Around the world ...

Ethnic was definitely the flavour of my last visit with my guy.

After an eventful trip to Montreal, marked by numerous delays (one spent chatting with Bill Paxton), cancellations and culminating with the airline sending his luggage to Toronto, my sweetie finally arrived.

Bill Paxton at LAX

Watching him (my sweetie, not Bill Paxton!) approach me, I noticed a marked absence of a Canadian staple - a winter jacket. Despite having grown up in this arctic climate, he decided to jam his jacket into his luggage and this Cali boy was now left to deal with temperatures of almost -7C in nothing more than a long sleeved shirt. After picking up the rental car and checking in at the hotel, we were told that because of the late hour, the bar, restaurant and room service had all closed for the night. He did, however, suggest that we head to the House of Jazz,only about a block away.

House of Jazz

We scampered over through the cold and made it just before the kitchen there shut down ... no big whoop since the food was just meh but the ambiance, the décor and of course, the music was amazing. The entertainment that evening was provided by the Dawn Tyler Watson Jazz Project and she was just terrific. Later, Snooky and the Bandits closed up the evening and they are definitely worth returning for.

Snooky and the Bandits 

The next morning brought the arrival of the errant luggage and we eventually headed out to the old neighborhood, properly dressed for a Quebec winter. We stopped in at Zytynsky's, where Angel set us up with some fantastic kobassa and fresh rye bread. We then headed to the Polish home and had a lovely visit with my guy's babcia, where she thoroughly enjoyed her snack. Later, we made a quickie stop in to Rockaberry's - I had been experiencing an incredible lemon meringue pie craving for a couple of weeks that desperately needed satiating! I tucked the dessert away for later because it was time to head off to make our dinner reservations. Whoa! Le Nil Bleu is truly an experience not to be missed! This restaurant serves Ethiopian cuisine that you eat sans cutlery. After going through an interesting menu, we settled on a platter for two consisting of four offerings - yesiga alicha (marinated beef cooked with potatoes and carrots in a mildly spiced sauce flavoured with green peppers and ginger root), doro alica (chicken in their special house seasoning sauce), yebeg key watt (lamb in berbere sauce) and yemesser watt (lentils in a mild sauce) - to be washed down with a delicious bottle of African red. After bringing you a hot, wet napkin (the kind you would normally spread over your lap), the platter of food is delivered to your table. The food is spread out over a large, flat, spongy Ethiopian pancake called injera, made from an iron-rich grain called teff. The pancake is also served along with the meal, rolled up and cut into manageable pieces, with which you scoop up the food and sop up the sauces. The whole experience is amazing ... it is very laid back and reminiscent of childhood to be eating everything with your hands but at the same time, a very intimate and sensual experience. Definitely something I would recommend and Le Nil Bleu is the place to try it out. And dessert? The lemon meringue pie - shared back in our hotel room after a nightcap at the hotel bar - was simply sublime!

The following day, after the required stop at Lafleur's, we hit the road for the hideaway. This time, we spent more time there as homebodies, cooking up a storm and watching a slew of movies.

My baby made homemade pizza ... with extra cheese! Awesome!!!

Of course, there was the dress up date night, this time at Scaramouche. The place was jumping with business men but we were squirreled away at a table that afforded us a lovely view of the CN Tower in the distance. Our server had us pegged from the get go and afforded us ample time to leisurely handhold our way through our cocktails and peruse the menu. My guy had the house smoked salmon (served with radish and cucumber, horseradish crème fraîche, salmon parfait, fingerling crisps, and lovage cress) while I chose the dungeness crab ravioli - a large offering crammed full of filling and accompanied by a seared sea scallop, mustard greens, bok choy and radish, all atop a sea of lobster sauce that I would have gladly licked my plate clean of if I thought no one would have been looking! We then moved on to halibut for the gentleman and for myself, more sea scallops - this time pan seared and settled on a leek potato purée and accompanied by salsify, puntarella, celery, bacon gremolata, Meyer lemon relish, and veal jus. Honestly, I had a mouthgasm. Multiple mouthgasms. Thankfully, they were all restrained. And dessert? Well, between the atmosphere, the company, the food and the wine, dessert somehow went by the wayside ... but the evening still ended on a sweet note!

My sea scallops ... I miss them already!

Another day, we made it onto the Danforth in Toronto and lunched at Kalyvia, a really great Greek restaurant. Saganaki, souvlaki platters and hot tea helped to ward off the chill that day and everything was deee-licious! We popped in to an organic market to pick up a few things but left just as quickly. Between not being able to find any ricotta, the almost $7/dozen for eggs (and I only needed 1!), me snickering at all the 'interesting' food choices (Rice Dream Ice Cream? Seriously?) and the hoards of 'granolas' (as we affectionately call them here in Quebec), I had enough of the place!

A shopper at the organic market ... ummm, it's a MALE shopper! Yes, that's a freakin' braid!!!

As we walked back to the car, my eye was caught by a whimsical window display of old time lunch boxes ... I just had to go in! The place is Sucker's, a candy emporium. No,'emporium' is an understatement. Imagine traveling back to your childhood on acid ... that is this store! Floor to ceiling displays of every candy you can remember and many that you had even forgotten that you had forgotten! (Remember Lucky Elephant Pink Candy Popcorn? FLASHBACK!) We were there forever, reminiscing and reliving memories. I picked up a couple of things for Julia and found out later that my guy has never had Pop Rocks! He has now! (Hehehe. 'Nuff said!)

Our last night at the hideaway was another night in. I was really excited because it was 'gnocchi night'. And not just 'eat gnocchi night', it was 'make gnocchi night'. I had wanted to make gnocchi for the longest time and we finally did. For those of you who haven't, you must try it. It was both one of the easiest to make and best things I have ever made. Seriously ... the results far surpass the very limited effort expended. Scrumptious!

You gotta make this!

And now the wait is on for the next adventure. Destination picked, tickets bought ...I'm SOOOOO excited!!!

Out with the old ...

While I no longer make any New Year's resolutions (I never maintain them for more than 2 weeks, tops!), there is a feeling of turning the page with each January 1. This year, I'm continuing with the decision I made last year to de-clutter my life. If it isn't beautiful, useful or it doesn't bring me joy, it's outta here!

