“Heather’s Hermes bag sits on a Consuelo Castiglioni rug…” – Harper’s Bazaar

The lives of the mega rich are so very different from our own. Privileged women like ”Heather”, who thoughtfully married two rich men (consecutively, though concurrently would have been far more efficient) don’t even have closets. All new clothing/accessories acquisitions go straight into: “Heather’s meticulously organized wardrobe area” – Harper’s Bazaar

Time to say “adieux” till next season (but not to you!)

Fernie, British Columbia. Some of the sweetest skiing in Canada! See you next year snow. See you next year crazy long traverse (across that far wall). See you next year powder coddled trees. Oh… and snow, if you miss me, please, please, just don’t come visit me on the golf course!   

Mars + Val Kilmer + A Car Battery = Peace Of Mind

Having an award winning poet as one’s mother is sensational. You grow up knowing a special secret: the world is wholly abstract, yet interconnected, and far more open to interpretation than most people realize. Life is a game of picking out signs and assigning them meaning.

My mother recently told me she had made up her mind about moving into a larger apartment. What clinched her “yes”?

Mars, Val Kilmer, and a car battery.

It’s a long story, and you’d have to have poet blood to understand any of it : )

Marriage Perk #63

I’m showered, dressed, combed, and brushed. I tie my shoes and put on my jacket. My hand is on the doorknob. But wait. I’ve forgotten my watch on the nightstand.

I tip-toe into the bedroom, careful not to wake the big lump under the covers. As I wrap my watch round my wrist, I see that a slipped comforter has left a peachy pink cheek exposed and vulnerable. I dive in and kiss that special spot, just past the corner of your eye, where (in these last few years) the delicate skin has begun to crease. My lips find all the heat and softness and comfort they’ll need for the day in the half-second we connect.

I notice another “cheek” is exposed ; )

So I smack it.

Perfect way to start the day.

Recognize him? If so, it may already be too late.

Every girl has one…

…that boy who swept you off your feet then dragged you through a lovely, spring fresh field of land mines. You know, the one boy you can’t resist, even through he’s put your heart/ self-esteem/ hope-for-the-future through the shredder too many times to count. I’m sure he was one of your first loves too, and you two just “got” each other right from the beginning. ya ya

I have one of my own, of course, but I’m not ready to him dredge up from the bilgewater of my grade 9 memories. The charmer you see in the picture above is kryptonite to a friend of mine. She’s been trying to break free of his toxicity for almost a year. Part of growing up is recognizing the poison people in our lives, and having the courage to cut ourselves loose. Step back, let’s try taking a look at our relationships from the outside. Are red flags waving wild to get our attention?

I read a great line yesterday: “(paraphrased) if you’re trying to get to the reality of your relationships, try imagining one of your discussions as verbatim dialogue in a novel. Do you have new empathy? Do the characters surprise you? Disgust you?” (note: disgust is always a bad sign)

And speaking of bad signs… If your kryptonite boy (or girl) chooses to post a picture of himself similar to the one above (this pic is from my friend’s charmer’s myspace profile page), the case is already settled. Don’t bother plugging him into dialogue or asking yourself “is he an energy vampire?” Most pictures say a thousand words. This photo says one… run. Ok, maybe two… run… fast.

STOP! (yes you) STOP!

Stop whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re doing it. Take a moment and appreciate the simplicity of your life: the next few hours are mapped out with (mostly) achievable tasks; you’re comfortably dressed, in warm (dry) clothes. Go ahead and smile. Breathe deep and savour your bliss.

I was once like you, young and innocent, so happy and carefree. I never stopped to appreciate how darned good I had it. Until, just mere moments ago, I turned on the tap in our office kitchen and sent a 360 degree deluge of turbo charged spray out into the room. Yes, life was so much simpler back when napkins were plentiful and clothes were dry. sigh.

So you thought you were immortal?

Pop in the plate. Set microwave for 30 seconds – on high. Press start.

You keep your eyes glued to the glass. “It’s only 30 seconds,” you say. “It’ll go by so fast.” And it does. Congratulations, you’ve just spent 30 precious seconds of your life watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. Way to go. And here you thought TV commercials were wasting your life.

