethink this idea.

Once, I accidentally transferred a nut into the melted pot of chocolate. This taints the chocolate. For fear of ruining chocolate and getting into trouble, I fished it out. With a spoon. It's not my fault that the spoon later landed in my mouth.

After the chocolates were all decorated, my tray went into the fridge.

While I gently sucked the ganache off of my fingers and from under my finger nails (do not judge until you have played with a slab of ganache yourself), it was time for our masterpieces to be revealed!

Rachel gave us pretty boxes and paper to take our treasured truffles home. Like real professionals!

After making a full box of chocolate, I then proceeded to buy a hot chocolate (how can you not when it is the hot chocolate festival and the cocoa comes with homemade orange marshmallows????) AND a champagne truffle AND a hot chili chocolate.

Champagne truffle? My new idea of heaven.

Since then, I have been somewhat obsessed with champagne truffles and this was only last week.

Anyhoo, this entry is pretty straight forward. No klutzy interludes of tripping and falling into a vat of chocolate (although I did think of that). I just wanted to share something fun and new for you to do in Rainy City!

Well, there was one or two mishaps. Like my friend creating a rather large misshaped ball of truffle. And covering it with nuts. She did not intend to be naughty or dirty. It just sort of happened. And being super mature, we all thought her progression of balls was funny.

Cocoa Nymph offers this chocolate making class for bridal showers/stagettes, birthday parties, etc. GREAT idea! You can bring in champagne to go with the champagne truffles!!

YUM-O!

Okay, there was one more mishap. I may, or may not have, woken up in the middle of the night and eaten half a box of chocolates. And I was not alone in this. Just ask the other three what happened to their chocolate . . .

To Have or Not To Have Kids at Weddings

2011-02-01T19:55:00.000-08:00

I think there are three stages of being a bride:

1. The young blushing bride. This was our friend who got married just after graduating from school. They were the among the first few weddings any of us ever went to so we got really really drunk and still made out with groomsmen.

2. The single-gal-cum-bride. She's in her late 20's/early 30's and was single for most of her twenties. Therefore she has her kitchen pretty much full of what she wants already. She was also a bridesmaid at young bride weddings so is even PICKIER than a young blushing bride.

3. Mature bride. This is the woman who is in her late 30's/early 40's who has a super chic affair with a small group of family and friends. It's the melding of two households that are very well set up so the wedding registry is for expensive champagne.

Okay, that's really making assumptions.

Anyhoo, I fall into category #2.

Want to know what one of the biggest difference between all the weddings? The kid factor.

Blushing bride's friends don't have kids yet - so it's mostly a kid-free wedding.
Mature bride either has the ability to not invite children because all of her friends are more than happy to leave their young ones at home OR the kids that are invited are kids, not babies.

Single gal/bride has babies at her weddings. It's just the way it is.

To invite children is one of the biggest guest list questions. Due to the fact that I am getting married in a destination AND that it's a casual wedding, I had no problem inviting kids.

What if I was having an intimate, chic affair in the city? Yeah, no kids.

So many people are offended when their children are not invited. One of my bridesmaids had a child-free wedding and a certain relative TO THIS DAY barely speaks to her now due to the non-child rule.

It's fair I think. My friend, not the parent. I love kids (okay, I like certain kids) but a wedding is actually not a super place for them. Weddings are boring for them. Speeches? The ceremony? Not to mention a group of bad influencing adults drunk on love, urm, wine.

Then again, a wedding is a happy celebration of family. Kids are a part of the family. Flowergirls are pretty darn cute right?

Dreamspun Kids

I remember being a flowergirl at the age of 2 1/2 - the memory of the 'Chicken Dance' and the vision of my aunt and all her pink bridesmaids still makes me happy. Then again, I got halfway down the aisle, freaked out and screamed for my mum. I also had to be carried out of the reception throwing a tantrum because they wouldn't play the 'Chicken Dance' again.

Heck, it's better than my aunt's brother who was carried out on a food tray because he passed out.

The kids at wedding debate is a sore spot for many. Especially for the bride who is at the age when the young blushing gals are pregnant because they have been married for a few years.

My solution is to hire two babysitters who can keep an eye on the kids so the parents can enjoy the party. We have games, bubbles and colouring for them. Plus a room on premise for sleeping when they crash from the sugar highs.

The one thing I DO hate about kids at weddings are stupid parents. We were at a wedding where a 2-year old was throwing a tantrum during the ceremony. The parents obviously didn't want to miss the vows but their child was ruining it for everyone. To the point the bride and groom shot daggers into the audience!

Therefore the old phrase "Seen but not heard" fits kids at weddings best. I love the kids that are coming to my wedding. But if they are loud and disruptive during the ceremony, I will curse the parent under my breath. Oh, and sick my mom on them. She can be pretty scary.

Always a Bridesmaid

2011-01-28T19:55:00.000-08:00

The Dress You Never Wear Again

2011-01-28T17:12:00.000-08:00

I have been a bridesmaid eight times.

And I have that many bridesmaids. Plus more . . . although they have different 'jobs' like flowergirl wrangler and reader of Irish proverbs.

I wanted my bridesmaids to look and feel gorgeous and NOT hate their dresses.

I didn't want them to match - both in style and colour. And I wanted to give them as much freedom as possible.

Enter Bridesmaid Dress Disaster Adventure.

I knew I wanted to get our dresses from Frocks Modern Bridesmaids because they have the best selection of non-gross bridesmaid dresses and their staff is super knowledgable and sweet. Not to mention the owner, Cat, has become a friend of Wedding Belles and myself. She says it like it is and knows how to put a perfect bridal party together.

We went on one lovely fall afternoon. Myself, four bridesmaids, my mother-in-law and my flowergirl wrangler.

First mistake? Too much freedom and champagne.

I should have listened to Cat when she said pick ONE designer. Nope. I let the girls go wild. I thought they would only pick one designer but no - they picked three.

Each girl also picked a different colour. No problem - according to the swatches they were all in the same family.

Fast forward a few months (and dress fittings with other bridesmaids) when I get bigger colour swatches on the proper fabrics. Apparently my wedding is a three-ring circus complete with clowns masquerading as bridesmaids.

Seriously.

There were so many shades of blue it looked like we were going on a deep sea barge.

So I had to lay down the law and tell some bridesmaids to pick from colours I selected.

I felt guilty doing this and had to consult all the other bridesmaids to make sure I wasn't being a freak.

First sign you are being a freak is asking if you are being a freak.

I also noticed that the fabrics looked wrong together. Duchess satin, silk duiponi, easter shantung: it was a fabric melange of badness.

But I felt I should let this go.

Fast forward to January, when I casually step into Frocks one day to start putting the order together. That's when taffeta hit the fan.

One of the designers had to be ordered THAT afternoon to get the dress in time. GAH! I guestimated sizes and colours for two of my bridesmaids - one of which was coming the following week to dress shop and the other was drunk in Vegas. But I took a deep breath and made executive decisions. I nixed Las Vegas maid's dress and chose another one for her. My sister-in-law's choice was not only my least favourite but the colour was wrong with the rest of the palette. NIX!

It felt good making executive decisions. Empowering. I could feel it. Turning . . . into . . . . bridezilla. So wrong but so good.

Anyways, this doesn't sound too dramatic but it was. It invloved racing across town three times, calls to Winnipeg, frantic texts and emails to Vegas, and crying to my fiance.

I had to stop and remind myself: There are people dying in the world.

Meh. I really wanted my vision to come to life.

Okay, so three days later I felt it was time to bring Vegas bride into Frocks to make sure she fit the dress I picked. I brought her along with another bridesmaid plus my wedding dress.

And my secret weapon: Cat.

Who I must say was right all along. Give freedom within a designer, not a store.

Cat knows her stuff. We hung up my wedding dress and the chosen dresses.

The vision was coming to fruition. My flowergirl wrangler kept telling me I should never have been so passive on our first visit. But here's the thing: when you have a large wedding party it's really hard to put it all together. Unless you are going for a matching bridal party. Which . . . I don't like. I could say more but it might hurt other bride's feelings.

Anyhoo, it was hard to imagine all together before it was, well, all together.

I had one final executive decision to make. One bridesmaid had chosen a dress that's fabric was duiponi silk. Really, in the grand scheme of things it shouldn't matter.

But it did.

In that moment it DID. And I knew it would bother me on the wedding day.

I knew she had her heart set on this one particular dress but it stuck out like a sore thumb and ironically looked like my wedding dress. You would never think to look at a picture of it, but hanging up it actually looked like my dress.

Cat said I was not allowed to tell anyone this was a Frocks bridal party if I allowed that dress.

Unfortunately I was scared of telling said bridesmaid. Good thing I had some things on my side: the other two girls also saw how it didn't look right, I was paying for the dress and, the most important factor, I AM THE BRIDE.

I hate pulling that card. Hate it and love it.

She didn't care. I make up drama in my mind.

The dress we picked for her is gorgeous. There are two of them in the wedding party. The other girls all have unique dresses. And the colours are down to three: seafoam, perriwinkle and yellow.

SO PRETTY! It looks like Marie Antoinette happy time! Before the guillotine.

When all was said and done, the dresses paid for, and the order in - I sat back and realized: I am crazy. I am bridezilla. Now I get it. I get what those brides were feeling when I was their bridesmaid (well, most of them). And that's okay.

Why is it okay? Because I will have the prettiest bridal party in all the histories of weddings. In my mind anyways.

What are my rules for bridesmaid dress shopping?

Well, firstly pick if you want to match or not match. That's easy.
Then pick only one or two of your most fashionable bridesmaids to go on preliminary search.
Listen to what the staff says, they know.
Make your decision and STICK to it!
And if you are picking expensive dresses for your girls? PAY FOR THEM! Or at least half. If you want them to buy their own dresses then pick dresses that cost less than $150.

Well, that's my humble (urm, strong and obnoxious?) opinion.

At the end of the day: people in the world are still dying. Your bridesmaid dresses are the least of the world's worries.

At least the girls aren't going to be wearing these:

You are Cordially Invited

2011-01-27T21:51:00.000-08:00

The Engineer and I have been engaged for a year.

Which means I have been planning a wedding for a year.

And yet I BARELY write about anything wedding! Ironic considering the name of this blog. And considering that I host a wedding show.

With five months to go, I thought it was time to share some adventures in the planning of a wedding.

After taking a good few months (FIVE. Five months it took) to set a date and a place (I know brides who have their venue booked the same week they get engaged!), the Engineer and I sent out invitations.

We debated sending out 'Save the Dates' but felt that as it was a destination wedding and we didn't want to pay for postage twice, we just sent our invite out early.

How long have 'Save the Dates' been around? I have gotten a few for some weddings I have attended, but for the most part I didn't know they even existed. Now they seem to be the norm.

Damn wedding industry. Always inventing new things for crazy brides to buy into.

Urm.

I am that crazy bride. Not that I bought 'save the dates' but I did insist on stamps that had an engagement picture of the Engineer and myself, return address labels that co-ordinated with our invites and vintage ink stamps that said words like 'Firenze' 'Roma' to get people in the Italian mood.

Cute picture for a stamp right?

This is how it begins. With something so seemingly small and insignificant (only one person noticed my awesome stamps) then turns into escort cards and personal menus that all are stamped with our wedding logo.

Yes friends, people are now branding their weddings. And don't put it past me. I LOVE branding things.

I felt that I could justify the stamps and return labels due to the fact we saved so much on our invites. We didn't want to typical invitations (no judgement on typical invitations!). We wanted something fun, unique and memorable.

And we found it on Etsy. Have you discovered Etsy? I LOVE ETSY! I found it last year sometime and have since been an ADDICT. ADDICT! Half the stuff from my wedding is Etsy.

Anyhoo, I was pretty shocked that invites could be up to $5 an invite. WTF? FIVE DOLLARS? I shouldn't be surprised seeing as Hallmark cards are $7 now. Dear god. It's paper.

You know how you know what you want but don't know what it looks like yet and therefore can't express it?

That's how it was with my invites. Our invites.

I was practically cross-eyed as I flipped (what do you do online? Flip? Turn? Scan?) until the PERFECT invite jumped out at me.

And with a bit of back and forth with a very lovely artist, the invite was made even more perfect. Check it our for yourself:

Isn't it cute??

EEEEEEEE! It's the Engineer and me in a balloon over Italy! Oh, the Engineer's name is Jody. Guess the jig is up (it's jig, not gig - I checked).

A bargain in the world of invites. $2.30 for the first 60 and each thereafter $1.50! Woohoo! She has more cute designs for weddings, baby showers, etc here.

We were really happy that this invite reflected us. Seeing as we are so often in a hot air balloon over Tuscany. I'm not really sure how it reflects us, but it does.

And the response from our friends was great! So many people texted, emailed and called to tell us how much they loved their invites. I'm always happy when I go to a family or friend's house and see our invite up on the fridge.

There you go. Planning a wedding? Think outside the box. Fun postcards may just be your thing! And your budget . . . .

Warts, Puss and Bacne - Oh Gross!

2011-01-18T14:48:00.000-08:00

By being truthful about the state of some grossness that is the human body, I feel that you reading at home will no longer be ashamed of the ugly truths that lurk on your skin.

I have a wart. On my foot. A planters wart on my foot.

It was brought to my attention by the girl who does my pedicure over a year ago and I did nothing about it until I learned they never go away and the roots just keep growing inside your foot.

GROSS.

I prefer the term 'veruca' because then it just sounds like you have some affliction to martini's rather than a witches wart on your body. Unfortunately, no one in Canada calls it that. So I have a wart.

First, I tried the Compound W (the liquid stuff you brush on) route to no avail. Over Christmas, my dad decided to take it up a notch using the Compound freezing stuff. He has a wart on his finger so we both needed some help. We didn't read the instructions properly so after 20 seconds of sticking this thing on my foot I started to scream in pain. He felt sorry (but inside thought I was being a baby) until he applied to his finger and shouted some obscenities.

It was time to go to the doctor. My doctor was super happy to bring me on as a patient because I am young and the rest of her roster are octogenarians. Imagine her dismay when I came it to show her a wart as opposed to the pap smear she was so looking forward to. She took one look at it, said 'I am going to get a scalpel and then nitrogen'.