The first week of the new year saw me haul several bags of clothing to the neighborhood Société de St-Vincent-de-Paul. I then tackled a bookcase that was bursting at the seams (but there are more to follow!) and made up a box that I'll drop off at the hospital the next time that I'm in town. (Yeah, there are closer hospitals but a donation to them would result in raised eyebrows at my anglo literary offerings.) I've set aside stuff for the boys that they can hopefully use - a sneaky way of getting rid of even more stuff! Then there was the miscellaneous junk (and frankly, I can't explain how much of it even got under my roof!) ... a green pocketknife, some DVD's I don't remember ever buying, some t-shirts (buh bye Boss! and more cowbells? How about NO MORE cowbells!), company emblem sweatshirts, a jean shirt (I sent that one back to the 80's where it belongs!) and a mismatched pair of knitted slippers (who even uses Phentex yarn anymore?!?) I also went through my jewelry box and dumped some stuff from there too ... old earrings and bracelets, necklaces and brooches and some ring that looked like a wedding band. (Interesting, considering I've never been wed!) It's very cathartic to dump crap you no longer want or have any use for, especially when you have no sentimental tie to it.

Do, did, done!

My fight against literary progress ...

I have had a lifelong love affair with books. I was read to by my parents, as are most children; later, I sat at Miss Gilpin's feet during story time in my kindergarten class. Learning to read on my own was having a door open to endless adventures in limitless worlds. I read during every waking moment; if it included a printed word, I read it. Shampoo bottles while I was in the bath, cereal boxes during breakfast, signs in store windows on my way to school, billboards as my parents drove me around. The end of the school year meant a trip to the local library to load up with enough books to last the summer, although they never did. The time spent looking over the many shelves full of choices, finally making my decisions, watching my library card being stamped before carrying the armload of books to the car are memories I still hold dear. Not being able to wait to reach our destination, I would read in the car, much to my parents' chagrin. 'Put that book down! You'll ruin your eyes reading in the car! Look at the scenery instead!'

I still have a few of those books from my childhood, along with a lot of others I haven't been able to part with. The rest have been donated to schools, hospitals or given away to friends or family - a chance to entertain others after their work with me was done. I have thrown away 4 books in my lifetime. I pained me greatly at the time, but they had somehow become wet and developed mold, making it impossible to pass them along to anyone.

I still get a rush when I walk into a library or a bookstore. The possibilities that stretch out in all those rows of books is exciting! I can spend hours roaming the aisles of Chapter's, poring over the the laden shelves, switching my attention from fiction to autobiographies to cookbooks to travel to the classics to children's books ... well, most every subject available, frankly. Then, arms laden with my choices, I stand in line, much as I did years before as a child, waiting to get home and start reading.

A while back, I met a really special guy who is perfect in every way. We agree on everything. Wellllllll ... almost everything. This guy is green. He recycles, has e-subscriptions to all his periodicals, and is a huge proponent of reading books off his iPad.

Ewwwwww! Ick ick ick!!! Phooey! Blech and boooooooooooo!!!

To my mind, part of the pleasure I take out of reading is the feeling of holding the book, the tactile sensation of turning the pages, the auditory sensation of hearing the pages turn, the olfactory sensation of either that new book ink smell or that slightly musty old book smell. Nothing can replace the heft of a hardcover book and no tablet, while certainly able to replicate the sound of a turning page, will convince me that brushing my fingertip against a pane of cold glass is the same as the feel of a real page under that same fingertip.

So we have an ongoing dispute that comes up every so often, usually brought up when he whips out his iPad or when I dig into my carry on for a real book. We have accepted that neither person's opinion is likely to change, even though he still believes that I will buckle and convert. (Don't hold your breath, m'love!)

So, how do you prefer your written word? Old school or the new fangled way? Leave your comments below and hopefully, I will be able to prove to him that technology hasn't won over on this subject!

... and none for me either!

Bygones ...

I never thought that I would be giving this subject more than a passing thought, much less take the time to blog about it but frankly, I’m getting fed up. I really think that it’s time to get off the ‘Let’s bash Chris Brown’ wagon, people. Yes, he did a bad. He did a very very bad. In the three years since, he has displayed remorse and submitted himself to court ordered punishment. So when is enough enough? His recent win at the Grammys has been decried by both his peers and those outside the business. Having listened to the CD more than once (thanks to my daughter being an ardent CB fan), I personally think he was deserving of the award. Everyone is also up in arms at his having been allowed to perform twice during the Grammy show. Obviously, the show’s organizers believe it’s time he return. And if you watched his performance, it is hard to deny that the boy is talented.

Again, I am not condoning his actions. I believe any man who raises his hand to a woman is a coward and a real dick and should have the crap beaten out of him by any male friends or family of the female victim. But should Chris Brown be denied a career as a result of being stoopid in that moment? I don’t believe he should. If you do, perhaps a reminder of these following incidents will show how easy the public is to forgive some for the perpetrators' trespasses …

R Kelly starred in a sex tape with a 14 yr old, Since the 2002 incident, his career has continued and he has garnered several awards.

Sean Penn assaulted his then wife, Madonna. Today, he’s a respected actor, director, screenwriter and activist.

Roman Polanski drugged and raped a 13 year old, fled the US in 1978 before he was sentenced and has continued to sustain his career from afar, continuing to win awards for his work.

Sugar Ray Leonard beat his wife but was still recently chosen to appear on Dancing with the Stars.

Jerry Lee Lewis was 22 when he married his 13 year old cousin (although he insisted she was 15, because THAT made it better!) but went on to have a huge rock ‘n roll career, garnering several accolades.

Jimmy Page was 28 while having an affair with a 14 year old but sustained his fame as Led Zeppelin’s guitarist.

Tupak Shakur spent time behind bars for his part in a gang-rape but his estate continues to make money years after his death.

Michael Jackson, accused pedophile who avoided prosecution by paying off the families of his young victims, is still revered as the King of Pop.

Whitney Houston, known drug abuser, is being honoured worldwide since her death.

Eminem, accused of domestic abuse, sings about murdering his wife and violence against gays and yet continues a very lucrative career.

James Brown was convicted of battering TWO of his wives but was still presented with Kennedy Center honours.

Kobe Bryant, accused of rape, settled the civil suit out of court and is still continues to play professional basketball.

Steven Tyler had an affair with a 15 yr old, has sustained a rock career and embarked on a reality show career.

