Home on the Range

Home again, home again, jiggedy jig! Yes, I am, and stay tuned for a new post, friends, 'cause Fee left a lasting impression in the Victoria airport......

I Did It!

Yes, I did! I watched an entire Olympic hockey game tonight! Sue, Alyssa and Janis will be SO proud of me. I watched the U.S./Canada game, and here's how it went.

I cheered for Sidney Crosby, 'cause I discovered he's cute, I cheered for Niedermayer (sp?), 'cause he's Alyssa's favorite, and I cheered for Iginla, 'cause he's one of the Flames I know. I also quite dug Brodeur, especially after my dad told me that he is a little old, and past his best, but was one of the best goalies ever,ever at his peak. So there, all you American players! If Brodeur had been young, you would have faced the Looming Wall of Unstoppable Goalie Death! Yeah! .....And, speaking of goalies, what is up with that freak show in the American net? He appears to grow 17 extra arms and legs at every opportunity, and uses these bonus limbs to stop every shot thrown at him. Wally, my smart bro-in-law, said that he was the big star of the moment, and, regrettably for us, it seems to be true.

I also could not help but notice that there was an instance of egregious sitting....some U.S. player sat on Brodeur in a very unkind and compromising fashion, and was anything done about this sitting? No. AND, there was a bit of face-flailing, also against team Canada. Our player was flailed at. In the face. Now, face-flailing, to me, smacks of the spiteful and unsportsmanlike, and I hope the perp can live with himself tonight. Again, no penalty. Someone needs to look into sitting, and face-flailing as future penalty offences.

After all the ups and downs, I must say that those Americans played an excellent game, and I guess that they deserved their win. While it was all quite fun, I do not think that I shall be repeating this hockey-watching excercise, for all of its eye-opening qualities; it is just too, too stressful. I cannot really handle it. I had to lie down afterwards. The words "shitbuggerfuck"came out of my mouth one too many times for politeness or comfort. My mum was in the room, after all. The Canuckers will have to play on without me watching. This will no doubt be a blow, but I imagine they will find a way to go on. If they are in a medal game, I might make an exception, but I'd better refill a couple of prescriptions first...

NY Fashion Week,

WHY do I not get to be there? Why? Be there, and have front row seats to all the awesome shows, and get to go to all the awesome parties. Why have I not been paid the big bucks to write snappy fashion pieces, attend the shows, and of course, be showered with free samples. Oh, now I remember. That's what happens in my head. Not here. In real life. Well, shit.

The Power of One

Sometimes, things only need to happen a single time to be memorable, special,or just plain great. This long weekend was all about such "ones". Some highlights I will share with you.

ONE fun, frosty and joy-filled trip to the big dog park with all four of us, and Georgie. She had such fun playing with the other dogs, and exploring all over. We admired the scenery, the ducks and the hoarfrost. Lovely, lovely.

ONE great time at the hockey arena, watching my nephew Alex do his thing in the finals of his hockey tournament. I could not have been more proud, seeing him wearing the 'C', and giving such a strong effort with his team against a team who has almost always beaten them. Their silver was well won, and I loved every minute of the game.

ONE delightful visit and cup of tea with my friend Jaz, who I have not seen in some months. I have had the pleasure of watching this gal grow from the sweet, kind and remarkably poised teenager from across the street, who used to babysit the girls, into the beautiful, intelligent and wise-beyond-her-years young woman she is today. I love that she and I are friends.

ONE dinner and fun catch-up with Sue, the oldest and best friend a gal could have. Always, always we share laughs, good food, wine and the joy of a companionship 37 years old.

ONE migraine. Ok. Not fun, but memorable. Yuck. Thanks to my lovely Lee and the girls for picking up the slack, and apologies to Connor and Becca for not saying goodbye.

ONE solitary, moonit walk with Georgie, where I danced in an alley to "Come Dancing" by the Kinks, on my ipod, swirling a plastic bag of dog poo, just for effect. Amazingly, I avoided a dire wipe-out on the ice. Weird, the alley dancing with a dog and a bag of poo, I guess, but fun!!

ONE super lunch with old friends. Again, the food, drink, conversation and fun was top drawer. Thanks Michael & San....such a perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Thanks, too, to Cassius for the excellent purrs.

ONE Thai dinner out with Lee for Valentine's Day. I had *just* recovered from the aforementioned migraine enough to totter out for sups. It was perfect, and Lee always takes such good care of me. I cleaned myself up, put on my funky, glittery plaid skirt, and some big-girl shoes, and had a proper, romantic supper with my forever-Valentine. Happy,happy...

I will finish this off with a couple of threes: three lovely nights this weekend with Lee, and three amazing people who share this house with me. Lucky, lucky girl I am. And I love the power of one!

Last night...

...on the way home from yoga, we were driving along Elbow Drive, as per usual, when Lee pointed something out that I have never really clocked before. Upon reflection, I'm not sure whether the amusement value of this outweighs the grave concern for public health and safety.

