The night's best...

There are simple diversions to every day normalcy that make life fun and interesting and notable.  Not that there aren't fun, interesting and notable things that happen in day-do-day life, of course there are.  And most certainly a true gift is noticing those moments when they come and go so quickly.

But today is not about that... It's about the unique stuff... Special, once-in-a-while things that are the pretty pink scarf tied to an already fabulous vintage purse. 

Today is about the Oscars, sort of.  I have, for very many years, hosted an Oscar party for my girlfriends.  I have done it every single year for as long as I can remember, with the notable exception of the year I gave birth to my Middle Son when I watched the Oscars from my hospital bed.  He's 23, almost 24 now so that gives you an idea of the scope of this tradition.  The guests have been transitional but for more than a decade it has been the same steadfast, consistent, solid epic foursome of me and my three girlfriends who now create the four sides of the feminine foundation upon which I build my strength.  So this year was no different.  There were only three of us this year, with girlfriend number four down and out with the flue.  And of course she was missed but we carried on in her absence with true aplomb. 

What made this year extra-special was that the gals were able to stay overnight and we all took today off work. No rush out the door immediately after the Best Picture Award... No worries about how much not to drink.  No easing off on the fun part-way through the night as we each independently start gearing down on a Sunday night in anticipation of the Monday ahead of us. 

And to top the fun off... Grilled Cheese Monday!! Today, we enjoyed a smoked salmon with herbed goat cheese grilled cheese.  It was yummy but we all agreed that it would have benefited from either arugula or apple slices.

If that's the only room for improvement (and it is), than a perfect night it was! 

Oh, and Seth was pretty good too.

Six Months and Counting

I love music.  Most kinds of music really except that crazy kind of jazz that sounds like everyone in the band is playing a different song.  Now before you start hating on me for hating on jazz, I know it's incredibly complex and takes remarkable talent to play that kind of jazz.  I get it.  But it hurts my ears.

Anyway, I have always had music around in one way or another.  I used to lay awake at night growing up listening to the local radio station CKDK hoping that maybe the next song would be a good one.  Maybe.  And that's why I spent my youth falling asleep in a state of frustration.

I played music loudly in my room and sang unabashedly as if performing before the most grateful stadium audience, cheering wildly.  And I attempted to learn the guitar.  Less successfully as a teen (but that was the instructor's fault... What 15 year old in 1978 wanted to play Bobby Vinton songs???) and slightly more so now as an adult.  I know that musical talent is not a gift I possess but I don't enjoy it any less because of it.

So it was with a great sense of glee that I found out (via text from my Youngest) that my latest favourite band was coming to a very nearby, small venue to play in the summer.  Yes, Mumford & Sons is playing Simcoe, Ontario.

I'll wait here while you Google Simcoe, Ontario.




Small, huh?  Wouldn't that be a great show?  Fantastic band and true grassroots venue; I was thrilled.  Until I logged in to purchase my tickets and found it was sold out within 30 minutes. 

And disappointment ensues.

But wait... This is a tour... There has to be other stops nearby, right?  So off I go a searching and lo and behold, Troy.  Ohio. 

I'll wait here while you Google Troy, Ohio like I did.  Small, grassroots venue.  SOLD!  I can picture myself now, regardless of weather, dancing and singing with the rest of the crowd to songs that have brought strangers together and made them instant friends.  It is an amazing thing to stand in the midst of former strangers sharing something you all know and love so completely.  I can't imagine ever getting tired of that.

Now, here's the kicker.  Two tickets.  Bold for a single gal, no?  The way I look at it.  I have six months to find a date.

Hey, it could happen.

Hey You!

Dear future Love:

So, how are you doing tonight?  It's that classic day that is universally recognized for love.  We, of course, are not there yet but that's ok.  I'm fine to wait, I'm a patient gal.

A few things to keep in mind for later, if you don't mind me saying.

Preferably red but white is nice in the summer.  Beer when we're playing pool or around the pool, at the game or at the pub.

No horror, slasher, nightmare inducing movies please.  Not big on sci-fi either so sorry, the Star Trek marathon is definitely a guy's night thing.  I'm out.  Just about everything else is good.

Not big on punk, heavy metal, hard-core jazz (how's that for an oxymoron?).  There will be dancing. 

And I'll sing all the time; sometimes very badly, often with the wrong words but it will be a good show. 

I will sleep in every chance I get. Of course, at this stage of the game, that usually means 9:30 so really, that's not too much of a big deal.  Oh, and I arbitrarily switch sides of the bed.  Not really sure where that came from but it's a thing.

I love cooking so you don't need to do much in that department but don't leave me in the kitchen alone... Hang out, have a chat, refill the glasses.  That's all I need to be a happy gal.

Roses are overrated.  Peonies, lilacs, tulips, hydrangeas... Now those are flowers.

You look great... Remind me I do as well once in a while please.  I promise to do the same.

Make me laugh... More than anything, even if you forget everything else make me laugh. 

So, if you don't mind, get on with the introductions would you?  Or declarations. Or advances.  I'll take it from there (oops; sort of blew my "patient gal" cover, didn't I?).

I Heart Whatever

It's that infamous week.  I would say infamous day but the mega-marketing, all-consuming, like-it-or-not global "day" that is Valentine's Day has been blown up into at least a good week of advertising enticements that if you truly loved your partner, sibling, child, neighbour, mail carrier, pet, you would show them by buying some sort of Valentine memento.