And the list goes on, but I'm thinking my point is made. 

Sucky Santa ...

Think back to the bestest Christmas present you ever received. Everyone has at least one memory like that - I am lucky enough to have several. My childhood was filled with practical gifts like slippers and pj's but there was always that one gift that had danced through my dreams and into my letters to Santa. My treasured Thumbelina doll, my beloved horse statue, new ballet slippers ... all appeared under the tree to thrill me one Christmas after another. When the kids came along, I was rewarded with the most intricately made presents, thanks to their teachers in Switzerland, who had marvelous ideas and school budgets to match! One Christmas, 10-year old Jordan sneaked off to the neighborhood jeweler's with a friend of mine and emptied all but 10 bucks out of his bank account to buy me a gold ring. (I know because he proudly announced the cost to me before I had even torn through the wrapping.) It has never once left my finger in the decade since. A couple of years back, Julia bought me a Swarovski 'Thumper' bunny. She wanted to add to my crystal collection but she also knows how much I adore bunnies. The point here is not about the amount spent; rather, it is about the thought put into the gift. Nothing is worse than the person who pesters you on the day (week, month) before Christmas (birthday, anniversary) to know what you want to receive as a gift. To me, the most thoughtful of gifts is the one that has you wondering, 'How did they know I wanted that?' There is an art in listening to someone, the subtle clues they drop about what they like, collect, saw and drooled over, have wanted but never bought for themselves, etc. People are forever dropping clues, a lot of the time without realizing they are doing just that. The art is in listening and disciphering clues, or just plain noticing what they like.

The opposite side to this coin are the bad gifts. This being the real world, I have received a few doozies in my time. The most recent that jumps to mind is the first Christmas with an ex-boyfriend. He bought me a book and a throw (a blankie). Nice gestures when you consider that I love to read and am usually cold. Not so nice when you consider that he spent a great deal of time at the bookstore buying glorified comics and prolly only saw these items whilst he stood in line to pay for his purchases (yeah, the throw also came from the bookstore). Ok, so maybe I'm being cynical. Let's give him the benefit of the doubt and fast forward to our second Christmas together. He bought me a book and a throw. Ok, so it was a different book and a different coloured throw. It still made me feel like an afterthought and vastly lessened the appeal of the gift.

Here is a golden rule: unless she has specifically asked for it, no woman wants to receive a household appliance. I will repeat this because so many guys just don't get it: unless your wife (fiancée, girlfriend, mom, etc) actually come out and tell you that they want a Cuisinart, panini maker, blender, vacuum cleaner or anything else that will require them to expend energy to actually enjoy the 'gift', do not buy it. By extension, anything that is subtlely disguised as a gift for you - a snazzy dazzy shiny BBQ, tickets to a concert to see your favorite artist, massage oil (when everyone knows you will be receiving and not giving!), or anything that eventually gets housed in the workshop (again, unless she specifically asks you for a jigsaw, do not do it!) is not a gift, it is a sad excuse for a gift. And if you're paused at the beauty counter and wondering whether to splurge on some creams, serums, drops and stuff of the like? Two words: 'anti-ageing' guarantees another two words: death wish!

The grey area here is lingerie. Chances are good that we want some. Chances are also good that we will not wear the stuff you want us to wear, since it (more often than not) comes from Frederick's of Hollywood. (And no, the addition of 'Hollywood' doesn't make it classy lingerie, guys!) While I'm no huge fan of gift cards, if this is the route you insist on embarking upon, you might be best to make up a basket with a Visa gift card, a Luther CD, a bottle of wine and a card that suggests that she spend the money on some naughty underbits that the two of you could later appreciate together. But I still maintain that you venture forth at your own peril!

The lesson here? To a woman, it is not the wrapping, the store it came from or even the cost. It is how special your gift makes her feel. It is knowing that you put some thought into it, spent some time thinking about what she would like (and hopefully love), actually listened to what she has said ... and even some of the things she hasn't said. In the end, it is the thought that counts, after all.

So, what is the best and/or worst gift you have ever received? Post your comment below and make me green with envy .... or cringe right along with you!

Frantic City, Frantic City!

Ahh, October. The beginning of one of my favorite seasons and another reason to jet off ...

Day 1, Tuesday, October 4 - I head off to Dorval to catch a flight to Philly. Arriving earlier than my friend's flight, I have some time to explore this HUGE terminal, staffed by some of the friendliest staff I have ever encountered in an airport. After his flight arrives, we head to the funky Aloft Hotel. Just walking into the reception area, with its hip bar tucked away into a corner of the lobby, tells you this is a different kind of hotel. Walking into the washroom into your room confirms it. Once you wrap your mind around the idea of a sliding bathroom door (?!?), you marvel at the size of the glass and tile shower, which could easily accommodate me, my friend, the bellboy and another two people from room service. (Yeah, don't ask how I know these things, ok?)
Day 2, Wednesday, October 5 - I am treated to lunch at Chipotle, which is only fitting seeing as my friend is the one who got me hooked on the place. That afternoon, we hit the highway for our road trip to AC. Atlantic City, a vacation spot of my childhood; the last time I was there, I lost Jordan (but that is another story for another day!) We check in at Caesar's and get ready for our dinner with Terry and her hubby, Tom. We celebrate Tom's upcoming birthday at Bobby Flay Steak at The Borgata.What a night! Besides getting to see Terry again, finally meeting Tom, we dined like royalty! I start with the lobster-crab cake (a baseball-sized delight) served with a basil vinaigrette and lemon-habanero tartar sauce, then go on to the porterhouse lamb chops, served with a red wine sauce and mint pesto. (My mouth is watering even as I write this!) My date and I share a sweet potato gratin and creamed spinach sides before we battle forks over a key lime pie. Great food and even greater company. It was a terrific evening and one I look forward to repeating again.