At the word 'scalpel' I got really nauseous and grabbed the garbage can. I threw up a bit in my mouth. She thought I was weird and was right in doing so because the wart has no nerve endings to I didn't feel her scraping the grossness at all. Obviously this is why I am not a doctor. I get sick at just the thought of blood and puss.

How am I going to give birth someday?

On the same day that I faced the wart, I also was scheduled for a 'back facial'.

I've talked about this problem before: I have bacne.

No amount of showering, creams or potions helps me. I walked hoping she would be able to make clean my back so that on my wedding day I didn't resemble an old crone (warts and pimples!).

The esthetician told me it was not a facial I needed, but micodermabrasion. Basically, super intense exfoliation as we miss that part of our body on our daily scrub down. The experience, although not painful, was not pleasant. She basically sandpapered by back with a 'diamond' encrusted vacuum cleaner. The gross thing was that you get to see a vial of the dead skin that has been removed. I filled a vial. A full vial of dead skin.

It totally works though! My back skin was already softer but I have to go for a few more treatments. At night, and for the next few days, it feels as if you have a sunburn. Totally worth it though as I am sick of begging the Engineer to pop my zits.

He refuses. How can he refuse? Am I the only one who loves the satisfying 'pop' of a zit and the gross yellow crap that comes up? It's practically delicious!

So there you go. All in one day I had attended to my wart and bacne problems and lived to tell the tale. Let's face it: human bodies can be gross. But if you make gross funny then you'll always see the beauty in puss.

January Blues

2011-01-14T16:28:00.000-08:00

Winter is super awesome with it's magical white wonderland feel and glistening frost on trees.
Until December 25th at the stroke of midnight.

Then it's just an asshole.

I was supposed to be in Rainy City until this upcoming Monday. As I write this it's 12 degrees Celsius (for my American readers I have no idea what that is in your weird temperature) and sunny. In Toronto, it's -a bazillion with two feet of snow.

I think I'll wait a few more weeks.

This past week, it snowed in EVERY Canadian province. In the other provinces, it remains on the ground and people are hiding indoors due to the sub zero temperatures and bone-chilling wind chill factors. Vancouver's snow lasted the night and people returned to doing yoga on the seawall.

NO RUSH.

Not that Vancouver is an angel in January. More often than not, the rain is pouring and 'daylight' hours are a joke due to the fact that the sun is blocked by a wall of grey rain clouds.

Which brings me to the point that January sucks.

Winter is charming when you get to sing Christmas Carols and forget your winter woes with cups of mulled wine and endless parties. Winter is NOT charming when you have super cool presents from Santa that have to be stored until the summer because your parents say no nerf gun battles indoors. It's not charming when you have to work off the excess weight gained from merry-making mulled wine and cheese but it's minus 20 outside so how do you even get to the gym?

And a rainy winter is most definitely not charming when Christmas lights no longer glitter happily through the raindrops and your city is left in the dark.

Therefore I have made it my mission to add a new element of charm to January and give it some positive notes so that I start looking forward to this dreaded month (remember last year and it was before the Olympics and we didn't even notice January? Yeah, that was awesome.)

First off: January carols. We need some sort of music to lift our spirits right? I have made January my 'Get to know Classical music better' month. It started with a friend giving me tickets to the VSO for some Beethoven. This has since inspired me to go to the Opera, take in a play, and listen to a new composer everyday. My fire is turned on, the dogs asleep on the floor, a glass of Syrah in my hand and some Mozart on the iPod - it does add a nice, cozy element to this month.

Secondly: Boozy brunches. If every weekend, you make a pact with your friends to meet for eggs benny and endless Kir Royales then January suddenly becomes a blur of Champagne, eggy goodness! Plus it is a reward for your hard work of eating only salad and turkey bacon all week.

Third: Video Games! I got a Nintendo DS for Christmas. It was as exciting as the time I got Nintendo and didn't ask for it when I was ten. My favorite game is still Mario and I can sadly get lost in his little Italian killing ways for a multitude of hours. Therefore, if I say January is video game month and allow myself to enjoy some Mario Bros action in this dreary time then suddenly one looks forward to January. Here we go!

Fourth: Plan a wedding. I realize this is not an option for all, but I only have six months to go until 'I Do' and I literally have to plan a whole bunch of crap. Christmas was too busy but not there is NOTHING to do but plan a wedding. Therefore, from the doldrums of grey rain I have made myself happy with the colour palette of Perriwinkle, Seafoam, and Butter Yellow with touches of peony. It is a very good distraction from the fact I would rather be depressed right now.

Five: Movie mayhem. With the Golden Globes and Oscars around the corner, it's time to let yourself get lost in the dark and eat popcorn guilt free. I say guilt-free because as a Vancouverite, I have now been conditioned to NOT watch movies during the months when it is possibly sunny and warm. Therefore, I can now look forward to January because it is movie month.

There are other ideas like start a hobby (in my case wedding craft central - too bad I suck at crafts), or read a series - like 'The Hungry Games' or go to your wine store and start a
'wine of the day' club (you only need one member) and start boning up on your cork dorkness so that you can show it off to your friends come summer BBQ time or next Christmas.

Therefore, readers and friends, I urge you to NOT hibernate at this time but embrace the dreariness that is the next few months of winter and give it a new life!!

Anti-Resolutions

2011-01-14T16:08:00.000-08:00

I realize the New Year has come and gone as has my resolution to write EVERYDAY. There is nothing like New Year's resolutions to make you feel like total crap.

Which got me to thinking (okay, Martha Stewart got me to thinking with an article about setting more positive resolutions) about setting New Year's anit-resolutions. Not in the 'I intend to kill small animals' resolution that the word 'anti' conjures up, but more in the "Do not beat thyself up" type of resolution.

Example:

Normal Resolution:
I will lose ten pounds before my wedding.

Anti-Resolution:
I will walk, dance, run, and play every week so that I feel healthy and strong for my wedding day.

Normal Resolution:
Stop eating sugar

Anti-Resoltution:
Eat sugar, it only makes me sweeter.

Normal Resolution:
Write every single day on pain of death.

Anti-Resolution:
Write as I feel. Or write with a morning cup of tea.

Normal Resolution:
Wake up every morning at eight.

Anti- Resolution:
Stop feeling guilty because you go to sleep at 5 in the morning.

Then there are these ones:

Normal Resolution:
Stick to Engineer's regimented budget

Anti-Resolution:
Start buying dresses when they are on sale, not full price (super easy when you make friends with sales)

Normal Resolution:
Turn off television and read a book

Anti-Resolution:
Listen to book on iPhone while playing Super Mario Brothers

Normal Resolution:
Train Mr. Mop to like children

Anti-Resolution:
Avoid children

Normal Resolution:
Vacuum every other day

Anti-Resolution:
No longer a Virgo so not afraid of dirt.

Normal Resolution:
Cook every meal

Anti-Resolution:
Re-heat take-out. It's practically cooking

Normal Resolution:
Live in present moment

Anti-Resolution:
Get rid of clocks.

See? Easy peasy. Once you throw out the traditional notion of New Year's resolutions making you a better person, make a resolution to realize you are human, full of faults and unless you are a serial killer or mafia boss, you probably don't need to change :)

I'll be 'fill in the blank' for Christmas

2010-12-22T03:00:00.000-08:00

I usually spend Christmas with my family in some part of Alberta. It's usually white, full of family, and FREAKING COLD. Obviously it's the Christmas that I love best. I learned that it isn't easy being away for Christmas (as learned the year I was in Japan playing an alien and ate Mr. Noodles for Christmas dinner).

That doesn't mean I can't spend the first weeks of December getting in the Christmas spirit in far flung places.

Here we go!

1. New York

For obvious reasons you can't be surprised this is on my list. I'd be happy to be in this city for every season (okay, maybe not the middle of August or February). But during the holidays, this city really comes to life. Stomping through the streets of Manhattan, you can't help but sing 'Silver Bells' to yourself. It really is what I envision 'Christmastime in the City' to be.

Santa Clauses ringing bells for Salvation Army are on every corner. Steam rises from the street grates, yellow taxis zoom by carrying busy shoppers from one department store to another (with their treasures), the smell of roasting chestnuts tickle your nostrils. Christmas markets sell lovely trinkets from Columbus Square to Bryant Park to Battery Park. Department stores go out of their way to make each window a dazzling display of art. You can run inside from the cold and grab a hot cocoa, or mulled wine (at Rolf's in Grammercy Park - cheesy but fun!), or even a Christmas inspired cocktail on a rooftop patio (complete with Snuggies at 230 Fifth).

And you can't forget the skating. Rockefeller Center, Central Park, Bryant Park. Here's the truth though: renting skates at any of these places is one of the most painful things I have ever done.

New York is Magic Christmas in the City!

2. Austria/Germany/Switzerland

I have never been to any of these Alpine countries at Christmas but it is one of my BIGGEST dreams. When I was a little girl, I had a picture of Neuschwanstein Castle (King Ludwig's Dream) on my bulletin board - it looked like the ideal winter fairytale. Then, in first year UBC I took a friend to see 'The Nutcracker'. The curtain was a large image of a snow filled valley dotted with chalets and castles - which I believe Germany/Austria must look like.

Adding to that visual in my head, my girlfriend told me about the famous Christmas markets. It wasn't the idea of shopping to me, more the idea of strolling around stalls selling European crafts (basically tourist crap) with a stein full of hot mulled wine.

The thought of wine always makes me happy.

I am also entranced with the fact these markets date to the late middle-ages. I wonder if in 1482 they had chocolates and mulled wine? In my mind they do.

3. Pretty much anywhere in England

I've done a Christmas here with my family AND an after Christmas here (happy memories seeing as I got engaged!) - it's pretty much like Christmas out of a story book.

There's London which is similar to New York in the 'christmastime in the city' feeling. Bustling crowds of Oxford Circus (uh, I would actually avoid this. It's the scariest thing I have ever seen), tiny lanes lit with Christmas lights, pubs filled with mulled wine or hot Pimm's (alcohol seems to always take a central role in my merriment).

In the north, where my family resides, the snow falls gently over the rolling landscape. Placing a wonderful icing atop the stone fences and steeples that dot the countryside.

There is nothing I like more than enjoying a brew (that's British for tea) with my funny and wonderful family, while overlooking the Darwen hills. It's the same scene that was seen by my grandmother, her mother, and her mother before that.

Of course, stopping at a country pub is also a highlight. Oh, and eating British comfort food like pot pies, potato pie, toad in the hole, fish & chips . . . . is it any wonder I gained weight last New Year's?

I also love British Christmas traditions like waking up to my present filled stocking at the end of my bed and eating chocolate oranges.

It's all like a Jaquie Lawson postcard.

4. France

I want to be in France most times of the year. And from my understanding, the traditions are wide and varied from town to town. On the German border, Strasbourg resembles its' German cousins. With bustling markets and medeival buildings lit for the holidays. Lyon windows are filled with candles to celebrate the Virgin Mary. Loire Valley chateaux are brimming with holiday decor suited to their history. Yule Logs being consumed day after day.

It's all magic.

And you can skate on the Eiffel Tower.

7. Japan

Ironic considering how unpleasant the Christmas was for me. The prelude to December 25th was an entirely different matter. I was lucky enough to travel most of the island from November to December as an 'honored' guest. Meaning I was treated to nice hotels and fancy meals. I made a best friend in Japan that I think, to this day, was one of my soul mates. Nothing romantic, just someone who I loved deeply and shared a wonderful bond with (despite the language barrier!).

With him, and a few of the Japanese cast members and my precious Kate-san (the only other white girl for miles around), I discovered Sapporo's busy streets and sidewalks, Osaka with its cozy noodle houses, and, my odd favourite, Sendai. Sendai is what you picture when you think of Japan. Narrow alleyways draped with flags and lanterns. This is where I tried my first roasted chestnut that melted in my mouth.

Outdoor onsens (baths) were this foreign treasure where the women sat (yes, naked) under cold full moons our breath steaming up the night sky.

Japan was as far away as possible from our Canadian Christmas. It could be the memories or the fact that although terribly far away, terribly foreign and different, Japan still offers a Christmas season full of tasty treats and unique experiences.

6. A farm/Cabin/Cottage

This location can be anywhere really. Growing up, I spent Christmases at my grandparent's farm in Southern Alberta. In my memory it is ideal and sort of like 'Muppet Family Christmas' sans the muppets. The trees covered in hoar frost (ick word), Grandma's treats filling the kitchen (ginger snaps, butter tarts, and popcorn balls - oh my!), presents covering the entire floor of the farmhouse living room. We probably got too many presents - I'm not kidding - the gift-wrapped madness stretched at least 20 feet.

Those days are sadly long gone. My grandmother always told me to believe in Santa because he was the spirit of Christmas. With that in mind, I've always wanted to cozy into a cabin in the woods with ginger snaps, or lakeside cottage with wood-burning stove to welcome the spirit of Christmas. Tea, cookies, fires, and falling snow are the perfect combination for a magical holiday. I have those happy memories to keep me warm (to quote a Christmas carol)

And Scattergories.

History of Afternoon Tea

2010-12-21T17:27:00.000-08:00

Just in case you wanted to know:

Legend states that Anna Maria Stanhope (1783-1857), known as the Duchess of Bedford, was the creator of afternoon tea. The Duchess felt the noon meal had become inadequate and claimed she suffered from “a sinking feeling” around four o’clock in the afternoon and so the Duchess had her servants sneak her a pot of tea and some bread. Adopting the European tea service format, she invited friends to join her for an additional afternoon meal at five o’clock at Belvoir Castle. The menu centered around small cakes, bread and butter sandwiches, assorted sweets and of course, tea. This practice became so

popular, the Duchess continued it when she returned to London, sending cards to her friends asking them to join her for “tea and a walk in the fields.” The practice of inviting friends for tea in the afternoon was quickly adopted by other social hostesses and is still a tradition that continues today.

All I Want For Christmas is . . . . a cup of tea

2010-12-21T17:23:00.000-08:00

One of my bridesmaid's kindly took me out for a wonderful treat this past weekend: afternoon tea at the Banff Springs Hotel.

This was awesome on several levels.