Do I sound jaded?  I don't mean to.

But what is it about this non-holiday "holiday" that makes singles feel so badly?  I Googled "holiday" and chose the Wikipedia hit.  This is what Wikipedia defines as a holiday:

"... a day designated as having special significance for which individuals, a government, or a religious group have deemed that observance is warranted."

First off, if I had known I could designate my own holidays, my life (and that of the whole entire world) would be so different!

But really, what are we now defining as holidays or days worthy of global (or at least national) recognition?  Again, back to Wikipedia, "Types of Holidays; Religious, Northern Hemisphere, National, Secular, Unofficial."  And included in that list? New Year's Day, Passover, Independence Day, Earth Day (familiar to us all I'm sure).  But also in the list?  Monkey Day (December 14th), Talk Like A Pirate Day (September 19th, this one I know and have personally observed) and get this, Blasphemy Day (September 30th... WTF?!).

So why don't I feel badly about not celebrating any of the other individually, governmental-ly or secular-ly recognized holidays?   No good reason, I'm sure.  But you can bet your life I'll be celebrating Monkey Day this year.

And FYI, February 12th is Buy New Shoes Day.

Enjoy!

Swim that way

We all have books that inspired us growing up... Seminal works that shape who we become, allowing us to recognize within ourselves that which others may see at first glance or may never see at all without well-timed encouragement.

My book was Arty the Smarty (Faith McNutty; Grosset & Dunlap Easy Reader, 1962).  I kid  you not.

It's a gripping tale of a little fish who swam a different way, who refused to follow the crowd (or should I say school?).  I remember laying in my bed at night with my little night light on reading this story over and over. It stuck with me as I grew and I find myself even now searching out a copy of it every time I visit antique shows (I know I could order a copy on-line via kijiji or eBay or any other of the increasing number of "buy it here" websites but that eliminates the thrill of the search and what's the fun in that?)

In my recollection, the script said "when all the little fishies swam this way, Arty swam that way.  And when all the little fishies swam that way, Arty swam this way."  In doing my research I see that this is not exactly as it appeared in the book.  It is a manipulated version tattooed on the memory of a six year old girl which followed her and stood beside her every time she had to muster the gumption or courage or even stupidity to go in the opposite direction of the crowd. 

My most recent Arty the Smarty moment came when I attended my company's annual direction launch. Big business at its glorious, proud, self-congratulating best.  I sat there, anonymous in the sea of black and grey and navy suits, one of the estimated 10% of females present, wearing my orange suit.  One can't always be so blatant as to swim in the opposite direction of the school but being contrary comes in many different forms.

I think Arty would be proud.

Kids and psychics and art... Oh my!

There are a multitude of activities that can occupy your time.  This weekend I've had quite the diverse mix that called up a wide range of emotions.

The weekend started in the usual way, with a late arrival home and a quiet Friday night (I find that by the time I get home and divest myself of a week's worth of stress, anxiety, late nights and early mornings, the best I can muster on a Friday night is a great glass of wine and the hope of a peaceful sleep).  Saturday morning (after the blessing of that peaceful night sleep) I got up, made my coffee, grabbed my laptop and caught up on the world.  I have to admit, part of me misses the days where I collected my newspapers and readied myself for my relaxed ritual of reading through, article by article, while I refilled my coffee as many times as was necessary.  But technology wins this race so on-line I go.  After getting sufficiently caught up, I begin to get ready for the day ahead and embark on my Saturday fun.  And that is where the "average" ends.

The highlight of the weekend was most certainly the art opening that featured the work of my youngest son.  It's an amazing thing when you can separate yourself from the moment and take a snapshot of what it means in the broader landscape of your life.  As I watched my boy move about the crowd, answer questions, accept accolades and take moments from the fray to hang with his "Ma" I knew that whatever mistakes I had made in raising him, whatever challenges had presented themselves to him, he had the wisdom, strength and compassion (which he would not admit to save his life) to overcome them all.  He had become a man and the man he became was good.

Before that I was lucky to enjoy what is becoming a more and more regular dinner at my girlfriend's home filled with laughter and love and antics involving her own quirky, comical and charming son and daughter who is becoming a wonderful, smart and accomplished young woman before our very eyes.  As we share stories and jokes I wonder who these young people will become.  What lies ahead of them?  There are so many paths open to them but the certainty for me is that I look forward to being friends with them when they are adults too.

But the most unusual piece of the weekend by far was part one... My visit to the Psychic Fair.  Now before you make your judgements and condescending remarks, know that I believe there is something in all of us, that when listened to with regard, can make positive impacts in our lives.  Call it intuition... gut feeling... whatever, there is something there and I know that whenever I have ignored that, I have been worse off.  Maybe not right away but always.  At some point.  Worse.  My oldest son's partner was hosting the event and in support of her and out of pure curiosity, off I went.  After walking around for a while, I settled on a numerologist (what could be made up with numbers, after all?) and gave her my full name.

After she did her analysis and provided me the results, this is what stood out.  I'm not good at relationships.

I didn't need a psychic to tell me that.

Of course, she said a lot more than that.  Past life stuff... Current life stuff... But the big one was, despite what may seem contradictory in my other "gifts" relationships are not my thing.

Note to self.... No more numerologists and work on that relationship thing.  In no particular order.