Day 3, Thursday, October 6 - We check out and head over to Mickey Dee's to leech off their free Wi-Fi. I overhear some Quebecers speaking French at the next table over ... it really IS a small world! My friend and I head to the boardwalk for a leisurely stroll, making our way to the beach and the water's edge. The water is warmer than I imagined and there were even people surfing! We head back to the car, off to the airport and onto a plane ...
Day 4, Friday, October 7 - Ahh, Montreal. We enjoy a leisurely lunch at Arahova and then cross the street for a mandatory stop at St-Viateur Bagel. Later, we drop in for a visit with my friend's babcia before heading back my my neck of the woods to see Jordan and Julia. We continue eastward and sup at L'Ange Cornu in L'Assomption. (I had the monk fish (which I have since discovered to be THE ugliest fish ever!) on a plate that easily measured a foot long. Deeelicious!)
Day 5, Saturday, October 8 - After lolling around, we head off for another road trip, this time to St-Sauveur. We lunch at the original location of Moe's before continuing onward to Mont-Tremblant. We battle through the traffic, comprised of the entire population of Quebec (because everyone in the province was there that day, I am sure and not doing too brilliantly at all with the roundabouts!) After parking, we hitch a lift halfway up the mountain on one of the gondolas and start to make our way through the village, stopping for a beer on one of the many terraces. Before long, the afternoon sun is fading and it is time to think about dinner. We happen upon Coco Pazzo, a lovely Italian place that is tucked away but doing a healthy business. I pig out on linguini pescatore (spelt flour pasta with shrimps, scallops, clams and mussels in a reduction of white wine, anchovy, garlic and clam broth). Thankfully, there is room for dessert because the torta di cioccolata (a heavenly creation of marbled dark chocolate and white chocolate truffle ganache) is something I would drive up there for daily. On a bicycle. With a flat. While in labour. It was just ... that ... freakin' ... good!
Day 6, Sunday, October 9 - We meet up with friends for lunch at Lawrence. A tiny hole in the wall of a restaurant with a nonstop stream of customers. The wait for a table was 45 minutes but the weather outside was nice and we don't mind. (The owner pops out from time to time with chocolate-filled beignets, which doesn't hurt!) The servings are generous and the food is great. Before too long, it is time to make our way back to the airport for our flight to TO. Dinner that evening is at the Lion and Firkin, which just happens to be hosting a 'Who is the worst karaoke singer?' contest. (Note: everyone was a winner!)
Day 7, Monday, October 10 - After popping by my friend's office for a quick boardroom meeting, we dine on monkey brains at Cynthia's for dinner. The service and presentation at this place are impeccable! Back at the hotel, we watch The King's Speech. (Great, great movie - watch it if you haven't already.)
Day 8, Tuesday, October 11 - Quick lunch at the Sunset Grill and I am stuck with the song in my head for the rest of the afternoon. That evening, we pick up Robbie for dinner and discover Cava, a Spanish tapas restaurant on Yonge Street. We make the wise decision to let the waiter run with the menu; he makes excellent choices for us, a few of which are even brought out by the chef himself. Some of the things we sample: pincho of gamay-poached foie gras with plum mostarda, papas fritas (spicy french fries with sage and rosemary), grilled squid with fingerling potatoes, green onions and romesco, and roast quail filled with chicken and served with moorish chickpea stew. We all dig into a warm, chocolate lava cake and a puffy, clafouti-type dessert. Service is terrific; the waiter appears with my jacket before I can even ask for it!
Day 9, Wednesday, October 12 - We stay in for the evening for our traditional pizza/Rummy 500 night. I win for the first time ever but I think it's because my friend's too sick with a cold to mark the deck.
Day 10, Thursday, October 13 - Quiet day; dinner at the Lion and Firkin, where not a karaoke'er is to be heard.
Day 11, Friday, October 14 - Lunch at Mary Brown's. (Think the Colonel before he started serving everything but the kitchen sink with his chicken ... but better!) Then (sadly), off to the airport and home. (Then again, considering the way I ate on this trip, it was prolly for the best - I'll need a complete wardrobe overhaul at this rate!)

It was a whirlwind of a trip this time around - two states, two provinces, two countries ... and all over too soon ...

My 22 year long love affair ...

Back in 1989, I was as big as a house while carrying the first of the three children I would bear. Most every person I have ever spoken to has always said the same thing - 'Oh, I don't care whether it's a boy or a girl. As long as I have a healthy baby.' I was not at all embarrassed to admit that I was pinning all my hopes on having a boy. While I passed on having the ultrasound technician tell me what she thought I might be having, I spent every waking moment imagining a male infant, surrounded myself with blue objects and generally refused to entertain the idea of having a daughter. Having been raised in a household with 2 sisters, I had longed for a male sibling - but not just a brother, an older brother ... someone who would have protected me when I was little and then supplied me with friends of his that I could have dated when I was older. Mine was not an ordinary pregnancy; my last month of pregnancy was spent in bed under doctor's orders. I was bored to tears and counted the days to my due date. Kevin's father and I watched a lot of TV during that time and Kevin ended up being named after the main character on The Wonder Years.

Kevin made his way into the world a whole 8 days ahead of schedule, taking less than four hours to meet his adoring public. I don't think I slept much that first night in the hospital; I could not stop staring at his beautiful face; the way his little lips were pursed, how his long lashes rested on his round, pink cheeks. I am actually surprised that he managed to sleep, what with me running my fingers over his soft skin, stroking the little bit of hair he had on his head and touching his teeny ears over and over again.

A lot has happened in the 22 years since that evening. He is still beautiful but now he is also all the other things a parent would be proud of in a man. Kevin is living in town, working and has found a terrific young woman I am happy to consider as a friend.

And my love affair continues ...

Kevin Alexandre Sawchuk Brodeur

English 101

Modern technology is a wonderful thing. It has allowed us to reconnect with people from our long ago's and answered many a 'I wonder what happened to so-and-so?'. I have been lucky to find people from my old neighborhood, elementary school, high school and past jobs and it has been great fun catching up with people I thought I would never see again.

Facebook put me back in touch with my grade 10 English teacher. Miss Golfman was a young, pretty and fashionable addition to the group of adults who were put to the task of molding my young mind. I looked forward to her class, knowing it would be interesting and entertaining. While she had a no nonsense approach to the material she presented, you would often find her smile lighting up her face. Miss Golfman, along with a few other beloved English teachers, were the matchmakers that led to my love affair with the written word.

Last Friday, I had the chance to thank Miss Golfman in person. She had messaged me and suggested we meet during her trip to the city; I was only too pleased to accept. We caught up over lunch and I was delighted to see that her smile still makes a regular appearance on a face that has barely changed in the past (dare I say it?) thirty-four years. I was glad for the opportunity to tell Miss Golfman how much I had appreciated her as a teacher. I know I'm not the only one of her students to feel that way.