Level One: spending time with a good friend

Level Two: drinking tea

Level Three: drinking a marTEAni

Level Four: Being at the Banff Springs - which is pretty much one of the most beautiful hotels in the world

Gingerbread House!

Level Five: Banff in the winter. Because it is a MAGICAL WONDERLAND OF CHRISTMAS AWESOMENESS

I can't even count the amount of times I have been to Banff and yet EACH time I go - it still manages to take my breath away.

You leave the city on highway one, driving through the soft, rolling foothills which at this time of year are covered in hoar frost (who gave something so beautiful such a horrid name?). The Rockies unfold before your eyes and suddenly, POOF!, you are surrounded by these snow-covered rock giants.

I am pretty sure that if you are from any other country and you are told to describe what you think Canada looks like, this would be it. Also, our Rockies kick the American Rockies ass. I don't know why, they just do.

At this point I am getting pretty excited. Like a little kid. Oh look! There's a deer/caribou! Oh look! There's a small Japanese woman trying to ski! Oh look! There's a couple dressed in matching fleece jackets that are covered in wolves and reindeer!

Tea at the Fairmont is tres fancy. Firstly, the room is probably the best out of all the Fairmont's. I mean, it sort of has to be when this is your view from the window.

Secondly, it's called Castle Tea. So you can almost pretend you are Kate Middleton. Also, the 'Castle Tea' has been happening here since 1889. They are pretty good at it now.

You get to smell and learn about each tea on offer. Poor girl repeats the whole shpeel and I still end up with orange pekoe. If you have little guys they have bubblegum or smartie tea!

For an additional few dollars, you can have normal tea and alcoholic tea. I was skeptical about the marteani but it was delicious!! I had a Samurai Saki described as follows:

Wabi: the origin of the Japanese Tea Ceremony conceived by Samurai warriors. Embracing a philosophy of peaceful refinement, the Samurai believed that Matcha tea could restore the body and prepare the mind for battle. The tranquil union of Japan Samurai Gyohuro Green Tea and Dainginjo Saki are complimented by Absolut Kurant Vodka and Crème de Cassis.

My description?

Yum-o

It just feels so ladylike and refined to sip tea and eat teeny-weeny sandwiches filled with devilled eggs and ham. Looking out onto the snow sprinkled valley, one can't help but get into the Christmas mood. Plus you get to hang out with your friend who is growing a beach ball belly.

If you happen to be in the Rockies around the holidays, the loveliness of Banff Springs is not the only thing to get that Christmas spirit feeling.

Just a hop, skip and 45-minute drive down the highway is Fairmont's other castle. Chateau Lake Louise. I happily discovered a few years ago that not only can you skate on the frozen lake, but it has an ICE CASTLE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH AND FREE HOT CHOCOLATE!!!!

If you want to see the moonlit forest, you can jump on a sleigh driven by horses. If you want to get all romantical, you can even get a private sleigh. We have friends that got engaged this way.

The Engineer and I stayed at the CRMR (something to do with rail?) lodge nearby a few years ago. We loved it - it was so old fashioned. The doors has keys! Actual old-style keys. No key cards here. The only problem was that people forgot and left the keys in the doors. There was also no TV. We had to entertain ourselves.

That's the winter I started reading Charles Dickens.

What's the lesson in this entry? That there is no place like home for Christmas. And lucky for me, THIS is home (or close enough).

Additionally, if you are a bride seeking a perfect winter setting - these places are IT! For $24 000 room rental :)

Adventures at Woofstock

2010-12-16T09:39:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, a friend and myself attended Toronto's 'Winter Woofstock' festival. An offshoot of the popular summer festival. Woofstock is touted as North America's largest outdoor festival for dogs (but let's get real, how many can there be?) and is beamed all over North America via satellite. Last year they had over 300 000 people and their canine companions.

Seeing as I missed the summer festivities, I was very excited to take the boys to the smaller winter version.

I imagine the smaller version gets half the amount of people. That's 150 000 people and at least that many dogs (but then there are people like me who have two). It's no wonder that the moment you walk inside the festival area, your nostrils are hit with a very strong mix of poop/pee/cleaner.

I hadn't thought of that.

Obviously that is what makes the outdoor one better. At least the combined stench of 300 000 dogs enters the atmostphere and doesn't reach a ceiling keeping it contained.

My dogs are no better than the other pooping pooches. Even though both had JUST gone to the bathroom outside, Brooklyn immediately made his 'mark' on the carpet. That's right folks. Carpet. So the festival took place in the convention centre and as opposed to leaving the ground it's normal cement self, the people of Woofstock covered the ground with carpet.

Ugh.

I feel bad for the people whose job it was (and indeed there were people) to run after crapping canines with a bottle of disinfectant and paper towels.

We made sure to keep clear of the 'spots' that dotted the carpet. Newly cleaned but I did end up with poop on my shoe more than once.

You know how society makes fun of cat people? Well, dog people are no better. My friend and I were amazed at all the odd folks this sort of festival attracts.

There were two poodles (I think, some sort of mix anyways) that were dyed pink and green. DYED! Who dyes dogs? Okay, I know someone who puts a little green highlight on her maltese's head - and it's cute. But the whole animal?

The oddest thing was, and I am sure I will get in trouble for saying this, was that the owners of pink poodles were a lesbian couple. And not the lipstick variety. I guess I was surprised because if you told me that there was a woman who dyed her poodle pink, I would imagine one of those women who is shockingly thin, is married to an old rich guy, and hires a dog walker as opposed to walking the dogs herself. Not a Rosie O'Donnell clone.

These are not the actual dogs, I just wanted to show you how crazy it is when you dye dogs

There were a plethora of yorkies. Compared to other Yorkie owners, I am the most unprissy one. Which is saying a lot. Almost every Yorkie we saw was (A) teacup variety (B) wearing clothes and (C) in a bag. And then there was my Yorkie: pooping on carpets and licking other dogs' genetalia.

Then there was one dog who looked like a cross between a hyena and a monster. I usually think all dogs are cute, but this poor fellow might have been the ugliest creature I have ever seen. My friend wanted to know what his breed was, and the steroid eating owner quiped 'Chinese Ching Chong'. We aren't sure if he was trying to be funny or racist - but we can't find that breed anywhere. Here is what comes up when you google images for Ching Chong Chinese Dog:

I entered Mr. Mop in a contest to be on the cover of a dog magazine. I have been waiting for the pictures from that session to appear online, but it seems Mr. Mop didn't even make the cut. Or they haven't uploaded Winter Fest yet. Not that he would make cover boy. I think he is possibly the cutest dog ever, but he hadn't been brushed or bathed in weeks. Poor guy didn't stand a chance. Not to mention I had cut matts from around his muzzle so he was very uneven and he had a spaghetti sauce stain between his eyes.

Mr. Mop has had some unusual grooming in his little life. From the time I asked the groomer to keep most of his length but cut out his mats - he came home looking resembling swiss cheese. Then the time I asked them to cut the mats from his head but (again) leave the length. He had a flat top and reminded me of a Muppet character. Just yesterday he went in for a bath and brush. I asked the groomer to make him not look ponsy. She eyed me strangely. I just told her he doesn't need to look like a Bichon or a Poodle. So now he looks like a lamb.

Typical Bichon pouffy look

Mr. Mop's flat top

Baa

Anyhoo, back to our Woofstock. Basically, it was a whole bunch of booths selling dog stuff. We got a blanket and toys for subscribing to the Star, and free dog tags from Frou Frou. We were all about the free.

Despite the foul smelling hall, poop on my shoe, and various other doggie grievances (Mr. Mop chomping on other dogs' heads, Brooklyn getting gang-humped) it was all in all enjoyable to see I am not the craziest dog owner out there.

Oprah's Favourite Things

2010-11-22T21:46:00.000-08:00

It's the MOST wonderful time of the year . . .

Well, it is if you are one of those lucky chosen few who get to be in Oprah's audience for her 'Favorite Things' episode.

And this year there were two episodes.

The Engineer hates Oprah. He finds her annoying. If she introduced him on her show it would sound like this: Today on OPrah we have the ENginEEEEEEEEER!

Erm, it's harder to write than to say. But you know what I mean. That weird yelling/emphasis thing she does.

Back to the Engineer hating Oprah. His only exposure to a 'Favorite Things' episode was the SNL parody starring Maya Rudolph, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler and Rachel Dratch. It's not on Hulu or the SNL website but I found it via another blogger taped from the television:
The Things That Make Me Laugh

You have to watch carefully but you may notice Rachel peeing her pants in the front row and Amy Poehler's head popping off in the sheer excitement of getting free stuff.

On a rainy Saturday, I made the Engineer watch Part One of Oprah's 'Favorite Things'. Watching with him was pretty much the funniest thing ever.

Have you watched this show? Have you seen the craziness that are these people getting amazing gifts for free?

The Engineer thought they were joking. He didn't realize we were watching Oprah. He wondered where Tina Fey was.

No, Engineer, they are that crazy.

I don't blame them. I would be going nuts too if I was getting a free cruise, or an iPad, or a freaking 2012 VW Beetle that isn't even MADE!!!!

It is mob mentality right? Two hundred people making each other go crazy.    Someone is bound to faint.

As the episode progressed, and the medics were brought in (due to said fainting), the Engineer grew more and more agitated.

Oprah: "A set of CANDles!!"

Camera pans to a man whose mouth is open in astonishment and tears stream down his face.

The Engineer: "WHAT? For candles? This isn't real. This is a joke. Is this a joke?"

Me: "No"

Then a woman started praying to God.

Well, that just set the Engineer off. "It's MACARONI AND CHEESE!! Is this an audience for a sporting event that they are faking to be on Oprah?"

Me: "No"

In fact, the only time the audience didn't go crazy was when they got the Kiva gift certificates. For an audience that was chosen based on their charity work, their reaction was lacklustre. The Engineer flipped out. "WHAT? How can they possibly be charitable? They're so materialistic. They should be the most excited about charity."

Me: "Maybe they are so excited because now they can give their presents away."

Nah.

Today's episode had even me wanting to pee my pants and blow my head off with excitement. A Le Creuset set AND an iPad? AND a VW Bug?   AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!

Here's the thing about Oprah: she is a billionaire and crazy successful and yet she is GRATEFUL everyday for her success and continues to better herself spiritually, emotionally and physically. You may not like her (um, Engineer) but I think that is very cool. I am also fascinated by the fact that all those 'favorite things' are now bestsellers.

The Oprah effect. Pretty incredible stuff. Businesses will spend upwards of $20 000 to get on her favorite things episode. And when they are accepted, they can roll out the carpet of success. They are immediately sold out and on the road to millions.

This was her last favorite things. I for one am sad. I mean, (A) how will I know what to put on my Christmas list next year? (B) watching that episode bonds the Engineer and I in gut bursting laughter for an hour and (C) I will miss the crazy.

Like her or not, Oprah: one of my favorite things.

Wacko Wacko: How these Two Words Changed My Life (and my hips!)

2010-11-19T01:05:00.000-08:00

Over the years (and a few before that) of writing this blog, I have gone the distance, so to speak, when it comes to trying out new and fun ways to trim my waistline and get back into my high school pants (or at least third year university pants).

I have tried pole dancing (which was when I was my fittest and most toned but I kept falling off of the pole when it came time for the fancy upside down stuff), pogo stick hopping, spinning (or hell, as I think of it), boot camp, Bollywood dancing, boxing (30 Minute Hit is the best!!), yoga, hot yoga, yoga with wings, yoga-ballet, yogaltes, pilates, pilates with props, hot pilates, hoop pilates, powerball pilates, personal training, hula dancing, hula hooping, 80's style jazzersize, and even aquasize.

It's no wonder that in exploring Toronto, I have sought out some fun fitness trends. Especially with the size six wedding dress that is sitting in my closet.

Well friends, I believe I have done well.

First 'Wacko' goes to Witty Workouts.

The gist is that you do a circuit workout twice and in between sets (is that the right word?) you play a game. And you know I like games!

But that's not all! Oh no - it's all done with a . . . . THEME! THEME! I am queen of themes! I love themes. I theme everything! I even theme Christmas presents.

Therefore when I was told this was a workout with a theme I nearly peed my pants with excitement.

I happened in a few days after Halloween. Therefore the theme was, yup, you guessed it! Halloween!

Firstly, the trainer was wearing a Jack-o-Lantern costume complete with a hat. Secondly, our warm-up was the 'pumpkin twist'. Literally. He found a song called "The Pumpkin Twist" and we followed along. Pretending to be pumpkins and twisting around. Thirdly, each station had a fun name. So twists become 'Witche's Couldron'. Some of the stations even had hats! The games included beer pong that had me laughing so hard I didn't notice I was doing crunches for three minutes.

I give Witty Workouts an A++ on the scale of not noticing I worked out until I got out of bed the next day and couldn't walk.

My second 'Wacko' goes to Zumba. The Latin-inspired workout that is spreading the world like wildfire.

It might just be the funnest dance party I have ever experienced. I love trying to dance. I stress 'trying'. I am one of the most unchoreographed people ever. In Brooklyn, I always wanted to go to African dance but, if you recall I looked like a monkey on speed, therefore was always too scared to go back.

Zumba is no exception.

As soon as the uber fun and sexy music starts playing, you can't help but start to dance. It is the funnest dancing ever!

Our instructor was this sexy Latina girl with long flowing dark hair who could move her hips at breakneck speed.

Do you ever watch instructors and think you look exactly like them, then catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and realize you look like a drunken chimpanzee? It's like the time I had to wave at myself in yoga because I didn't realize my butt looked so big from behind. The sudden realization that you are a terrible dancer hits you like a ton of bricks.

Whatever. I am the whitest person I know. I cannot be expected to be a super dance star.

I tried my best to follow along. Shaking my butt with the beat. Waving my hands in the air. All the while doing mambo steps. Luckily I was in loser corner. The guy next to me was a three-hundred pound Indian guy with a beard (I LOVE the fact he even was at this class!) and a gal who had even less coordination than me! We banded together in our inability to turn around and cha cha at the same time while Shakira sang 'Wacko Wacko'. And when I crashed with Mr. Beard during 'espenza' (I think this is what it is called - hard to know. Basically you shake your bum while sticking it out and waving your arms like a washing machine in front of you) it was no big deal because we were in unpretentious and awesome zumba!