Ah, man. And here I am writing about watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. But suddenly, I don’t feel so bad. You’re here reading about someone writing about someone watching infinitesimally small….

sucker.

(I jest, I jest, please keep reading)

One more reason to take the bus

A helicopter fell out the sky and crushed a pedestrian in Cranbrook BC this week.

You can wear a helmet while biking, strap on a seatbelt while driving, and use a lifejacket while boating, but the only thing you can do to protect yourself while walking is to “look both ways”. That sure wasn’t enough for our poor fellow in Cranbrook! Just when you think you’re finally getting a handle on this life thing, down comes a helicopter! Well, I’m going to keep living on the edge. I refuse to start worrying about looking “up” every time I cross the street. Yah, when it’s a helicopter coming at you, the universe has pretty much made up its mind that it’s your time to go.  

Obama and the desk – a vision I can’t shake

Two years from now… Barack Obama standing, shoulders slumped, hands clasping and unclasping, staring at the monolithic desk before him; his jaw set hard to hide a quivering chin. The desk is a monument, a resolute symbol in dark wood, solid and immovable. Obama closes his eyes and accepts the grim realization that the most powerful man in the world is totally, utterly, powerless.

Toilet paper solves global oil crisis

The world is slowly, but surely, running out of oil. I’m not concerned, even though our culture is guzzling it with total abandon. Not worried a bit, even though we are completely dependent on the stuff. We’ll be fine. Why? Because of the toilet paper paradigm…

We’re generally reckless with this household resource when there’s at least one more roll in the cupboard. And we’re still liberal with it when the final roll is first mounted. But there’s a distinct point, at a certain square, when the harsh reality of our predicament sets in. Our perception of each square’s value changes drastically. We become acutely aware of texture and thickness as we alter our absorbency calculations for maximum efficiency. How we use TP changes too. We test out folding versus scrunching. We discover we can get by with far fewer squares and still be perfectly hygienic. And, if the unthinkable happens and the roll runs out entirely, we are incredibly resourceful in finding substitutes ; ) 

We may be mounting that last roll right now, in terms of oil, but I have no doubt that once we reach that certain square we’ll have had enough practice in our bathrooms to know exactly what to do.

“Gripped” by golf

I knowingly, willingly, married a golf nut five years ago. I was so infatuated with this man that I happily agreed to watch endless hours of golf coverage on our weekends together. I was blissfully captivated by his joy and all his adorable reactions to the shots on TV; I barely even looked at the screen. And really, why would I? I mean, is there anything more boring to watch? (Note: The Masters are not included in that terrible generalization. That tournament is actually almost, dare I say it, thrilling : ) 

My infatuation with my new husband even led me out onto the golf course. I couldn’t bear to be separated from him for a long lonely 4 hours. I was determined not to become another bitter “golf widow”. I hacked around with his 5-wood, and puttered around with his putter. The emotional rollercoaster of the game came as a shock. How could this game, so seemingly effortless and dull on TV, make me want to gnaw off my grips and scream bloody murder? 

As my infatuation for my husband grew and matured, so did his love for golf (oh, and for me too of course : ) His handicap dropped. He read mountains of golf magazines, cover to cover. He became addicted to the golf channel. I watched it all, and listened, boy did I listen. Without knowing it, I too became literate in the language of the game: the techniques, equipment, players, rules, etc. It osmosed slowly from his brain to mine. Little did I know, it would one day pay off. 

That day was yesterday.

My husband’s golf obsession took the ultimate step a month ago. Long story short, he now sells golf clubs for a living. He’s brilliant at it, and loves it. The man is living the dream. Ok, so the PGAwould technically be “the dream”, but he’s a whole lot closer than he’s ever been before. And what was my darling’s first order of business at his new job? Why, to set his wife up with a sweet sweet set of clubs, of course. (I’ll post a picture on an upcoming post for your drooling pleasure) 

I played my first round with my new clubs yesterday. And I tell ya’, it’s a whole new game. Suddenly, yardages came into play, and pin placement, and course management, and everything I’d learned about over the years. Most importantly, for the first time, I felt like I had a chance. Each hole was a new opportunity for success, instead of just another shot at grim humiliation. I was shaking from the thrill of it, and then two seconds later I was shaking from the frustration of it. Craziest thing about the round was that I was actually eager for more after the 18th. And believe me, that’s never happened before! 