I drove her to her next engagement and as she hopped out of my car, she clued me in to why she had wanted to see me. I'm holding on to that but she made my day in a big way.

Thanks, Miss Golfman. For everything.  xox

With this ring, I (would) thee wed ...

Marilyn Monroe-Joe DiMaggio wedding ring to hit auction block

My Robbie ♥

Ahhh, Robbie. Recently, I described Robbie to a friend of mine. I told him that Robbie is my 'go to' person - the one I can call at all hours of the night or day, the one who will help me dispose of the bodies without asking any questions, the one I can always go to for advice, knowing it will be blunt and raw and lacking in all candy coating whatsoever. He is my rock and sounding board but he is also my mirror, who instead of reflecting back what I might want to see, reflects back what truly is. Robbie is the place I call when I need a shoulder; I've spent 6 hours driving there, talked his ear off for 4 hours and then driven another 6 hours to come home. He is 'Uncle Robbie' to my children and he has graciously shared his 'Ma' with me - I walk amid his family where I easily feel like one of them.

Ma & Robbie - 31/08/2011

Robbie was in town in late August, giving us a chance to celebrate our birthdays, albeit belatedly. After picking him up at his mom's, where we had an impromptu photo session, we headed to Old Montreal. We roamed the cobbled streets, then explored the Old Port until it was dark before finally settling in at Les 3 Brasseurs for a drink. (I took the advice of our server, Sebastien and had a raspberry beer. Interesting!) We sat and talked and people watched and laughed uproariously (as we usually do) until they started packing up the tables and chairs on the terrace.

Robbie & me - Old Montreal, 31/08/2011

As is always the case when I'm with Robbie, the time flew by way too quickly. I drove him home (he'll maintain that I sped him home but what does he know!) and we may have woken a neighbor or two as we laughed our way through our g'nites. Thankfully, I get to do it all again next month when we wreak havoc on Toronto!

I love you, Robbie!

My Julia ♥

Julia Kristine Sawchuk Brodeur - 2 1/2 yrs old

I never wanted to know the sex of any of the babies I carried yet I was certain Julia was a girl long before her birth. Everything about my last pregnancy was different - my cravings, my weight gain - I was about to have some competition in my house full of men! I knew I was in for a interesting journey with this kid from the very ride to the hospital; she was intent on bursting into the world while her father seemed determined to observe every red light and speed limit as though they had been handed to him on two stone tablets up on Mount Sinai! At the hospital, Dr B barely had time to snap on his second glove and lean forward before Julia plopped herself into his hands. I didn't realize it then, but her unconventional arrival was to be a trailer for the movie of her life ...

Julia and Dad (March 2 1997)

After poor Jordan's history-making bout with colic, Julia was an almost maintenance-free newborn. She quickly learned to sleep through the pandemonium that underlined Kevin and Jordan's every waking moment. I'm almost ashamed to admit that her father and I went off to bed one night, only to realize that we had left her sleeping in the swing in the middle of the pitch black living room, but she was just that easy a baby ... well, until she started walking, that is! It wasn't enough for Julia to learn to pull herself up by holding on a piece of furniture; no, Julia then had to climb that piece of furniture. Coffee tables, wall units, bookcases - if it had a foothold, Julia was determined to scale the thing. More times than I can remember, I would turn my back on her sitting in her high chair, only to look over my shoulder and see her straddling the tray, impish grin on her face and hands on her teeny hips, looking so proud of herself. A mere week or so after learning to walk, she decided she was tired of that activity and started imitating her brothers as they ran throughout the house. Julia hated being strapped into a stroller, preferring to walk on her own. And I do mean 'on her own', since having her hand held was yet another restraint she did not accept. She was a fearless child - heights, distance, stairs - you name it, she mastered control over it. Julia was not a great rule follower, instead she made them (or broke them). Nothing illustrated this better than one of Julia's favorite stories: In Switzerland one morning, Julia and I walked to her pre-school, a little less than ten minutes away. Once there, she refused my request for a hug or a kiss and skipped off instead to greet her friends. I pretend to pout, waved g'bye and left the schoolyard for home. About a half hour later, I hear a knock at the front door; opening it, I look out, my eyes being pulled downward by the 4 year old standing there. Looking around and not seeing anyone, I incredulously inquire what she was doing home. 'You looked so sad when you left that I came home to give you a kiss and a hug,' she stated simply, ready to return to school on her own. I grabbed for my keys and we returned to l'École Rose, much to the amazement of the teachers there, who told me that no one had ever pulled off a coup like Julia had that day.

Julia and Mom (March 26 1998)

Things have not been sweetness and light every day of Julia's life. She has inherited a very healthy dose of hardheadedness from both her parents, which on the positive side means she is able to easily assert herself but on the negative side, makes for some heated exchanges between parent and daughter. (Julia piercing her own eyebrow at age 14 without parental consent immediately springs to mind ... ) The adorable baby evolved into a beautiful child who has grown into a stunning young woman. Yet somehow, this fact seems lost on my Julia, who goes on about her life completely unassumingly. She is doing well in school, is healthy and happy. As a parent, you cannot ask for much more.


For the record, Julia's father and I were never 'trying for a girl'. The plan all along was to have three children; Fate just happened to make the last one a girl. While I maintained throughout my pregnancy with Julia that a third son would be a welcomed addition to the two we were already raising, I've come to understand the magic in the bond between a mother and daughter. There's an old Irish saying that goes, 'A son is a son until he takes him a wife, a daughter is a daughter all of her life. The older Julia becomes, the more truth I find there to be in that adage.

Julia (Summer 2010)

I'll take what's in the box, Monty . . .

Take something beautiful. A glowing woman swollen with life ... 

 ... the subsequent miracle of birth ... 

... culminating in the arrival of a beautiful newborn.

Now, taint it all with the ever so quaint, recently made popular expression, 'push present'. Just brings a tear to your eye, don't it? A push present, for those of you with inquiring minds (and who haven't already figured this one out for yourselves), is a prezzie that one parent gives the other for birthing the new addition to their family. So, that would be you husbands, boyfriends and significant others of either gender. Now, me being a tad on the dédaigneuse side, I find the expression cringe-worthy. Frankly, I prefer the alternate expression, 'baby bauble'. Besides feeding into my love of alliterations, it clearly spells out what the non-baby-pushing-out parent should be shopping for (which, after popping out three people myself, is the LEAST you should receive by way of thanks, if you ask me!).