Unlike African that was full of people who were taking it a bit too seriously, it doesn't matter how sucky you are in Zumba. I will not be too scared to go back.

The more you mix up the fitness fun, the more likely you are to stick to a regular routine and see results. That's what I have learned anyways. I know it's time to move on from a workout when I have to drag myself away from Golden Girls or I stop seeing changes in my body.

But I'm fairly certain that mixing up tossing a jack-o-lantern and shaking my booty will last at least until I have to zip that wedding dress up!

A Royal Slip

2010-11-17T06:36:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's post, A Royal Engagement, had a wee bit of a Royal, erm, Freudin slip.

I may have written, "Is this what people felt like in 1981 when SARAH and Charles got married?"

That's right - I confused my own name with that of Princess Diana's. Whoops. And I didn't even notice after proofreading. Nor did any readers notice. None, except for the Engineer. Double whoops.

I guess it just seemed so natural, after all Sarah DOES mean princess. And there was Sarah, Duchess of York.

After yesterday's announcement, female Facebook status updates included things like "Prince William is off the market :(" "At least Harry is still available" and, my personal favourite, "Can now handle the royal engagement after reading this article: Unemployed English Girl to Wed Soldier from Welfare Family".

It made me handle it better too. Kate may be able to bag a prince but she can't bag a job. And their wedding is being paid for by British taxpayers. So there.

No. Can't do it. I love Kate! Look how classy and pretty she is! I can't wait to buy china with her head on it!

My mum pointed out that I should feel sorry for Kate. Being thrust into the limelight the way she is. Check out their statement and the amount of flashes going off. But I don't feel sorry for her! She has been going out with him for eight years!! She knows exactly what she is getting into. After all, she grew up in the time of Princess Diana. I am pretty sure Kate thinks being a Queen is worth it.

Yesterday when I admitted being envious/sad of the royal engagement, I really did think I was alone. Facebook proved I was not.

And it was that fact that made me feel better.

A Royal Engagement

2010-11-16T09:04:00.000-08:00

As you may have learned, Prince William and Miss Kate Middleton are finally engaged.

And when you heard the news you felt a twinge of envy and sadness.

Or was that just me?

Don't get me wrong - I LOVE the Engineer. He is my Prince. But he isn't exactly from Royal blood nor does he have a castle. I didn't actually think I was ever going to be a real princess anyways but there was always that happy knowledge that a single future king was out there.

It's like that moment you realize that you are never going to figure skate with Kurt Browning in the Olympics (so many things are wrong with this to begin with but this was my dream at 14). Or dance in the Nutcracker. Or be the future Queen of England.

I am happy for them though, and I can't wait to see the dress Kate picks! Also, how can we not like her? She's a commoner! Educated. Pretty. Fashionable. And she bagged a prince.

Is this what people felt like in 1981 when Sarah and Charles got married?

They plan on getting married next spring or summer. Great. Now my wedding definitely won't be the event of 2011.

I have been engaged for 11 months now and I have some advice for Miss Kate.

ENJOY the engagement-moon! My friend told me that she loved the first couple of months of being engaged and boy, was she right. I wish I had relished them more. I look back on those first two, and very cold, weeks in January when I was with the Engineer in London after our engagement with fondness. I can even smell the London flat and taste the tea as I sat for hours on my computer looking at possible wedding destinations.

When you are newly engaged, you feel as if you have just fallen in love for the first time. My affection for the Engineer drove me wild. I adored everything he said and wanted to kiss him all the time.

We're back to normal now. HA!

I also loved being a new bride. The unfamiliar feeling of having a ring on your left hand. Catching yourself in every mirror or window or puddle to see the glitter of your ring. Talking in an unusual manner with your hands hoping strangers would comment on the beauty of your ring.

When you are newly engaged, it's fun to race to the bookstore and buy every bridal magazine. You wait at the counter whilst paying just waiting for the person to comment on your engagement (God, how needy am I?). The excitement of talking about all that you want for your wedding before the inevitable budget sets in. Trying to decide where in the world to get married (or was that just me?).

I loved telling everyone (and because I was in London this was hard!). My group of friends have a tradition of telling big news over brunch. How long I had fantasized about sitting over eggs benny and then saying, "So I got the best thing in London" and then whipping my left hand out to a myriad of screams. Instead, I revealed it by email because the Engineer and I wanted to post our engagement on Facebook (so much is wrong with that statement).

The best part about being newly engaged is that you are crazy in love, not just crazy. Which is what you are eleven months into an engagement. The Engineer and I no longer look into each other's eyes with wonder as we contemplate growing old together. Now I just ask him if he prefers pink to yellow and what sort of music should we have at the ceremony (bagpipe!).

I have the date set, the invitations have already been RSVP'd, the dress is sitting in my closet, and my bridesmaids are picked.

Also, I am not a 'new' bride anymore. Other people have gotten engaged since my engagement. Like 15 minutes of fame, you only get 15 minutes of absolute adoration until it is your wedding day and you get to be adored again.

Then you're really screwed because you'll be married.

So, Kate Middleton, I toast my cup of tea to you and William. May you enjoy your engagement and the uphoria of finally getting the ROCK (she waited long enough!). I look forward to wearing a hat at your wedding. Although I will be watching it from my couch.

And for all you single gals - there is still one single royal left . . .

West Coast Girl

2010-11-16T06:46:00.002-08:00

My whole life I have been a 'Prairie Girl'.

I was born and raised in the prairies. I am one of those unique individuals who actually knows that bread comes from wheat and appreciates the effort it takes. I have ridden in a combine. I know that a prairie sunset can last forever and ever because the sky is so big. I've been up early enough to see the hint of sunrise in the east and the navy sky in the west. I've been woken up to hear the coyotes howl in the night sky as the Northern Lights dance overhead. I've know what it is to experience winters so cold that your eyes actually freeze closed. I've watched storms roll in from 100 kilometres away and disappear a 100 kilometres in the other direction. I know that early morning in the prairie is one of the most beautiful things in the world. I know how to find beauty passing hundreds of kilometres of canola, barley and wheat from one prairie town to another.

I am such a prairie girl that my old email address is actually prairiegirl. My first production company was Prairiegirlproductions. I am such a prairie girl that I have never considered myself anything but.

I just moved to Toronto with the Engineer. I feel very out of place. My mum thinks it is because I am a westerner and I am just not an East Coast girl (New York was in the States so apparently doesn't count. Even though if I lived there forever I still would never be a true New Yorker).

But am I still a prairie girl?

Truth be told, I never really thought about it. Until . . .

A group of wonderful gal pals and I gathered on a wet Sunday to take a picture. We had just spent a wonderful weekend at Sakinaw Lake Lodge on the Sunshine Coast.

In typical BC form, our departure was marked by low, grey clouds and rain. We all smooshed together, arms around one another, our rain hoods up and our wellies protecting our toes from getting wet. The owner of Sakinaw apologized for making us take a photo in the rain.

My girlfriend quipped, 'That's okay! We're West Coast Girls'.

It was then that I realized: I was less a prairie girl and had slowly become a West Coaster without realizing it.

Obviously I am the sentimental type. I am probably the only person who was affected by this statement. I mean I was dwelling on my departure from BC. On the eve of my move to Toronto, I got to celebrate the West Coast in style.

I have lived in Vancouver for ten years. In that time, I have shed my ability to withstand cold and bitter winters. I don't even know how to drive in the snow anymore. I am now conditioned to drop ANYTHING I am doing and run outside - when the sun is shining. It gets very confusing when I am in places (like Toronto) that always seem to be sunny.

From my bedroom, I see the North Shore mountains that turn that lovely purple hue at sunset. Right now I bet they are starting to get that dusting of snow. It's a three minute walk to sea water. My walks through barley fields have been replaced with dog walks in a rain forest.

My footwear of choice are rainboots. I am comforted by rain and fear snow.

I am a West Coast girl.

In these ten years, I have cultivated some of the most wonderful and strong friendships ever imaginable. Women who love me even when I lament on the ferry heading back to Horseshoe Bay that it is the last 'BC Ferry (aka White Spot) clam chowder I will ever have' (ummm, I will probably be on a ferry in a month). Women who love being cozied up inside with a crackling fire watching the mists roll over the lake (or ocean depending where we are). Women who also love the uniform of lululemon, rubber boots and raincoats. Women who invited me into their lives ten years ago and have helped to transform this prairie gal into a West Coaster.

I mean some of these girls have had to sit in a car with me as we soar over the Coquihalla as I gush "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD! BC is the prettiest place EVER" (seriously, the views really are hard to beat). Maybe a bit of my sentimentality has rubbed off on them :)

Anyways, as I adjust to this new life on the East side of Canada I can't help but reflect on the fact that I am a westerner at heart. There are many reasons to miss BC. It's amazing beauty and freshness, the mountains and ocean, and the fact that Vancouver remains green all year round.

But the biggest reason to miss BC, are my West Coast Girls.

Remembrance Day

2010-11-11T12:59:00.002-08:00

I was out the other day with a new group of people, one of which commented that she wondered what the point of taking Remembrance Day off of work was. Do people really take a moment and reflect? Or do they do, as she does, sleep-in and watch daytime television?

The Engineer jumped in really quickly to prevent me from losing it because he knows how angry this thinking makes me.

Since I was a child, Remembrance Day has always greatly affected me.

Perhaps because my grandfather passed away on November 10th and I have always associated this time with remembering.

Or maybe because my great-uncle died shortly after landing on the beaches of Normandy.

Or, the most likely reason of them all, like most people in our country and world, seeing the valour, honor and pure selflessness that so many men and women have shown in serving for their country.

Watching the coverage of the ceremony this morning in Ottawa, I heard an interesting quote I want to share. Military historian and author Jack Granastein said this: "Remember why we fought. Never for aggression, or for territory, or for spoils. Only for right reasons. For our friends, for our allies, our values especially for our freedom, democracy. We only ever fought for the right causes. And there aren't many countries that can say that. It's important to remember."

In May, I wrote about visiting my great-uncle's grave in France. I wrote about the Iraq war and how I didn't really understand why we were there. I take that back. Since then, I have done much research and spoken to some veterans who were there. I really respect the effort our Canadian forces are doing in Afghanistan. They are working to keep out the Taliban. They are fighting to protect those that are not able to protect themselves. They are making the world a better place. We have lost 152 of them.

On my way to the beach today, around 10:45, I ran into a small marching group heading to the local war memorial. I could hear the pipes long before I could see them, and quickly went to watch. Led by a man in his motor-scooter holding a "Lest We Forget" flag, was a piping group (one of which was a Chinese woman - I love that about Canada). Behind them were a few veterans (including a woman!) and behind them was a group of about 12 young men wearing WW2 replica uniforms.

That really moved me. When one puts into context just how young those soldiers were, it is incredible. Just babies.

The Engineer had an ultra-Canadian moment at 11am. He was at a Tim Horton's surrounded by construction crews, businessmen, families when 'Last Post' started to play and EVERYONE was silent for two minutes.

Earlier I was listening to a few women who served during WW2. Women wanted to play their part in the war. They were brave, got dirty, and did 'unladylike' things. Not only did these women pave the way for future generations of women who can now serve in the military, but they also paved the way for all women to work.

When my grandfather died, I met one of his neighbors who had served in the RAF. She told me how proud she was to help build planes. She also told me that she was pudgy and her uniform pants were too tight. Ha!


Captain Nichola Goddard, 1980-2006

At his funeral, our family was incredibly moved by the group of WW2 veterans who showed up. Apparently, veterans check the obits every morning looking for fellow veterans. They don't have to know the man, or have served with the man, or even served with the same country, but they will come and pay their respect. I spoke about spending time in England with my grandad and how grateful I was for that. Afterwards, one of the veterans who also happened to be British gave me his British poppy with a black center (like the ones we have this year). They also played 'The Last Post' and each walked up to salute his picture.

Talk about ugly cry fest.

My grandfather was bitterly disappointed that he got injured before he was able to serve on D-Day. I always waved this comment off and told him I am glad he didn't go. I now understand his sadness.

Tom Bentley joined the British Royal Marines the moment he could, in fact he lied about his age. While training, he was in a motorcycle accident and therefore unable to go to war. No wonder he was so disappointed. Ever other man in his country was off to war, fighting and protecting Britain and liberating Europe. He was sent back north. He never got his chance. My family might not exist if he had, which I am grateful for, but I can definitely now see it from his side.

I realize this is a long post but I just feel so strongly about this day.

We lose 400-600 WW2 veterans a week and we lost our last WW1 veteran earlier this year.
There are 152 lives that have been lost in Afghanistan and thousands who continue to serve.

If we don't make this day important, we diminish the significance these men and women have made in our lives. If we don't make an effort to remember, one day we will forget and their sacrifices will have meant nothing.

So please take more than just a minute today.

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother" - Henry V

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

Remembering the Past while Embracing your Future

2010-11-10T13:05:00.000-08:00

To inspire myself to be a better person I get an email every other day or so from Whole Living asking me to pledge towards doing something good. Usually it's something pretty obvious like, 'drink water' or 'eat an orange'. Also I am well aware that taking advice from a mulit-billion dollar insdustry leader, Martha Stewart is like reading only the books Oprah tells me.

Sue me. I love Martha.

My dream is to go to her show. I applied for tickets the whole time I was in New York and alas, I never got to go. Maybe now I can play the bride card and go to a bridal show. With my friend in New York. HINT HINT.

Okay, back to my Whole Living living better tasks. Usually they are weird.

But the other day this was the task:

Celebrate the Dead

The idea is that between Halloween, All Hallow's Eve and the Wiccan New Year - throw a party celebrating those that have gone before you. Probably not a booze fest with top 40, but a mini-party where the guests are you and the memories of those you love.

I thought this was a great idea. I mean, I think often of those who have passed away but I never actually sit down and take a moment to really celebrate what part they played in my life.

Planning my wedding makes me really miss them all. I think they would have really loved the Engineer. And I wish they could all be at our wedding.

I have therefore been inspired (thank you Martha) to do tiny things at our wedding to make sure they are a part of the party.