There is an establishment on Elbow Drive, near-ish to our house, that is called Western Pride Car Wash. So far, so good. Lower down on the signage, one learns that it is coin-operated, and also features a coin-op dog wash. Again, so far, so good. BUT, this fine example of the coin-op car and dog wash also proclaims its shawarmas, falafels, donairs, and sushi.... Sushi..... At a car and dog wash. And not a posh, high-end car wash, either. A coin-op one. I have an image of a guy, balancing his California roll, as he roots through his pockets for change, leaning against his filthy vehicle, as he restrains his large and grimy dog, in the cold cement bay of the Western Pride. Ye gods.

Dear readers, do we want our car washes serving sushi? I mean, the falafels and the donairs are bad enough, but at least they have the benefit of cooking, and all the bacteria-killing joys that cooking brings. Sooooo not the sushi. The worst part is that the good, old Western Pride seems to have been in business awhile. Is this the next wave of cuisine rolling into town? Are we going to find the flavours of the East accesible in all kinds of DIY situations, like carpet cleaning, pick-your-parts, etc? Yeesh... Not for the first time am I glad I'm a vegetarian.

??

Is it wrong to be addicted, and I mean SERIOULSY ADDICTED, to Smartfood's white cheddar popcorn? I think not.

(...picks popcorn crumbs out of the keyboard....)

When Visuals Do One No Favours...

I came across an article about DJing, and the nascence of the art in 70s New York. This article talked about some of the great DJ innovators back in the day, and went on to discuss Grandmaster Flash. Now, who above the age of 30, and a lifelong music person, has not heard of/listened to Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five somewhere along the line? While definitely being in the"aware of" camp, my memories were a little foggy, so I googled GMF. This turned out to be a rather large mistake, for I came across this 'gem'...

Now, far be it from me to not sympathise with past fashion errors being thrown back in one's face; I was the queen of 80s poodle hair, wore safety pinned sweatshirts and rubber bracelets. I have done my time in the Fashion Hall of Shame. But, COME ON. Geez, Louise, why in the name of all that is holy (or,at least, styled) did not some spin doc get ahold of this pic, have an exorcism performed, and the offending object buried at a crossroads at midnight? My eyes and sensibilities hurt in equal measures. I guess that Flash can rest easy in the knowledge that nobody who looks upon this photo will ever, EVER forget him. And not in a good way. Some fashion disasters are beyond absolution...

Soul Shoes

You know how, in the depths of winter, in bleak midwinter, as Henry VIII might have said, one finds oneself swathed in layers of dark coloured clothes....I see right now, on me, dark brown t-shirt, grey sweater, brown wooly tights...and so it goes. Nasty, cold February weather spawns nasty, dull, heavy clothes. I invariably find myself yearning for something to wear that is bright, light and cheerful. Soul wear, if you will. Things to wear which lift one's soul out of the winter doldrums, and gently nudge it toward lighter and brighter days to come. Well, I have seen the shoes that do this for me right now. No, I cannot actually have them, due to all kinds of mitigating factors like expense, availability, practicality (My sister always asks me to be aware of a footware's suitability to Banff Ave in December, after a particular trip which featured myself in truly kick-ass shoes battling the consistent, very real risk to life and limb as I tottered my way along the icy sidewalks.), but a gal can dream, can't she? Behold above, the Marc Jacobs red heart shoes.... Aren't they something? I will content myself with looking at the picture, and envisioning myself wearing them, revelling in my fabulousness, and absolutely NOT crashing to the ground with a twisted ankle, as would undoubtedly happen in real life. Only Marc could have come up with these babies, which combine beauty and ridiculousness in equal measures. Perhaps they really are best consigned to the realm of fantasy and not reality.... So, that being the case, off I go, in my red heart soul shoes, to walk the ice-free sidewalks of my dreams, and let spring creep in, just the tiniest bit, to my world.

Nundies, and the like...

So, I found myself in the Bay recently, on the way out to my car from the hairdressers. I always park at the Bay doors, thereby ensuring that I pass through the lingerie/pjs department, and may stumble, with blind luck, into a smokin' purchase. (I usually avoid the mall like the plague, but because my hairdresser is there, well...the pyjamas call me...)

On this particular occasion, there I was, in the line-up for the till, waiting to pay for my gorgeous and black, pink and cream Collette Dinnigan bra and knickers set, when I could not help but notice that ahead of me were three nuns. Yep, nuns. No, they were not swathed in habits, but rather had sober sweater and skirt combos on, hair veils, and some kick-ass crucifixes to boot. Well, I don't think that I can be blamed for the fit of curiosity that overcame me. Just WHAT were the nuns queuing up to purchase at the Bay undies department?? I am a little ashamed to admit that I surreptitiously popped my specs on for a better look, and really, at the end of the day, there were no real surprises. The nuns had the multi packs of white cotton, full coverage knickers, and the Playtex bras that come in a box, and are not renowned for their devastating come-hither appeal, and are available in white only. While part of me wanted to shout, "Sistahs!! Drop the whites, and go check out the Collette Dinnigan 'Wild Hearts' stuff, on an unbelievable sale, in the back corner!! Jesus wouldn't mind!", another, more sensible part of me said, "Geez, Fiona, what do you expect they'd be buying? Would an apricot lace balconette bra, and matching boyshorts be just what they'd need to fire up the Holy Spirit? They are NUNS, for Pete's sake, and their sensibilities are on a higher plane, you Godless wretch, with your lace and your underwire"....