There are sites dedicated to the browsing and purchasing of these gifts - Gifts.com have a large assortment and even the parental bible, Parents.com are part of the revolution, offering the baubles no woman would turn down but also smashing ideas like spa treatments and trips! It's almost enough to make me want another baby ... I said ALMOST!

So, welcome to the world of  'push presents', where actress Jessica Alba has requested a $54,000 gold and diamond Frank Muller watch for the  upcoming birth of her second child, stylist Rachel Zoe received a 10-carat (10!) diamond ring and  Marc-Anthony gifted J-Lo with a pair of $2.5 million earrings. (Sure, you're saying, but she had twins! Well, you'd be wrong because he also gave her a $300,000 canary diamond ring! Yowsah!)

What did I get? *snicker* Let's see ... that would be nothing for the births of Kevin and Jordan. When Julia came along, I turned to her father and demanded flowers. I reminded him that this was my third (and last) ride on the delivery table merry-go-round. I reminded him that he had always wanted a daughter and now had one. I reminded him that every other woman on the floor had flowers and by gawd, I was not leaving the hospital until I had MY freakin' bouquet. He came through and in the 14 years we were together, that marked the second (and last) time he ever brought me flowers. But that's a whole other posting for a whole other day! So ... what did YOU get?

More, yes . . . but is it really better?

I had a great childhood. True, there were lots of hand-me-downs, but still a great childhood. Coming from a family with three girls, we had no shortage of dolls in our home. Dolls of all shapes and sizes, different hair colours, different facial expressions but most had the same underlying theme. They did nothing. Not a blessed thing. A few dolls closed their eyes when you would lay them down but that was about it. Apart from my older sister owning a Chatty Cathy doll (and if that commercial doesn't creep you out, not much else will!) and me having a much treasured Thumbelina doll (I didn't realize until just now how much that doll moving looks like a slow motion epileptic fit!), our dolls were totally dependent on our own imaginations. We did a lot of pretending back then - little boys as well as little girls. Play tanks and plastic soldiers didn't shoot so there was a lot of 'pow pow pow!' noises made; we positioned our dolls around little tables and had make believe tea parties. The toys we played with encouraged our imaginations to flourish as we came up with elaborate scenarios where the toys were mere props.

Fast forward to the present day. Nowadays, you can find a doll that will do just about anything. Walking and talking? How passé! Try peeing and pooping - the pooping doll even comes in a diaper or poppy version! (Hmm ... disposable diapers. Tsk tsk tsk!) Then again, what would you expect when the dolls eat and drink? When you gotta go, you gotta go! Even Mattel jumped on the badwagon, pimping our beloved Barbie and Ken - she gets preggers and he shaves! But it seems I can still be amazed after all this time. Introducing ... *insert drumroll sound here* ... the Breastfeeding Doll! Yup, it seems our children aren't growing up fast enough - we now need to have lil girls, who aren't old enough to have breasts of their own, pretending to breastfeed their dolls.

And thus continues the crumbling of civilization ...

Happy Birthday, my Jordan! ♥

Jordan - 2 days

Happy Birthday to my darling Jordan, who hits the limbo year of 20 today. No longer a teen, not quite 21 either. Limbo-land.

Jordan - 9 months

20 years ago today, Jordan came into the world and changed mine. 1991 was a brutal summer, marked by a heatwave not unlike the one we are presently experiencing. That in and of itself would have been hard on a newborn, but in addition to the heat, Jordan developed colic. The only respite his father and I had from his incessant howling was when we held him. And so we did, for what felt like 27 (yes, 27!) hours a day some days. That child was strapped onto my chest in a Snugli to the point where I felt as though he and I were one person. Thanks to Jordan, I learned a great many things back then - I learned how to prepare and eat a meal with one hand, I learned that it's possible to drown out a screaming child if it means you get to grab a 90 second shower for the first time in two days, I learned how to pee with a small human being strapped to my upper torso and I learned that everyone and their brother has a s'posed cure for colic, because after all, I must be doing something if my kid is still breaking the sound barrier with his cries, right? Nothing soothed me more than bringing him in to the pediatrician's for his first month appointment. This woman, who had served as my own pediatrician growing up and had a career spanning at least 40 years + at that point, spent 45 minutes trying to soothe Jordan in her arms before declaring him to be one of THE worst cases of colic she had ever encountered during the course of her medical practice. Jordan's bout of colic went of to last a total of 5 1/2 months, something I still think is a record in the world of newborns. Thankfully, I was already blessed with Kevin, who at only 21 months himself, happily played and didn't demand any extra attention, which unfortunately, I simply did not have to give him at the time. Jordan was not not an easy child by any stretch of the imagination. After colic came the night terrors, episodes where he would wake without waking, not realizing where he was or even who I was. I would rush to his side, try to calm him, get him settled and return to my own bed, only to barely fall asleep before the fun would begin all over again, usually 4-5 times a night. Jordan was about 3 1/2 years old before he actually slept through the night! Because of all the drama of his infancy, I was hard pressed to convince his dad to have the third child we had always planned for. Julia was almost the baby that never was, something that Jordan will probably jokingly tell you he still wishes had happened. In the end, Jordan went from being the child who required the most attention to the one who was the least hands on of my pack of three. Jordan is one of the most 'go with the flow' people I know, fazed by little and adaptable to most every situation I have seen him encounter thus far.

Jordan - 3rd birthday (with big brother Kevin and cousin Gabrielle)

My Jordan has grown into a young man that I'm proud of, who still ends every conversation with 'I love you, Mom', takes out the garbage without being told (most times!), and puts others before himself. If I had one complaint, it would be this - you grew up way too fast, Jordan. I think I actually miss those days of colic ...

Time - a healer of nothing . . .

Today is the day my mother would have celebrated her 75th birthday. I say 'would have' because my mom passed away back when she was 48. I too am 48 now and cannot imagine leaving the world at this point in my life.

Back in 1999, I wrote about my mom, sharing it with very few people. I re-read it last night and realized that my sentiments haven't changed. I also decided to share it with you all. Happy Birthday, Mummy ...