I plan on making many of the personal touches at our wedding myself. I realize that sometimes it's just easier to buy whatever it is you want, like a facsinator or ribbon wands, but there is something so nice about doing it yourself. It may take a lot of time, but crafting is relaxing and makes me feel proud of my accomplishments. My dad's mother taught me that.

I used to sit for hours with her in her farmhouse kitchen making all sorts of crafts: mop dolls, Christmas angels, monster masks. She even had a drawer full of crafty treasures like pipecleaners and lace - all just waiting to be turned into something magical with my hands. My cousin has that kitchen table now and every time I sit at it I think of those wonderful afternoons with her. I know if she was here she would teach me how to make ribbon wands and probably take over when I got bored and started to eat her popcorn balls and butter tarts instead. So I am going to make things for my wedding. They may not look as nice as professionally bought items but they are made with love. And it's my way of having her there.

My mother's father taught me how to make the perfect cup of tea. He was so proper and, well, British. He always wore full pajamas and a robe. I used to walk down at the harbour with him and look at all the boats. Or play crib. He taught me how to find those sets of 15 and probably let me win more often than not. But he was a tough old bugger so he wouldn't let me win all the time. Tom would have loved the Engineer because the Engineer is quiet and likes math and science. I am providing vintage hankies for our guests before we walk down the aisle. My grandfather always had a hankie in his pocket. Proper right? Maybe full of germs but very yesteryear. Anyways, these handkerchiefs are an ode to him.

Sadly my other two grandparents died when I was much younger and had barely formed lasting memories.

I thought about my dad's dad. He was a typical tough farmer. A man of few words, strong and always wearing suspenders. Like my dad, he was a bit of a curmudgeon with a big soft spot for us grandkids. I thought about his naps on the small chesterfield and how I used to take his socks off. I can just hear that rattly voice threatening to throw me in the snow bank. With a sparkle in his eye. I haven't quite figured out how to put his memory in beyond serving dark chocolate and oysters. But I am working on it - maybe I can get the Engineer to wear suspenders! Or I could have some sheaths of wheat at the tables?

Lastly my mother's mother, who was taken even earlier with alzheimer's so many of my memories are based in an old-folks home. I know she was gentle and kind. And I can remember the smell of her. Strange isn't it? You can remember a smell even though I will never smell that again. When I would hug her she smelled of wool and cream. Her skin was super soft and smooth - like my mum's. And she had a fake tooth that she would pop out to make me laugh. I think she would really have enjoyed our wedding. She liked to have fun and I believe she would dance around with me, so I can only imagine she would have danced at our wedding. I am decorating our wedding with tea cups, soft flowers and serving British candy like Pontefract cakes and Licorice Allsorts (one of my favourites!) - all for Stella's memory.

I like these details because I know that they are there. Well, and now you because I told you. But it is so neat to have pieces of your family and ancestors around a celebration, like a quilt.

There are a few more tricks up my sleeves that will ensure our past is present for our future. But you have to wait until June 28th to find out what they are . . .

The Fall Fashion Dilema

2010-11-08T14:23:00.000-08:00

Fall is one of the best seasons. Okay, I think every season is the best season. But fall has lots going for it.

It's colourful, crisp, abundant with honey crisp apples and smells like pumpkins and nutmeg. When you walk down the street the leaves crunch satisfyingly under your shoes. Things get cozy as you bunker inside with a cashmere wrap (or my fleece blanket that is almost like cashmere), start a roaring fire (or turn on the switch) and read a good book. Off go the flip flops and on go the sheepskin lined slippers. The cardigans and turtlenecks replace the sundresses and tank tops.

Actually those last two things make me hate fall.

Hate is a strong word. Considering I started this entry by talking about how much I love fall.

Let me rewind: fall is great but it stresses me out.

Why? I CAN'T DRESS FOR THE FALL!!

I have no idea what to wear or how to wear it!!! Gone are the days of me just slipping into my favourite dress and havianas to walk the dogs. Now I have to sit down and lace up my runners. I have to put on pants. And socks. And a sweater. And a hat. It takes so freaking long.

Every year when fall rolls around I find myself spending hours online trying to find (A) a pair of boots that will fit over what are apparently massive calves and (B) the perfect layering ensemble.

I am a layer fail.

I realize that everyone just loves to layer. Well not this bridesmaid. Dear God, what is wrong with me?

The other day I put on my fleece-lined leggings, a sweater dress, then I 'layered' a sweater coat on top, put on my red shoes and toque.

I looked like a circus clown.

I am not kidding. Even the Engineer noticed my wardrobe fail. That is saying alot.

Each morning that it gets colder is another morning I stare blankly into my closet and wonder about this art of layering that seems oh so popular and cozy. Part of my problem is down to my love of colourful clothing. Therefore matching is gone out the window with layering. It is asking way too much coordination. So I switch to black and grey.

Then what do I wear on my feet? Ballet flats aren't practical for Canadian winters. Rubber boots are cold. And uncomfortable after a while. I have UGG runners but they are casual. What do I wear with black pants?

And how do I wear the new camel coloured poncho like thing a friend made me buy? Do I match what I wear underneath?

Am I destined to be slightly cold and oddly attired every fall?

Help!

Bad Brooklyn, BAD Dog!

2010-11-07T19:31:00.000-08:00

The trials and tribulations continue living in a new house with the two beasties.

The glass front door is in desperate need of a curtain and the top of the stairs is in desperate need of a baby gate. I feel these two items will stop Brooklyn barking/screaming at the door which leads to either myself, or the Engineer, running down the stairs to yell 'No Noise Brooklyn! No Noise'.

He doesn't seem to care. Punishing this animal seems to be impossible.

Just the other day he escaped through the front door as I collected the mail. This was a catastrophe for several reasons.

The main one being that I was wearing my PJ bottoms, a tank top, and my velcro rollers. VELCRO rollers.

As Brooklyn merely looked at me when I called his name, wagged his tail and lifted his leg, I was forced to dash upstairs and grab some doggie chicken. Leaving Mr. Mop howling and scratching at the front door, I ran across the street (I am sure these neighbors hate us by now) in my slippers and rollers. Brooklyn ran up the steps, then down the steps, then up the steps next door and around the corner to their backyard.

The doggie chicken was not as enticing as the freedom of the strange backyard. So the asshole crawled under the fence, leaving me on my hands and knees, hissing his name and waving chicken under the fence.

He looked at me and then pooped. He POOPED in their backyard. Then he went under their deck and sniffed for a while until the lure of chicken was enough to come back to me.

I did not give him the chicken. He got put on his back and told he was naughty. He sneezed.

Unfortunately the gate was locked so I had to leave his poop. I wonder if the neighbors think about the mystery poop they must have found raking the backyard and blame it on the new family across the street.

Oh god.

To make matters worse, the city construction crew decided to arrive to fix the water pipe at the exact moment I was stomping across the street with a panting dog, a handful of chicken, and, in case you forgot, VELCRO ROLLERS IN MY HAIR! AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

Oooh La La Chocolat

2010-11-07T19:18:00.000-08:00

On a crisp, Autumn afternoon in rainy city, I happened upon a sweet little chocolaterie on Main Street. Okay, I didn't exactly happen upon it. Groupon led me there. Oh Groupon.

This little piece of France is a lovely, chocolatey escape from the rain (especially because it is across from one of my favourite little cafes: Liberty Bakery).

So the place of happy chocolate France land is Chocolaterie de la Nouvelle France and it is owned by this adorable little Quebecois gal, Anna-Genevieve.

One of my favourite movies is Chocolat. Firstly, it's about chocolate and it takes place in my Dordogne. Secondly, Johnny Depp. Thirdly, there is a kangaroo. And lastly, that hot chocolate she serves. Well, drinking chocolate is a more apt description.

I have ALWAYS wanted that drinking chocolate. Sadly, my hot chocolate from a package with added hot water and freeze-dried marshmallows is not that drinking chocolate.

But Anna-Genevieve's drinking chocolate is EXACTLY what I imagined Vianne to serve hot Johnny in the movie. It's thick, semi-sweet and so richly delicious I danced down Main Street, happily kicking up the crisp leaves as I savored happiness in a cup.

Ironically, I stopped by this place after a massive personal training workout that left me drenched and sore. The drink was 300 calories and I figure I burned 500, so I still come out on top right?

The girls at Nouvelle France specialize in truffles: spicy, earl grey, orange flower, and dark - just to name a few. After you make your choice, one of the French ladies packs them up sweetly in a little white box sealed with wax and a red ribbon.

I love little touches that really make this chocolaterie feel as if you are in the South of France in a tiny village. Or as I like to think: my second home.

And that drinking chocolate? I have been dreaming of it since my move to Toronto. Drinking pure, warm spicy chocolate. Does it get any better than that?

Mr. Mop and the Sushi Man

2010-10-27T13:21:00.000-07:00

What's new in the world of this bride turned bridesmaid?

Well, the Engineer and I just moved to Toronto.

T.O.R.O.N.T.O.

And I am trying to be super duper positive about it. Unfortunately, I am not doing so well.

Firstly, it's not New York.

My new neighbourhood is not Brooklyn.

And it does not help when people say 'Oh, but you're so close to New York!'. Right. What part of "I was in New York" don't they get?

Secondly, it's not Rainy City. That even though had lots of rain and sometimes was No-Fun-Couver it is still the prettiest city in the entire world. It really really is.

So here we are. In this new place. Called Toronto.

At least the furballs are feeling at home. I am so proud of their adaptable little brains that seem to love everywhere I force them. Each new home is not without it's challenges however.

In Vancouver if my phone rings and I press '9' the duo immediately start barking because they know a guest is on their way up. In Brooklyn, if our buzzer went off the two would go crazy. But in these two spaces we were all in the same room/level and it was easy for me to get them to stop barking. AKA spray water on them.

Here in Toronto we have a new set of problems. We live on the second floor of a house. Our entrance is therefore located on the first floor. And our front door is a window. Just one big window that shows every passing school kid, mailman, squirrel or blowing leaf off to my excitable mutts.

Brooklyn has taken to sleeping on the stairs - he is the pillar of guard dog. Too bad he weighs nine pounds and isn't fooling anyone. It doesn't help that the house below isn't finished yet and there have been problems with our own home which means contractors stomping in and out all day long.

The Engineer and I are getting a baby gate.

On our second day here, the boys and I were in our front yard (bonus! I have a front yard). Mop was so good and just wandered around within a five-foot radius. Brooklyn is always bad so he was being carried.

All was fine UNTIL Mop spotted our neighbour. A hairless cat.

Hell broke loose. Mop would not respond to 'come' or 'stop that' or 'don't hurt that cat' or 'bad dog'. He had a mind of his own and that cat was fast. Mop chased it up the street, then down the street, then into a backyard.

All the while with me on his tail and Brooklyn having a freak fest in my arms.

I managed to wrangle him in some strange person's, ie. my new neighbours, yard where he was barking at the cat. Except it was a new cat. Great. The new hood is crawling with felines.

Mr. Mop got into trouble and was sentenced to solitary confinement in the bathroom where he promptly threw up and then scratched at the door so much one paw started to bleed.

Awesome.

Lesson here? Always on a leash and buy neighbours some flowers.

I am used to them barking at whatever man is at the door and usually if I let them out, they sniff the feet of said man and then pee on the grass and march back into the house.

Last night when we had sushi delivered I expected the same behaviour.

What I wasn't prepared for was Sushi Man's fear of dogs.

After grabbing the sushi and asking for change, Mr. Mop managed to bound past me and proceed to bark at Mr. Sushi. I told him to be quiet but due to the fear Mr. Sushi had of Mop, the barking continued. Mr. Mop proceeded to nip at Sushi's feet which made Mr. Sushi hop from one foot to another. I told Mr. Sushi that Mop wouldn't hurt him but this did not quell his fear and he proceeded to do a funky dance until I could grab Mop.

Mr. Sushi had to go back to his car for change. In this time, Mr. Mop was brought inside, told to 'down' and the 'no noise' command was obeyed.

But there was something about Mr. Sushi that Mr. Mop simply did not like. When I held out my hand for change, Mop escaped again and proceeded to bark earnestly at the dancing Japanese guy. Now instead of staying still like I told him to, Mr. Sushi darted for the yard with Mop on his heels. I threw down the sushi and raced after them. Unfortunately I forgot to close the door so Brooklyn was out in a shot.

Mr. Sushi ran across the street in fear for his life from 15 pounds of white fur and started to hide behind the fence. I managed to grab Mop but Brooklyn was still on the loose and barking in circles around Mr. Sushi. Sushi man was terrified. TERRIFIED. Of Brooklyn.

If I wasn't so mad at my dogs and clearly embarrassed I would have laughed my ass off. Mr. Sushi looked more like Mr. Sumo so I have no idea why a 9 pound Yorkie could send him into such a state of distress.

By this time, there are cars on the street stopped to (a) watch the ruckus and (b) not hit Brooklyn.

I shouted my apologies at Mr. Sushi who darted for his car as soon as both dogs had been wrangled and headed back inside. My head held in shame.

At this point, the Engineer finally came downstairs to see what all the commotion was about. Nice timing.

The sushi turned out to be terrible. So at least I don't have to order from there ever again.

I still need to get the neighbours some flowers though. I feel like we are that family with brats that moves onto a street and everyone hates. Ugh.

The Last of NYC Food: Cheese

2010-10-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

From dieting right back to food - I think I see my problem here . . .

Anyhoo, now that I am no longer a part-time resident of the city that never sleeps, I can no longer report on fabulous food from the Big Apple. I can only share my memories of some great eats.

My last week there I piled on the calories like you wouldn't believe. Eating food so good that it's a good thing we moved.

Murray's Cheese is the focus of this entry. I knew about Murray's from the first day I arrived in New York. It's pretty famous and therefore hard not to know about.

For those who don't know, Murray's Cheese is owned by Rob (not Murray - the original Murray died a very long time ago and is no relation to Rob) and is the Village's answer the speciality cheeses, meats, olives, pastas, oils . . . . pretty much anything that is delicious. Just stepping inside to smell the cheese air will make your tastebuds dance with joy.

It's like my mother ship.

The store is stocked high with every type of cheese you can imagine. I had sampled the cheese for two years. But I never had the cheese on a sandwich. Melted. Until this past August.