My score was still too high to share with the internet world, but was 7 shots lower than my previous record. And taking into consideration some sketchy putting and painful mis-hits, it could have been a lot lower. It should have been lower! It will be lower next time! Mark my words!

Oh no.

Sigh.

I should have seen this coming.

This was his plan all along.

And I’ve fallen ”fore” it!

Oh ya, I’ve got it bad. I’m even making golf puns, groan.

 

Advice from a genius

My Father is a renaissance man. He’s a stunningly amazing artist/inventor/physicist. The painting above is an example of his work (note: my apologies for the black distraction). But besides giving us a new visual language, the theory of the universe, and a revolutionary downhill ski, he is also the source of the most brilliant piece of advice I have ever heard…

“Put on a fresh pair of socks halfway through the day.” -David Fels

That’s it. Do it every day, and your life will never be the same.

When in doubt…7-eleven

A birthday is best celebrated with an amazing friend,
a 90210 marathon, and some major slurpie action!!

“Life is unsure; always eat your dessert first.” – anon

Hair Crisis 2008 (update)

Armed with 3 magazine photos and as much courage as I could muster, I sat down in the stylist’s chair and committed to a couple of inches below shoulder length. The results? Glorious…until I went to bed with wet hair the next night. I was so excited for the piecy blond waves that would greet me from the mirror in the morning. Ah yes, wishful thinking. I woke up with the McDonalds golden arches on my head, two sharp peaks on either side of a jagged part, and bangs that looked like a scraggly tangle of dried seaweed. 

“How do you want me to style it for you?” My stylist had asked me as I’d sat, freshly shorn, in her chair two days before. “Sexy,” I’d said. She made it flippy and fabulous. Perfection. But standing in front of my own mirror, moments before I had to head to work, perfection was a distant ideal from a distant weekend past. All I as aiming for with my hairdryer was a head that wasn’t an advertisement for a fast food restaurant. And all I can say is thank goodness for ponytails!

Hair Crisis 2008

Warning-yours and my definition of crisis may vary

So I have an appointment for a hair cut tomorrow morning, and I was going to go in confident in my “just below the shoulders” decision. But I’m having a phenomenal hair day today with my mid-back length locks falling just so. It’s got to be the best hair day I’ve had in months. Arg! Tomorrow’s decision is getting shaky. But is it really worth all the hassle and haggle of super long hair just for three good hair days a year. Especially when those days seem to always coincide with all-day-at-work days. Ooo the suspense. What will she decide? Stay tuned. I’m just as curious to find out as you are. Ok, so I’m exponentially more curious than you. After all, it is my head.

“Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly” -Robert Kennedy

Robert Kennedy sure put it all on the line. Would you? Are you with me in wondering where Robert Kennedy may have found this depressing (or uplifting if you’ve already accomplished the first half ~wink) tidbit of wisdom? He may have been inspired by Confucius…

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in getting up every time we do.” – Confucius

Or maybe both men just had a lot of failures to explain away ; )

Eureka! Tiger’s Secret

Bring the club back as you turn your body and cock your wrists – then keep your lips puckered and your tongue curled as you coo “shooooweeesh” on the slow motion downswing. Say “thwaacke” when you make contact with the imaginary ball on the mat, and make sure you remember to hiss through the exaggerated followthrough. 

Of course, this drill is best practiced ALONE in your basement or backyard. I was at the driving range last night, breaking in my sweet sweet new set of clubs with all my best sound effects. I was concentrating so hard that it took 4 runthroughs of this little performance before I realized my husband was watching, with a big grin on his face.

“I bet Tiger does sound effects when he practices too,” I said, my cheeks bright red. “I bet that’s his secret.”   

Who is to blame for the ‘pen in laundry’ incident?

The facts:

1-party A leaves pen clipped to neckline of polo shirt earmarked for laundry

2-party B does said laundry (note:checks all pockets of party A’s pants)

3-party B discovers ink stained load in dryer

4-accusations fly

Who is responsible?