SO....I kind of let my inner battle over sisterly lingerie just fade away. I could not help but notice that I was the only one with the Collettes, or the Betsey Johnsons, and that the other customers, and not just the nuns, were positively cloistered in their choices. I was feeling increasingly embarrassed, until, as the nuns were passing with their parcels, one of them met my eyes, looked down at my undies, and said in a low voice, "My, those are pretty...", smiled kindly at me, and made her way off. Yessss! My undies have been given a *sacred*seal of approval. My new Collettes have never looked better!

News that makes me sad and mad...

I found about the demise of two longtime companies/institutions recently. I was sad about one, and pissed about the other.

Sad, we shall start off with: the Pendulum in Inglewood is closing up shop after many years. It was pretty much the benchmark consignment clothing shop in town, and always a fab place to drop stuff off for resale, and to have a good old sticky-beak in the rails of clothes, baskets of hats and scarves, and the big display case of pretty, pretty silver jewelies. There was always the faint aroma of incense, funky decor, lovely staff and a dish of candies at the till. I spent many happy times there, poking around and trying stuff on. Now, the Pendulum is no more, and Inglewood will be the poorer for it. Apparently the mum and daughter team who owned and ran it are experiencing serious family health problems, and lack the time and energy to care for their ailing loved ones, and run the shop. Fair enough, and I wish them well and lots of good energies for healing. I will miss that shop to be sure. On the up side, I might have found a new consignment shop nearer to my house, where I can send stuff when the need arises.

Mad now: the South YMCA is closing in September of this year. The building is "old, and in need of repair" and the "funds just aren't there". Funny....there sure seemed to be funds a-plenty earlier in this decade, when a couple of enormous, sprawling new Ys went up in the 'burbs. This bloody city, and its benighted attitude towards anything old sticks in my craw. Heaven forbid that funds be directed to repair and maintain an old building. Just get rid of it already, and build a new one! When that gets old, well, too bad. It goes, too, and another new one shall rise in its place. Grrr... The South Y is an institution in the south central part of town. I have been a long-term member of this comfortable old institution, with its smell of swimming pool, and the coffee machine in the sitting area. There are thriving ESL classes there, a dedicated group who go and excercise, lots of folks who use the before and after school care, seniors who find the atmosphere safe and unthreatening, and walk to the programmes from the apartment blocks nearby, and generations of kids, mine included, who spent a fun-filled part of each summer at the daycamps there. All of this gone, because the building is old, a little shabby, small, and not glistening with new minted plastic in the far flung suburbs of Crapgary. Well done, Calgary and the YMCA.

This city has the most shaming legacy of disrespect for anything not shiny and new. We all want new, bigger malls, new, bigger houses, and new, bigger buildings in which to work and recreate. Small and old never, ever makes the cut here. We demolish old buildings with gay abandon, and then bewail the lack of apparent history and heritage we have here. The threat of the wrecking ball consistently looms over the few older buildings that remain to us. Maintaining them, reworking them and modernising them is never an option. Only destruction. Even more amusing, off we jaunt to other cities with examples of older architecture, and we ooh and aah appreciatively, but never make a collective effort to protect our own, or to make a push to include defenders of history and heritage in our civic politicians.

So, once again, this city has more than lived up to my expectations. And let me tell you, that's not a good thing. When I take my girls to their final daycamp at the Y this summer, I expect I will not be the only one bringing a mixture of anger and disappointment with me. Goodbye Pendulum, and soon, goodbye South Y. Thanks for the years of pleasure and service. And I hope that, when I get old and in need of maintenance and repair, I'm well shot of this burg.

Back to stay...

I really, really tried. Hard. But I can't stay away any longer. I was trying to divest myself of some of my technological habits, and I thought to myself, "Foran, ditch the blog. Nobody will care (which, I still belive is pretty close to the truth) and soon you yourself won't even think about it. And I did not think about it for a good number of months. But the desire came creeping back. And so, here I am. Voila. Blogger Fee has re-emerged. I realise that I just kind of like noting down stuff, as much for myself as for anybody else. It is kind of fun to find your own little e-footprint in the blogosphere. SO.... today is a day of minor annoyances. A gal home from school sick again, stupid knee (the 'good' one) playing up, necessitating the purchase and deployment of a knee brace, a minor headache, and the imminent departure of a husband to a night job for the second night in a row. Oh, and I have a sad selection of groceries and no inspiration for what to make for supper. Grrr. I cannot even have a bevvie now, as I am off to teach my very nice class of newbies. Blah, blah, blah....blog!