My friend and I were walking past the store when I noticed a couple eating what looked like the most incredible grilled cheese sandwich I had ever seen. I immediately stopped and asked very loudly "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?". With a full mouth and a look of ecstasy, the husband pointed over his shoulder to Murray's.

In we went.

The choice for a grilled cheese is endless but I opted for the original Murray's blend on white bread (don't lie to yourself, grilled cheese tastes best on white. And at this point you may as well go whole hog.)

I knew it would be good.

I just didn't know it would be THIS good. I drooled. I actually drooled while eating my dripping, gooey, cheesy goodness that was a Murray Grilled Cheese. I went back to the man who made it, complimenting his chef/cheese skills and I was tempted to make out with him. Or the cheese. It was a tough decision.

I am just glad I didn't know about Murray's grilled cheese until it was too late otherwise I would definitely have developped some strange grilled cheese habit that might see me hospitalized for clogged arteries or crazed cheese visions.

They also serve Murray's Melts which are to die for panini's. It's all good. It's all melted cheese.

DROOL.

Cheaters Anonymous

2010-10-21T08:34:00.000-07:00

I recently joined Weight Watchers in an attempt to have skinny arms for my wedding. That, and my doctor told me I had to lose weight! HA! I am not fat, but I have started to find that my size 8 is a bit tighter than it used to be.

Therefore, on the advice of Jennifer Hudson and the Duchess of York, I turned to the fool proof plan of Weight Watchers. It really is idiot-proof. All you do is plug in what you eat, it gives you food points and if you go above your daily allocation of 24 points then you will be fat.

I highly enjoy the activity points because you can swap them for fun food points. Ate a boston cream donut? No problem! Swap an hour's worth of training for donut points! Hurrah! It's like shopping and swapping money for fun things.

I did great in my first week. I piled on those activity points like no one's business. I also stayed within the allocated 24 points. Mostly.

Now, five weeks into the program, I seem to fall off the wagon a teeny bit more often.

One thing I happily discovered is that I can eat 60 Goldfish crackers at 3 points. PERFECT. I love those cheesy things. I carry them in zippie bags for my purse and my glove compartment when hunger strikes.

Quite proud of myself actually.

Until the other day when I was with my friend and her two-year old. The two-year old also gets a zippie of goldfish crackers. We took her to the park where I noticed a four year old with a zippie of goldfish crackers too. Apparently I am a toddler.

There is another thing wrong with eating goldfish crackers.

I can eat a whole bunch of these suckers for 3 points BUT salmon sashimi is 8 points? What the what? 8 points is a third of my daily intake?!?!?! And isn't salmon sashimi good for you? It's ACTUAL fish. Not cheddar rendered crispy things.

I feel I should be encouraged to eat healthy and nutritious food - not empty calories.

I have also started lying to Weight Watchers. AKA myself.

For example, the Engineer was craving a cake the other day. So I baked one. When I discovered that a piece of chocolate cake was a whopping 16 points (confusion here: Boston Cream Donut = 6 points, Cinnamon Bun = 7 points, Butter Croissant: 6 points - HOW is a piece of cake worth 16? And how is salmon worth 8?) I may or may not have (a) chosen the point value of a weight watchers brand frozen dessert at 3 points and (b) not told weight watchers that I had two pieces.

Then we had salmon for dinner. A serving of salmon is 10 points. WHAT THE WHAT? So I told Weight Watchers I ate halibut.

Basically, on Weight Watchers I could technically eat a Boston Cream Donut for breakfast, lunch and dinner for an entire year but still come in at 24 points a day.

The point of this story?

Diets make liars and cheaters of us all. I am going back to my life of eating healthy, nutritious food that may have high points value but is good for my body. And I will go back to thinking I can only have one donut or cinnamon bun every two weeks instead of everyday.

The Duchess of York is shady. I should have known.

And the Winner Is . . .

2010-09-07T12:07:00.001-07:00

The Date is set

The Invites have been sent out

And the deposit has been paid

So where in the world did the Engineer and I decide to get married?

Let's recall the choices:

1. France

2. Greece

3. Disneyworld

4. Italy

5. Key West, Florida

6. Nantucket

7. Scotland

8. A Barn

And the winner is???

Drum roll please

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (that is my drumroll)

TUSCANY ITALY!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

We are going to dance with the clouds at our feet and look like we've had too much wine (most likely because we have)

We chose Podere Ciona which is in the Chianti region of Tuscany.

I found it on one of my favourite blogs: 100 Layer Cake

And then the Engineer and I spent five wonderful days there this past April. We chose it for several reasons:

1. It's really affordable.

2. We love Franca and Franco - the owners of Podere Ciona. Franca is a nonna to all she meets - she will make all visitors welcome and as if they are at home!

3. We love love loved Tuscany. Moreover, we loved Podere Ciona. One night Franca asked why we never left. We told her it was too pretty to ever leave.

So there you go folks, the Engineer and I are getting married on June 28th, 2011 surrounded by our family, close friends, and the rolling Italian countryside.

For cocktails we'll be sipping on Proseco and spritz's, for dinner we will have family-style platters of homemade pasta, chicken marsala, risotto, salads, and, of course, tiramisu.

Then we will dance the night away under the midsummer night sky (okay, a week past midsummer. I changed my date for my teacher pals) and watch the sun rise over Tuscany.

That's Amore!

Destination Bride Part Eight: A Barn

2010-09-04T22:56:00.001-07:00

Okay, I realize A BARN, isn't exactly a wedding destination. But it is where you find the barns that make this a great destination wedding idea.

#1. Cripps Barn located in the Cotswold's of England.

When I was 19, I lived in Bath which sits on the edge of the Cotswold's.

I fell in love with the area. Soft, rolling fields filled with dozy-eyed cows or lambs hopping amidst the daffodils. Charming thatch-roofed cottages and cobblestone streets. Amazing history from Stonehenge to Salisbury Cathedral. It also happens to be the birthplace of cheddar cheese and cider. Ummmm, YES.

And don't think I wouldn't have a Jane Austen themed wedding

2. Circa 1799 Barn in the Hudson Valley outside of NYC.

I just love this place for how quaint and simple it is. I think any wedding here would be homemade and 100% love. The Hudson Valley itself is beautiful - a wonderful escape from the chaos of New York. So it's a perfect destination wedding if you want both city AND country.

3. Figueroa Mountain Farmhouse in California

Not so much a barn, but more of a whole farm experience. Figueroa is located near Los Olivos California (an hour from Santa Barbara) and is 150 Acres of uninterrupted beauty. They don't provide any services themselves but they are super helpful and really nice. And the freedom allows you to have any sort of wedding you want!

How gorgeous is this place?? I love the rustic glamour that these brides all use. Imagine eating and drinking with nothing but the stars for your ceiling and wild grass as your dance floor.

#4 The Holly Farm in Carmel, California

Again, not exactly a barn, but definitely a farm. I loved this place so much, we actually did have this booked (until we got the whopping $17 000 food quote!!!!)

It's as if I really were Alice in Wonderland getting married . . . .

Alas, none of these barns/farms are the site of my wedding.

But I think you'll approve of our choice.

Destination Bride Part Seven

2010-09-04T21:39:00.002-07:00

As you may recall, I spent the first few months of my engagement searching for the perfect venue abroad in which to get married. I now believe I know some of the coolest places in the world to get married. And of course, I have picked one. Which I will reveal to you after sharing a few more of my favourite discoveries!

Destination #7: Scotland

Scotland is a bride's fantasy world of romance and wild beauty. I mean, hello? Braveheart? Men in skirts? CASTLES ON ROCKS???? This was actually in the very top tier of my wedding choices but bad weather and the strong pound weren't in my favour. I am one-half Scottish and have always dreamt of being piped in to my ceremony. The castles and churning sea were also in the fantasy. But I couldn't risk looking like a wet sheep on my wedding day.

I will always wonder if I had chosen Scotland if I could have gotten the Engineer in a kilt.

My first choice was Eilean Donan Castle in the Isle of Skye.

Then we could all gather at the cosy Eilean Iarmain and toast to our future alongside a roaring fire holding a glass of local scotch. Except I would still want champagne.

In Scotland, you can even rent a castle or a country home that sleeps all of your family and friends. Most of them were way out of our price range but we did have this affordable gem near St. Andrews, Birkhill Castle. So close to the famous golf course that I believe my wedding would have enticed my mum's brothers and their families.

An amazing resource I found in my Highland wedding search was a blog from a Highland wedding planner called, oddly enough Highland Country Weddings. They have loads of pictures brimming with Scot romance.

Don't think Scotland is romantic? Then you haven't been to Edinburgh. I don't know exactly what it is about this city that makes it so amazing, but it feels mysterious, romantic and magical all at the same time.

Perhaps it is the fact that there is a castle on a rock.

And you can always hear bagpipes somewhere in the distance (for the tourists I know but it really adds to the atmosphere).

And you can get married at the castle or at the terribly haunting and romantic hotel and restaurant, The Witchery. All the rooms have been refit to appear as they would have done in the 16th/17th/18th Century with modern comforts.

Ummm, sumptuous romance perfect for a wedding right?

Even as I write this I feel a wee pang of sadness that Scotland was not my destination of choice. Only because it is so beautiful, wild and romantic. I guess I'll just have to honeymoon there.

Or have a bagpipe at my wedding.

Let Them Eat Cupcakes

2010-09-02T21:11:00.001-07:00

It’s no secret that I love cake. I especially love cake in the cup form. Perfect bite size morsels of chocolate, moist goodness topped with sweet and cheerful, (thank you food colouring!) icing.

Therefore, I gave myself a mission to find the best cupcakes in New York City. I love giving myself assignments. Especially food ones, because, like vacations, work assignments do not have calories!

Mr. Mop embarked with me on my cupcake adventure - you thought the pink bike was cute? Check this out!

Mr. Mop sat happily in the front basket as we wheeled down Brooklyn's tree-lined streets - I so wish I had rode a bike in BK earlier, it is positively the best place to cycle at my leisurely pace. And there are no hills.

Back to Mop. The wind blew threw his ears making them stand up on end. He loved it! Well, until I lost my balance and/or he tried to jump out which sent the bike flying as I jumped off to catch my beloved dog before I ran over him. I scooped him up as three bystanders came to my rescue, gathering up my bike, my purse, and, unfortunately a sadly crumbled cupcake.

So we will judge this cupcake first.

This cupcake is from Baked which is top of the list to any NYC in the know cupcake conniseur. I couldn't believe I had never had one before! Then again, it's quite a mission to get there. Unless you have a car or a bike there would be no reason or ability. Red Hook is a weird area. Mostly old warehouses and factories from the days when tycoons used Brooklyn to get themselves rich due to the fact this area is right on the water. They have a promenade with an amazing view on Lady Liberty and a super cool grocery store. But that's about it.

Oh and crabby ladies who yelled at me on my bike. I still don't know why but I yelled at her to 'leave me the hell alone' - sometimes I am so New York

And of course Baked, and their famous cupcakes.

This place is packed in the morning. I have no idea where these trendy people come from because there appears to be no housing around the area. My expectations were set very high.

Baked gets kudos for decor and creative baked goods. The 'Brookie' is a chocolate chip cookie baked into a brownie. Ummmm, YES!

They also get price points: $2 for a cupcake. And nice service, iced coffee and air conditioning.

The cupcake? Meh. It was okay but not the best cupcake I have had in the city. And certainly not worth the ride out to the somewhat dodgy area. But that could have been the fact it was somewhat squished and I was sweaty.

Damn sweat, it always gets in the way of my eating.

Next. Butter Lane Cupcakes.

Located in the East Village on one of my favourite eating streets, 7th Street.

I had high expectations due to the adorable website and cute music. Plus, like Baked, it rates high on NY mag lists.

The shop is cute, clean and you get a ton of simple choices. Like your favourite cake flavour and your favourite icing flavour. I was supposed to get chocolate on chocolate, or vanilla cupcakes to keep the playing field open. But I couldn't resist the coconut icing because coconut icing rocks.

Thoughts? Again, meh. First of all, the service was terrible. One of those places that makes you feel like a loser for entering their awesome domain. Maybe I hit them on an 'off' day. The cupcake wasn't exactly dry, but it had a dryish texture. It was weird. Also, they come in at $3 so on the higher end of cupcakes. Except now that I write it, that doesn't seem to be too much.

I still encourage you to check out 7th for all the amazing restaurants and shops - just head somewhere else for a cupcake!

Next we have to very famous Magnolia Bakery made famous because of 'Sex and the City' and the fact it was pretty much the first bakery to jump on the cupcake trend. Oh wait, that means Magnolia started the cupcake trend.

These cupcakes are sadly, meh. And my 'meh' is actually pretty good. Cupcakes are the same as pizza for me, even if they aren't that great they are still pretty yummy.

I believe Magnolia was excellent several years ago when the blonde cupcake lady was still in charge. I had one in 2004 and it was amazing in my recollection. Plus the Village location is adorable. But then blonde cupcake lady sold the business to someone else and now they are overpriced, manufactured-tasting concoctions. There are several locations in Manhattan to serve you and they are under $3 - so that is good! If you are hell bent on a SATC experience, head to the village, snap up a vanilla cupcake and sit on a bench.

The other chain of cupcake stores that dot Manhattan (as well as parts of California) is Crumbs.

At Crumbs they have the basic cupcakes that are normal size but are fairly pricey ($4.50) and they are pretty good. But if you are trekking to Crumbs, you want to try their larger cupcakes that come in fun flavours. Like Cookies and Cream - which has crumbled oreo and cream cheese icing with two oreos shoved on top. It is quite delicious.

I also enjoy the Blackout that is stuffed with chocolate buttercream mixed with ganache and then iced with more ganache. It's A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. It is also huge and not exactly easy to eat whilst walking through Union Square. These are less cupcakes and more large cake desserts. So perhaps not exactly on the cupcake tour that I am taking you on.

Now I am sure there are still more cupcakes to go, but I had to stop somewhere. My legs were suffering from the friction of my thighs rubbing together in the heat.

But I did save the best for last.

Sugar Sweet Sunshine located on the Lower East Side on Rivington (so bonus points for being in my favourite area).