I mourn my mother almost every day.

Reading that sentence, you would think her passing had only recently happened. The fact is my mother died way back 15 years ago. Still, there are days when it is as fresh as though it had happened only yesterday.

My mother was an amazing woman. I know most children believe that of their mothers but as an adult, I have come to realize the extent to which she truly was amazing. She was a wonderful daughter, wife, mother and a friend to many. Her involvement in her children's lives went beyond what I saw my friends' mothers do - bake sales, chaperoning all our school trips, helping with hair and make up at my ballet recitals, organizing wonderfully detailed birthday parties - the list goes on and on. My mother taught me a great many things that I have carried on into my adulthood, both through her words and her actions.

My mom was very demonstrative in her love and never needed an excuse to pass along a quick hug or kiss. A hand around your shoulders as she helped with homework or brushing a stray lock of hair from your eyes as she listened to you speak - her touch was everywhere. She was never too busy to help, listen or get involved in whatever required her attention; my mother was a firm believer in leaving the rest of the world to get along on its own because her kids would not be young and around the house forever.

My mother was the one who convinced my father that I was old enough to date and worked out a better curfew for me when my dad thought I should be in earlier than I wanted to be. Never was there a moment when I did not feel as though she was in my corner. Often, I would joke about becoming a mother myself and moving back home with 12 children in tow. My mom would laugh and say she would love it – and somehow I just knew she would have.

Then came the winter my mom was scheduled to be operated on - a routine procedure. My father and sisters and I sat and waited and finally, the doctor came. The news was completely unexpected and horrendous. My father insisted my mother not be told and my sisters and I numbly agreed with him. All the while, I wondered how my mom would look into my eyes and not know the truth.

The medical treatments came and went and my mom only got more and more sick. I went through a stage where I found any excuse to be away from the house - I could not bear to see her that way. Racing out of the house one day, I passed her on the front balcony and bent down for a quick kiss. She smiled and told me it was good that I was going out; that people my age did not need to be hanging around the house all the time. I stopped and our eyes met. I knew at that moment that she knew ... and that she knew that I knew. Nothing more was ever mentioned about it between the two of us.

Despite her illness, she managed to plan my older sister's bridal shower and wedding pretty much single-handedly. Everyone marveled at my mother but I was not surprised. This was my mom doing what my mom always did best, keeping things running smoothly for the rest of us. A good time was had by all and my mother was elated.

In the weeks following the wedding, my mother weakened considerably. Friends paraded through her room, saying their good-byes and my mom consoled each and every one of them. Finally, my father insisted she be allowed to leave the hospital and after obtaining the doctor's consent, she came home. Her final two days are almost a blur to me now - my sisters, father and I slept in shifts because although my mom was semi-comatose, we wanted someone to always be there for her. We did our crying elsewhere in the house, never near my mother. At one point, I lay down beside her - just to be near her as I had so many times before. I watched her sleep, thinking of happier times and without meaning to, I quietly began to cry. Her eyes suddenly opened - clear, focused and alert like they had not been in days. Her arm reached out and with strength I thought she no longer possessed, she pulled me close to her, soothing me as I wept. I fell asleep in her arms and when I awoke, my mom had returned to the way she had earlier been - curled up and seemingly no longer aware of any us.

I was the only one awake the morning she died. As my father lay sleeping at her side, I checked on her, taking her temperature and monitoring her pulse. Noting it was erratic, I pressed my ear to her chest and listened to her heartbeat as it faded, the sound seeming to sink deeper into her chest and farther away from me, until I could hear it no more. In a way, my mother and I had come full circle - she was there for my entrance into the world; I was there for her departure from it. She was finally gone and never before or since have I felt more alone.

With the passing of the years, I have been reminded of her on an almost constant basis - the yearly parade of birthdays, Mother's Days and Christmases all stream by, highlighting her absence; the sharp pang of envy I feel at seeing my friends with their own mothers. I wonder what my mom would think of the woman I’ve become - whether she would be proud, whether she would approve. I watch my own children and have moments of such frustration that my mother never lived to see their faces - especially the granddaughter who carries her name and looks startlingly like my mother.

Life goes on and it is said that time heals. Time heals nothing. Time is simply a space where you try to learn to deal with your pain, your sadness and the gaping hole in your heart. In the years since my mother's passing, I haven't healed from the loss. Instead, I have learned to accept the part of my heart that lies empty and will forever yearn for a few moments more with my best friend.

Live and learn . . .

Back in the late '90's, the family and I were in Montreal on a summer visit. The kids' dad had returned to Switzerland on his own a couple of weeks before the lil ones and I were scheduled to return, as he often did. Armed with kids, luggage, my permission letter to travel with my own children (don't even get me started!), I dropped in on my dad, who would ultimately drive us all to the airport. I whipped out the kids' passports, eager to show my dad how cute their pictures were. He agreed that they were indeed adorable (how could he not!) and my attention was diverted elsewhere. Later, we loaded the car with our bags and the kids and off we went. After parking, we headed into the airport where I took out our tickets and rooted around my purse for our passports. The passports I had handed to my dad! The passports he had never handed back to me!! The passports which were still sitting on his dresser top!!! ACK!!! My dad ran back to the car and drove like a bat out of hell all the way back to Otterburn Park. The ticket agent did her best to calm my nerves but eventually, she could hold the plane no longer and it took off, the kids and me still standing in the terminal. Shortly thereafter, my dad burst back into the terminal, the kids' passports in hand. And thus, the bargaining began. I was shuffled from one ticket agent to another, one airline to another. Solutions such as boarding the next day or boarding later that afternoon for the nominal extra fee of $800 were quickly discounted. Somehow, I managed to find an angel of a man, who clattered away for what seemed like forever on his keyboard, before informing me he could get us all back to l'Aéroport de Genève without any additional monetary penalty. He even apologized profusely for the fact that we would land a whole half hour later than if I would have made my scheduled flight. It took a great deal of restraint on my part not to catapult myself across the counter and smother him in kisses! (Instead, I wrote a lengthy letter to the airline, detailing his herculean efforts on my part and suggesting they make him president of the airline, complete with a gargantuan salary hike.) We made it back home later that day with an interesting story to boot.

I'd like to think that I'm older and wiser now. I'm taking no chances with my upcoming trip to California ... my passport is already in my purse! *grin*

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . .

1.  The bad guys don't always wear black and the good guys don't always wear white.
2.  You can't always get what you want.
3.  In the end, we always get what we all deserve.

2011's first (and counting) . . .

'If it doesn't make you smile, bring you joy or isn't useful, get rid of it'


That's my new mantra. New year, new outlook. Lord knows, the old way of doing things has produced eff all. I won't call this a new year's resolution (a, because I never make those and b, because the few times I have, I never kept them, ergo reason a!)


So let this be a lesson to you all ... make me smile, bring me joy or be useful ... or hit the road, Jack! (Well, no - not Jack! He makes me smile, brings me joy AND is useful. He also listens (for the most part), loves me unconditionally and doesn't drool, which is more than I can say for many men I've known in my life.)


If I were going to make a resolution (and I'm NOT!), I'd say that I will sincerely make an effort to de-clutter. My surroundings AND my life. I'm getting too old for a cluttered life and as I age, I imagine not having to maneuver around useless shit will make more sense.


It's a Monday so I'm feeling inspired. I'm waiting for people to call me back so I have some time on my hands. Laundry's up to date, but I feel a cooking bug coming on, so I think I'll head to the kitchen and make stew. 


Of course, if I were TimBit, I'd just sleep all day ... 

Twelve Days Later . . . the Honourable Mentions

This was a challenging undertaking ... narrowing down contemporary Christmas carols to a mere 12 choices. Some were obvious - Band Aid, John Lennon, Bob & Doug. Others, not so much. So, on this Christmas Day (and in no particular order), I salute those who didn't make that first chop:

This Christmas - Diana Ross ... for my Robbie ♥

Christmas Is The Time To Say I Love You - Billy Squier (1981) ... Julia totally and immediately nixed this choice. I love it. Something about a bunch of people all singing the same thing at the same time and swaying in unison, I guess.

Jingle Bell Rock - Bobby Helms (1957) ... In the movie Mean Girls, singer Janis Ian remarks, 'Everyone in the English speaking world knows that song.' Indeed!

2000 Miles - The Pretenders (1983) ... Please. Chrissie Hynde? Please! (While most people believe 2,000 miles to be the distance between two lovers missing each other over the holidays, it is actually meant for James Honeyman-Scott, the group's original guitar player, who died of heart failure induced by cocaine intolerance in 1982.)

Wonderful Christmas Time - Paul McCartney (1979) ... McCartney recorded the song entirely on his own during the sessions for his solo project McCartney II. Although the members of Wings are not on the recording, they appear in the video.

Blue Christmas - Elvis Presley (1968) ... Elvis turned this 1948 country music staple into a rock-and-roll holiday classic by recording it in his signature style in 1957.

Thank God It's Christmas - Queen (1984) ... No promotional video was ever made of this track, written by Brian May and Roger Taylor, which hampered its use on TV music channels. For this reason, it's a lesser known Christmas single but it's still my favorite Christmas message from (the) Queen. *smirk*

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree - Brenda Lee (1958) ... She was 14 when she recorded this. 14. 14!!!

Father Christmas - The Kinks (1977) ... And it failed to make the charts.   :(

Rock and Roll Christmas - George Thorogood & the Destroyers ... Try and not bop to this one. I dare you!

Run Rudolph Run - Chuck Berry (1958) ... Sometimes known as Run Run Rudolph.

White Christmas - Billy Idol (2007) ... A strangely sexy video ...

Someday at Christmas - Stevie Wonder (1967) ... A pure voice singing about a pure sentiment. It doesn't get any better than Stevie.

The Chanukah Song - Adam Sandler (1994), The Chanukah Song 2 (1999), The Chanukah Song 3 (2002) ... A series of hilarious songs written and performed by Adam Sandler. All of them center on the theme of Jewish children feeling alienated during the Christmas season and the listing of Jewish celebrities, both real and fictional.

Christmastime is Here - Vince Guardini (1965) ... Is there a person alive who doesn't remember this tune from their childhood? Released on A Charlie Brown Christmas as a soundtrack to the TV special of the same name, it's one of the most popular Christmas albums of all time.

Feliz Navidad - Jose Feliciano (1970) ... One of the most downloaded and aired Christmas songs in the US and Canada and one of the 25 most played and recorded Christmas songs around the world.

I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus - John Mellencamp (1987) ... 13-yr old Jimmy Boyd's original 1952 version was condemned by the Roman Catholic church in Boston because the songs mixed kissing with Christmas. SHEESH!!!

Christmas is All Around - Billy Mack (2003) ... Bill Nighy' cover of The Troggs' song Love Is All Around for the movie Love Actually. Hilarious video which borrows heavily from Robert Palmer's Addicted To Love.

Merry Christmas Darling - The Carpenters (1970) ... Richard Carpenter (one of the song's two composers) himself calls the original recording one of his sister's best.

Merry Christmas (I Don't Want To Fight Tonight) - The Ramones (1989) ... Joey Ramone composed and dedicated this one to his girlfriend.

Oh Come All Ye Faithful - Twisted Sister (2006) ... One of the bestest kick-ass rock Christmas songs of all time.

Mary's Boy Child - Boney M (1978) ... Written in 1956 and originally recorded by Harry Belafonte.

On the twelfth day of Christmas . . .

I know I started off this series by saying I'd be featuring songs that CHOM would play. For this last posting, I'm deviating from the plan. Firstly, this is my blog and I get to veer off track whenever I feel like it and lastly, I'm a woman and my very gender gives me carte blanche to change my mind in mid-sentence, mid-step or mid-life.

I had an extremely happy childhood. Christmastime found me indulging in festivities twice - once on the 25th of December and then again two weeks later on January 7th. Not twice the prezzies, mind you, but twice the holiday feeling. Christmas Eve evokes two powerful memories ... our tree, a turquoise blue/green silvery ghastly monstrosity which at the same time was and will always be the most beautiful Christmas tree I'll ever see and the sound of Christmas carols being played on the stereo in the living room. We heard them all: Bing, The Chipmunks, Judy, Dean, Perry, Ella ... but nothing means Christmas Eve to me more than one of the most powerful Christmas carols sung by one of the most powerful voices ever ... enjoy .. (it's) the night before Christmas ...

Silent Night - Mahalia Jackson