Now this is the cupcake bakery that I would return to again and again. So should you!

First off, it's cosy and adorable. Secondly the staff are super sweet and lovely - I talked to them about cupcakes for about a half an hour. They gave me samples of all the different flavours so I could try their range.

And it was good.

The cupcakes are moist, sweet and taste JUST LIKE GRANDMA made them! Like I thought I was 6 years old again at my birthday party when I bit into the chocolate cupcake with vanilla icing. Happy memories tickled my tastebuds.

All for $1.50! A DOLLAR FIFTY! I thought she had made a mistake.

My lovely baker made me try the Bob - a yellow cake with almond buttercream icing. I thought that would be a weird combo but it was AMAZING. The almond added a lovely flavour and cut the sweetness from the cupcakes.

I took home a Sunshine, the basic yellow with vanilla buttercream, and Black and White done Right, chocolate with vanilla buttercream. They were so delicious and happy and wonderful that I actually wiggled my toes in utter satisfaction. I can't stress enough how great these cupcakes are! They taste homemade (which they are) and are filled with love :)

Honourable mention:

Babycakes a vegan bakery on the LES that uses no sugar! But it's not fair to compare a sugar-free cupcake with a sugar-filled one. They are pretty good for being good for you - in fact they are pretty damn good. And expensive.

I just ate a nectarine. It was sweet and juicy but it wasn't a cupcake.

Now I am on the mission to find the best cupcake in Vancouver before cupcakes go out of style (they are on the 'out' list). And the best cake. And burger. Cheese. Dumplings. Coconut buns. Really, the list just goes on.

A Bridesmaid Grows in Brooklyn

2010-08-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

On the eve of my last day in New York city, I write this from my fire escape with a glass of chilled red wine (yes, that's right, I like red chilled) listening to the cicadas buzz. I love how the breeze is cooling off this hot New York air.

Melancholy?

Slightly.

It's not like I am leaving New York with my feet dug into the ground, but it's pretty close. I mean how can I not? It's New York. And like Carrie says, it's fabulous.

Except she is talking about Manhattan and I am talking about that borough Brooklyn. The one that used to be the 'hood' but is actually a treasure of tree-lined Brownstone streets, cool cafes, adorable boutiques and people so friendly you'd swear you were in the prairies.

I felt an instant connection to Brooklyn. Manhattan took a few tries to get me hooked (which it did) but Brooklyn was instantaneous. Maybe because it has all those Manhattan things we love to think of (above mentioned cafes and boutiques) complete with brick-exposed walls and yellow cabs - but on a much softer scale. It's like the small-town version on Manhattan.

Manhattan can kick your ass. After a day of pounding the pavement, it wears you out. Busting your way through gawking tourists, waiting for the 'F' train in a stinking hot (and full) station, getting shoved around by impatient assholes. Brooklyn offers an oasis of calm in a storm. When I pop my head out at Bergen Street station I feel as though I have come . . . home.

So it's with great sadness that I leave this place.

I am more lucky that most. In the 18 months the Engineer spent at NYU, I was here for the better half. Which doesn't seem like long at all. Not long enough to feel at home. Or call this home.

How come I feel like it's home then?

In those 9-10 months, I wandered both Brooklyn and Manhattan endlessly. Usually by myself. Sadly when the Engineer and I recounted our favourite memories from this place, rarely were they together.

That's just fine. New York was mine to discover and play and wander and explore.

I found pickles to die for. The best cupcakes in the world. I got lost at museums that house world wonders. I was present on Broadway for 'magic time' (what I refer to as 8:00 pm when the lights go on for countless plays, ballets, symphonies, comedies - it's amazing to think what magic happens at 8:00 across this town) countless times. I spotted stars on the subway. I discovered tea shops in back rooms that were once speakeasies. I had picnics in the only graveyard on the island. I saw the full moon on a crisp winter's night from a castle. I skated on Rockefeller and hated it. I claimed lawn space for an outdoor movie and had a pizza delivered to a park. I listened to my favourite authors at bookstores. I did yoga on a hammock. I ate a real New York slice the New York way. I found a love for restaurants with back gardens. I became a regular at a deli. I saw thunderstorms over the Statue of Liberty. I walked in the footsteps of those that built this country.

I fell in love with this city, with the Engineer, and, as cheesy as this is, with myself. I discovered so much about myself in these past two years. The trials of a long-distance relationship, finally getting a job after years of dead-ends, becoming a bride, publishing articles for the first time, raising two dogs responsibly. So much has happened since the Engineer came here. We've evolved and changed - our outlook on life and our expectations are totally different. I think this city had something to do with it.

I soaked up this city like a sponge. And yet there are still countless restaurants to try (just walking down East 7th yesterday made me CRAZY for food!). More museums to see. Plays that open in the fall. This city sleeps, honestly it does, but never slumbers. I would say it takes cat naps.

Around every corner there is a new discovery. I have never felt so inspired at my keyboard to write like I do here. The possibilities are endless.

I mean isn't that what Frank Sinatra said? If you can make it here, you'll make it anywhere.

It's true. If you can't find your passion, your drive, the things that make you tick here - then New York has failed you. There is so much drive in this city you can feel it pulsate. Every day I talk to someone interesting. From the lady across the street who wears her curlers when she walks her bulldog to the writer who spent time in the Peace Corps.

In this giant city where millions of people walk, play, run, work, dance, laugh, cry - I found a haven in 478 Warren Street, Brooklyn, New York. A little area where I felt welcome from day one and have called home for two years. A little piece of this great city that was mine.

Thank you New York. It's been swell.

Dog Days of Summer

2010-08-19T10:12:00.000-07:00

Due to a miscommunication with West Jet, I was forced to leave Brooklyn with my mum in Calgary and bring Mr. Mop by himself to New York.

When we first got here, Mop was listless and lethargic. I assumed it was because he missed his little buddy. I now know it is the heat.

I think he does miss Brookie though - he has no one's head to bite and no one to wrestle with. And my oh my, he is sooooooooo well-behaved. I am now forced to conclude that Brooklyn is the ringleader in their wacky behaviour.

My mum enjoys taking care of Brooklyn I think. I mean, she'll complain that he gets up early or that he is being naughty, but I know she thoroughly enjoys his antics.

To prove this I would like to share some exerts from her emails.

Brooklyn is nicely settled in. He's taking full advantage of the views from the balconies and the squirrel gazing in the back yard. I move his bed outside so he can view them in comfort. At night I put the bed on my bed and it is working very well.

The big black squirrel was up early this morning, munching on what looked like a peanut, on the fence right by the backdoor. When B went out he must have found the peanut shell dropping, he sniffed them for ages before finally peeing on them. He then found a fir cone, brought it in and attacked it. I had just vacuumed the rug yesterday, so had to grab it before it was spread all over.

He also found a dead bee yesterday, which occupied him for ages till I discovered what he had and took it away.

He went with me to the Co-op to get gas, it's not self serve and the nice attendant gave him a treat.

This makes me laugh - the image of Brookie rolling around with a dead bee or a fir cone is hilarious. Why does he choose to play with garbage and not his toys? Is it because Mop usually takes them from him so he is now accustomed to dust bunnies and lint? Sometimes he wakes up the morning and plays with himself until the rest of us get up. In his little life I have found him playing with a deflated balloon, a wool pill from my sweater, foil from a wine bottle, and an empty chocolate bar wrapper.

B's ears are getting the drops and this morning I put the neck stuff on. He's cottoned on REALLY FAST when I want to do something. This morning we played the game of wait and try and trick her. I put a cookie down near me and he kept trying to get it fast enough so I couldn't grab him. It was a tie, but I did finally win.

He's smart, the second time he got a treat, he heard the crackle of the bag and came flying into the kitchen.

Those cookies have some cinnamon in them and I'm almost tempted to try one.

I don't have to explain why this one makes me laugh.

Brooklyn is now on the wake up at 6 30 cycle, oh joy.

Played cat and mouse with him for ages this morning, come and get the treat so I can grab you, on my part, and, how fast can I fool her with my amazing speed and dexterity on his part.

Needless to say, I won. So his ears are getting the medicine. I first wash his face and ears with a nice warm facecloth, that sends him into a state of obvious joy and doziness, then I do the drops and rub gently.

Since he likes it, I have no idea why he tries to avoid the necessary.

This one makes me laugh because I can not only picture Brooklyn lying on his back with his eyes closed and his teeth showing but my mum making little kissy noises in the voice she used to use when I was four and had the flu.

Can now sit, both in the back and in the front in comfort.

So after dinner, Brooklyn and I have been sitting in front watching amazing cloud formations, cats and other stuff. He really likes the front verandah, lots to see, at least from his point of view.

HE LOVES THESE COOKIE TREATS. I went to homesense today, but they were all gone.

I've put his bed on my bed. Last night he was downstairs in it, and came up early in the morning. He's now all snuggled up and asleep. Watching squirrels has worn him out.

Right. Brooklyn likes the cloud formations.

Brookie just had a bath. I used some VERY EXPENSIVE, EXCLUSIVE SHAMPOO on him, he was very good, and his ears seem to be guck free now.

He got a nice rubdown with a fluffy towel, then tore around the house for 10 mins at full tilt.

He's enjoying his brushing, now that he is almost dry, and sits there with a swoony look on his face.

Yesterday he spotted a waskilly wabbit, near the hydrant at the end of the street. He gazed for several minutes then tried to attack. He would have given the wabbit (who was his size) a good run for his money, except I held on tight. So instead he had to content himself with sniffing the ground the wabbit was sitting on, which he seemed to really enjoy.

He's now snoozing on my fluffy blue shawl. he's becoming attached to it.

Funny on many levels. The first being my mother referring to a rabbit as a 'wabbit'. The second being that Brook gets super hyper when wet - after a bath he goes sort of mental. I also enjoy him getting a rubdown with an oversized bath towel. He's nine pounds.

It's not that I don't love him, but I think he needs Mr Mop around to bug. He's a little bored.

Today, after rising, as usual at 6ish, he was eating his brekkie near the doors in the family room, when Mr Squirrel descended down the fence. They both stared at each other, eye to eye, for about a minute. B finally gave chase, but my bag barrier (I don't know what this is) is holding and Mr S. got away.

I've put some dog food on top of the fence, hopefully this will provide entertainment later in the day for B.

He did have fun at Ron's (a farmer friend on my dad's). We got him to run around alot, he got to eat some nice fresh grass, and he had his first meeting with Red Angus cattle. It was quite funny, he was running along and then all of a sudden he realized that there were some big red shapes on the other side of the barbed wire fence. He came to an abrupt halt, stared, then woofed at them. Being curious creatures, they got up and headed closer to the fence. B backed off a little, kept glancing round to see if we were there, we were, so then he let out some pretty feeble growls.

The cows kept watching, B got a little braver, took a step closer,growled a little louder, but then gave up. So I guess he brought some excitement into their boring day, and they into his.

Brooklyn is a regular farmer Joe! HA!

Mop has been having his own adventures - very much the tale of the Country Dog vs the City Dog. Brooklyn met some cows, Mop met some pigeons at Central Park. Mop has also become very good at riding the F train and enjoys Greenwich Village but hates Midtown. He might even join me today for a veil fitting in the Meatpacking district.

I'll let you know how the reunion goes tomorrow night. Should be cute. And there should be lots of head biting.

Speaking of Art

2010-08-17T18:48:00.000-07:00

I was at the MET the other day. And last week. And the week before that.

I am so in love with the MET. If it were a person, the Engineer would have some pretty stiff competition. Luckily, it's just a really big building housing some of the world's greatest art, sculpture, artifacts, furniture . . . . the list literally goes on.

The only thing I am not so into at the MET are the mummies. I am not kidding, looking at mummies makes me sick. I literally get nauseous. It sort of makes sense. They are, after all, decomposed bodies.

I also get the chills in the armoury. Those men on the horses are so amazing. Amazingly real that is. Creepy crawlies thinking of being in a war with those things coming at you.

Anyhoo, the MET makes me really happy inside. I decided just to check out my Impressionist friends. I found it so inspiring - I plugged in my iPod, selected some classical music and really let myself get lost in the brushstrokes of genius.

I was also inspired watching people. There was a little girl with her grandma and mum. She wanted to see a Van Gogh closer. It made me want to cry. She is barely in school and recognized beauty.

There was another mother there with her sleeping toddler and daughter of about ten or eleven. I may or may not have stalked them to get this fuzzy photo. I am such a creep. But I loved them! The daughter would find a painting she liked then her mum would ask her questions. What do you like? How do you think he painted it? What do you think it means?

HELLO? AMAZING!!!!! Asking questions like those to a child makes them aware of culture and the world on so many levels. She may grow up to be a lawyer who loves art. She's a killer in the courtroom because she asks the tough questions. Then she uses her big pay cheque to support an artist on the Lower East Side. Or maybe she is the next Georgia O'Keefe.

That is what makes art galleries exciting!

I also loved this duo. A tattoo-covered biker dude with a shirt that says 'Up Yours' - who knew he had a thing for Serat? His buddy flitted around the rooms (literally) practically jumping for joy when he could explain art to his friend. It was pretty awesome/cute.

Then I happened upon 'American Woman'.

OH

MY

GOD

I . . . don't . . . have the words.

The MET has this temporary exhibit from the Brooklyn Museum and they have done an amazing job. They take you from the Heiress and her star-embroidered, tiny waistline gowns through to suffragettes to glamorous 30's film stars.

I took some illegal photos but there is a great resource on the MET website as well as a fabulous video.

This was such a magical display I returned twice! I loved watching the Suffragettes walk down New York streets on the amazing video the MET has. I loved picking my favourite flapper dress. The display was truly stunning.

Walking out of the museum I had an extra bounce to my step! Well, how could one not after seeing amazing art and then stepping into Central Park? The world looks like a bright and wonderful canvas after a day at the MET.

Just don't bring pickles from the LES like I did. The only reason the security guard let me keep them was because she knew the value of a Pickle Guy pickle.

Only in New York

The Importance of Being Art

2010-08-17T17:51:00.001-07:00

During my last few weeks here in the Big Apple, I have taken myself to a few museums to really drench myself in culture and art. I am happily saturated.

In Vancouver, I have been working on a project to raise awareness and convince Vancouverites that the city needs a new, purpose-built gallery. About 90% of those to whom I speak are all for it. But it's the annoying 10% that is really pissing me off.

Here are some fun facts about the VAG:

- it only holds 3% of its collection. No museum showcases 100% but 3% is a bit ridiculous
- there is a permanent collection - in jail. That's right, in the vaults below the gallery (which used to house prisoners - it was a courthouse after all) sit our Carrs and Group of Sevens. The VAG rotates its' Carr permanent collection which doesn't enable tourists to guarantee a Carr sighting or for a Vancouverite to revisit a favourite painting years later
- 20 000 school kids were turned away last year due to lack of room to educate and inform
- there is no space dedicated to education for children or adults
- the vault/jail has leaks, mice, rats and pot smoke
- there is terrible security as the only doors to get art in are the same ones open to the general public
- those doors are too small to let larger exhibitions in
- the gallery is not climate controlled
- there is terrible handicap access
- if there was an earthquake the building would collapse straight down squishing not only art-lookers-atters but the art in the pot-smoke vault

The list goes on. And as you see, it's all building related. There is nothing wrong with our art.

Working at the gallery has really made me open my eyes to art and its importance to society.

I can't help but wonder: what would a world be like without art?

Let's just take the visual arts. I don't know that my day-to-day life is directly affected by Monet and Renoir.

Or is it?

Take the beauty of emotions, feelings, statements, politics, history, religion, and more that artists transcribe on to blank canvas. Isn't it possible to think that those watercolour strokes are the inspiration in how we choose the colour to paint our walls or how we place our furniture?

I mean, that's really a prosaic thing for art to inspire. It's true though.

In a world with no art we have no concept of beauty. Or what makes us feel. What inspires us. Art belongs not just in the visual playing field - but in our books, on our television, on our iPod. Sure, Paris Hilton's BFF is not exactly the best example of 'art' on television - however, it is a statement to our times. And that is what art is.

Okay, now I am on a tangent. Back to my point.

I am so disappointed with Vancouverites and their response to a new building. They are so attached to the current building (don't get me wrong - it's gorgeous. But it isn't doing its job anymore. Let it be a home for a new museum!) that they are unable to envision a future Vancouver.

Imagine a gallery on a rainy winters day. You take the escalator to the top floor where Emily Carr paintings hang lavishly on the walls. The room feels like you are in the very rain forests she painted - and with the tap-tap of raindrops on the window pane, her world suddenly becomes intensely real.

This is what art does.

A young teen asked me if we had a permanent collection wouldn't we get bored?

BORED?

She hasn't travelled the world yet to discover the joy of revisiting a work of art time and again.

In order to appreciate and develop a relationship with art, one must be able to grow and mature along with it.

As an example, I have been going to the National in London since I was 19 in 1999. There is a painting by Delaroche called 'The Execution of Lady Jane Grey'.

For whatever reason, this painting has always fascinated me. Her story has fascinated me. I can look at this painting and work through the emotions each person must be feeling. I can transport myself to that room.

Fast forward ten years. I have seen that painting on all my return trips to London. Just this spring I popped in briefly simply to say 'hello'.

The Impressionists are the same for me. Wherever I bump into them, I feel like I am meeting up with an old friend. 'Oh good afternoon Degas, lovely ballerina's today - I haven't seen this one before'. OR, 'Monet - I love how you make sunset at Big Ben look the way sitting on Westminster Bridge makes me feel'.

This is what art does.

Art needs to reach people. From a young age preferably. I remember holidays with my parents - them dragging me to art galleries all over the world. I was bored to tears mostly. However it's clearly done some good. I may have been bored, but I was still affected.

Art needs to reflect people. The VAG isn't showing off its potential. We do have world class art - BC style. It's just locked up.

In fact we just acquired this Arthur Lismer in the spring.

Where is it?

IN JAIL!

I urge you to close your eyes and think about a Vancouver in 2030. Next to the Queen E theatre and down the block from the library sits a beautiful building that reflects British Columbia as a place and people. The outdoor sculpture garden is teeming with children who are learning to make their own sculptures. Inside, a group of twenty-something aspiring artists share their sketches over hot tea and debate which medium is better: oil or pencil.

You are there too, a bit older, and even more in love with art. You smile as you pass the kids and the artists-to-be, on your way to visit your favourite painting. You need a bit of a pick-me-up after too many rainy Sundays. This painting always makes you smile. It makes you think of golden summers and the way leaves smell when they start turning orange. You remember seeing it for the first time with your mum, which reminds you to go visit her with some flowers. You remember the time you came after you had your heart broken and how the quiet loveliness of the gallery soothed you. You remember having a copy of it on your first apartment bedroom wall after university. When all your furniture was hand-me-downs and you still tacked posters to the walls. You remember bringing your daughter to see it for the first time and how she tried to make her own painting at home - on the kitchen door. You were mad then but now you smile. You've been through a lot, this painting and you.

Art makes memories.

Please please please take a minute to write to the mayor. All the actions you can do to help are on this website. Please remember that in the spirit of 2010 we have to work to make Vancouver as pretty on the inside as it is on the outside.

An ode to Iced Coffee, Tea and basically all that is Iced

2010-08-12T17:06:00.001-07:00

Have I mentioned the freaking heat in New York?

DO NOT COME TO NEW YORK IN AUGUST!!!!!!!

It's like descending into hell. A hell that is like standing behind a bus and feeling the exhaust fumes on your skin and not having the bus pull away.

But it's New York so I love it.

I also love iced coffee. OH GOD do I love iced coffee. Every morning the lethargic Mop and I go for a walk to our local deli/grocery/coffee place Jessie's. We both love the air con that hits us as we walk in, and we love even more, opening the freezer door to get our pre-cooled cup full of ice.

They know me as cream and one sugar - I plunk my money on the counter and happily suck back the cool caffeine as we make our way back home. The coolness of the coffee lasts only so long and soon I am sweating again.

The other day it was so hot in the apartment that I took a very cold shower. When getting ready, I ended up sweating so much I had to jump back in to rinse off! I was trying to apply mascara (which is kept in the fridge) but my eyes were so sweaty it hurt. I had a pool of sweat in my belly button!

I learned from Male Model not to apply lotion as I had been doing. Makes sense. You sweat so much your skin has no chance of getting dry. I think it was the lotion that lead to me sliding out of the cab.

Now I just have to get ready in the bedroom where I can put the AC on full blast. Or just sit there in my underwear and let it cool me. Apparently I am now Homer Simpson. I have also taken to pushing the bed in front of the AC at night.

I worry about my Starbucks bill on my VISA when I get home. I pop in there at least once a day for a shaken black iced tea lemonade half sweet. I drink it fast and then place the ice down my dress.

Mop hates the heat. He is not the same dog. I thought it was his separation from Brooklyn that had made him listless. Alas, on a recent trip to a cooled down Toronto, Mop was back in Mop/crazy animal form. So Brooklyn is not the ringleader after all. Mop is just that hot.

He is so hot he won't sleep with me. I tried to hold him in front of the AC to get cooled down but he is afraid of the whirring noise. Then I dunked him in a fountain at Central Park. This only made him roll around in the dirt. I try giving him cold baths but he hates water (clearly as the fountain trick didn't work). I even got him a bandanna that you put in the freezer which supposedly cools off their necks. Unfortunately it is sitting in my Vancouver freezer.

So it's hot. You can't hang outside so you must trek to the lovely cool inside of museums like the Met. Or go shopping. Or actually sit at Starbucks all day (I got so cold in their AC I had to order a tea latte).

We couldn't survive this heat if it weren't for the iced coffee. Oh iced coffee/tea. I love you.

Gosh, how did women in the 19th century deal in this heat? I can't see Miss Astor spreading her legs and fanning up her skirt.

Um. Not that I do that either . . . .

The Mortal and the Models

2010-08-12T16:42:00.002-07:00

I have recently found myself in a friendship with a model.

A real, life, MODEL.

A male model.

One who is at least seven feet tall with mocha-cream skin and chiseled good looks. He once posed as an alligator coming out of a lagoon and made it sexy.

Lucky for the Engineer, he is also a raging homosexual. Is that offensive?

This said model is also in New York right now - except he has rented a two-floor apartment in Greenwich Village and I continue to live with a slanted floor and a cockroach named Mickey in Brooklyn.

First thing first: this male model might also be the nicest person I have ever met. Super genuine and sweet. Really down to earth (mostly). He just happens to be uber gorgeous.

Models tend to hang out with other models. So when he invited me to come over to his apartment for a wine and cheese night I should have either (a) said no thank you or (b) ran to the nearest salon for a blow-out and false eyelashes.

I did neither. I showed up sweaty with Mr. Mop in tow.

Male Model was sharing the apartment with Female Model/Actress who is so pretty you can't take your eyes off of her. All willowy and big eyes. You sort of want to hit her and kiss her at the same time.

And again, super nice.

Then came in two more models. Then another. Well, I don't know if they were all models but they looked like models. I think I could grate cheese on all of their torsos.

I know I am cute. I am a pretty girl. But I AM NOT A MODEL.

And nothing will make you feel less like a model than sitting in a Manhattan backyard with models.

#. Their hair doesn't frizz in the crazy humidity. Why? WHY DOESN'T THEIR HAIR FRIZZ? I have to pull mine up and back just to control it!! Is there a secret model gene in their hair that makes it look effortlessly pretty and messy in that super annoying 'i just rolled out of bed' look??

#2. They can eat and drink in a dainty way that suggests that they get to eat whatever they want and look hot while doing it. I dropped cheese on myself.

#3. They don't seem to sweat or even get the teeniest glisten above their lip in the New York heat. It's freaking 40 degrees Celcius!! I have sweat dripping down my elbows, my cankles and between the roll of my belly button and hip. I literally slid out of a cab the other day. I am not lying. I actually slid right out onto the NYC pavement. Leaving a pool of sweat on the seat. I am sooooooooo hot and not in the hot model way.

#4. They all know how to pose for photographs. I thought I posed well. I think I always look nice in photos. But I am a trained sorority girl poser. Chest out, mouth wide, head titled. This is not the way of Versace. I was given a lesson in model pose. Chest in, chin out and look as though you are in a shower.

Ummmmmm? What? All I have to say is when I am in the shower I am rubbing off last night's mascara and often have my mouth open.

#5. They will make you realize that modeling is actually hard work. See #4

#6. They will be really nice that you can't hate them just because they are beautiful.

The lesson here? Don't judge a model by their beauty. Just don't take photographs with them.

Sushi Sarah

2010-08-10T14:52:00.000-07:00

Writing about Tojo conjured up many a sushi memory. Or Japanese memory.

Over the past ten years, Japanese food has played a particularly comical role in my life.

During my first year at university in Vancouver, a friend and I went to an all-you-can-eat sushi place on South Granville. Confident after a meal with my sushi-ordering-pro cousin, I felt I too could order us the perfect amount of all you can eat sushi.

Can you guess the problem?

I mistook the # of rolls for the # of pieces.

Imagine: you want six pieces of spicy tuna roll. You put six down on the paper. Your waitress looks at you like you are nuts, asks if you are sure, and you nod your head. You roll your eyes when she walks away. Am I sure?

Clearly not.

Six rolls of spicy tuna arrived. Or about 20 pieces. Maybe more. As well as a plethora of California rolls, maki rolls, and an assortment of sashimi and nigiri.

My friend and I looked at each other with astonishment. I nearly cried.

If you don't know, here is a fun fact about all-you-can-eat sushi: you have to pay extra for what you don't eat.

On our student budgets, what we weren't going to eat was like $50 worth of raw fish.

What to do? Wrap sushi in napkins and deposit the sushi in the bathroom, in our purses, wherever - I think we almost put it down our shirts.

Disaster.

I am much better at ordering sushi now :)

There was then the time I had sushi in Japan. I was in northern Japan playing an alien in a Japanese play. Our director, although crazy and chauvinistic, loved to spoil us. He took us to the #2 sushi restaurant in all of Japan. Japanese are a modest people - no one wants to take the #1 spot.

It was probably, and will forever be, the most incredible sushi I have ever tasted. I mean, they grated the wasabi fresh in front of us. Pretty spectacular. It was the meal that I discovered toro or tuna belly. They seared it every so slightly and it literally melted in my mouth. I also learned not to drench my sashimi in soy sauce.

The deliciousness of the meal is not the reason for its memorability. It's this.

During the course of the evening we were served a tiny bowl with a lid. I opened the lid to find a yellowish broth with a floating white ball.

A rule in Japan is to eat first, ask later. Therefore I sipped at the broth and took a brave bite of the white thing.

I had stupidly assumed it was some sort of tofu.

Once it slid down my throat, I knew it was most definitely not tofu.

I asked my friend to translate what it was and he typed something in to his handy little Japanese/English translator. He showed me the word:

Blowfish Sperm

Clearly he must be mistaken.

I asked him to type it again.

Blowfish Sperm.

So many questions were running though my head: how do you cultivate blowfish sperm, how do you cook it and more importantly - WHY DO YOU EAT IT????

I casually informed the other Canadian girl what it was. She winced and delicately spit it back into her bowl.

We threw out the 'ask later' rule that night.

On that same journey to Japan, we became very sick of Japanese food quite quickly. After the amazing sushi meal, we were treated to several more rounds of sashimi. Which in great quantities soon diminishes in flavour and texture.

There comes a time when one can no longer swallow raw fish meat.

Especially on an evening when you are presented with Whale sashimi. From an endangered whale no less. The hosts proudly informed me that only 60 of these whales still swam in the ocean.

OH GOD.

So not only was I eating an endangered species, but it was a species that was fatty and oily. I gagged a bit. I think I actually threw up in my mouth.

After our 'meal', my other Canadian friend and I sought out Mos Burger. The Japanese equivalent to McDonald's. We were in desperate need of cooked flesh and french fries. There seemed to be no hope, until I spotted the tell-tale red sign about a kilometre away.

I have never run so fast in my life.

We sprinted as if we were in an Olympic race.

And we ordered two burgers each, three packs of fries and gigantic milkshakes.

Sushi may be delightful but nothing can replace a good old-fashioned cheeseburger.