OH MY GAWD, PASSION JUST KNOCKED AT MY DOOR!

I decided to take the bull by the horns and start coaxing my passion back.  I have always been one to glide over the surface of learning new things and not really get into the depth.  I am easily bored unfortunately.  I suppose that besides Interior Design, nothing really has piqued my interest for any length of time, that is until a couple of years ago when I started using my mother's camera to take pictures.  My entire life I sucked, seriously sucked, at taking portraits pictures or of humans in general.  You know those people who cut off heads and knees and you are left with a torso?  Well that would be me, my friends. But low and behold, one day I went out and starting taking pictures of foliage and I wasn't that bad.  It surprised everyone in my family including yours truly. Several months later, my lovely better half surprised me with a wonderful little Cannon Powershot and I have had a blast with it thus far.  But lately, I was feeling frustrated with the lack of up close and personal pictures I was trying to achieve.  I could see it with my eye but with my lack of zoom capability, I could not achieve the pictures I so desperately wanted. So today, I bought myself a macro camera, and you know what, I am starting to feel "her", my passion that is.  She is telling me to get off my rooty toot butt, put some umpf into it and start being serious with the camera and so I will and I have a lot to learn but isn't that part of the fun?  So here is to the first attempts at reviving my passion!  She told me it was a weak attempt, but she was pleased nonetheless....

And I promise, it will get better.

Until Next Time.

Smooches Pooches

HAVE YOU SEEN MY PASSION?

I have no Passion anymore!  There I said it and I can’t take it back.  Yup, I have become a passionless dried up, in serious need of a good exfoliation, prune.  Is this something that happens when you hit your 40's?  It’s a question I have often asked of myself in the last two years.

Sometimes, I wander around my house searching for my Passion.  I look in the kitchen cupboards (nope not there), under the rugs (nope), in the hallway closet (nothing), upstairs (not there either)  and then I go outside and I say “here Passion Passion Passion... here girl, where are you girl?”  Sadly, she never comes.  I did notice in my 30's that she would sometimes wander away for short periods of time, but eventually, she always came back. And now well... she seems to be gone and I can’t find her.

There are days that I actually think about putting up posters on the telephone poles or taking out a newspaper ad that says: “Looking for my Passion, she’s pretty witty, incredibly feisty, drawn to the colour blue, loves to dance in the rain, let’s her hair go loose when it’s windy out, can’t get her to stop talking about art... If you have seen her, please send her home.  Signed Shell of my Former Self!”

And, before you say it, no I have not hit menopause, but I am seriously wondering if I am starting to hit the dreaded mid life crisis.  It’s not that I want a younger man, why would I?  Have you seen my better half?  Good looking arab man with his dark, brooding eyes and his squeezable, yummy butt.  It’s not that I want a fast car, I have new red jeep and although its not a little convertible, it is kind of smoking hot looking and practical at the same time.

So what is it?  And why did Passion leave me?  Adventure I think..  I have lost the art of going on a good adventure.  I tended to blame Passion for leaving me on many things: the amount of pain I live with, the fact that my better half loves being a homebody, the town I live in, the job that I do, but the fact remains, that Passion has left me because of me.  I never kept her fueled up enough.  I stopped taking her for nights out on the town.  I replaced spontaneity with complacency.  I forgot to learn new things that would have really got her mojo revved up.  Ultimately, I took her for granted and she got tired of it, and she left me.

I feel sad without her and at a bit of loss.  She was the very best part of me and now everything feels mundane.  She made me want to get up and go each morning instead of throwing the covers back over my head.  She made me fight back when I knew things were wrong, instead of standing there nodding my ahead in order to avoid confrontation. She made everything feel like it was in technocolour.  She forced me do crazy, stupid things that gave me such an exhilaration that it would leave me on a high for days.  She could take any old grey sky and turn it blue.  Oh how I love her.

What I wouldn’t do to get my Passion back, and secretly, I am afraid that she is gone for good. I am holding out hope though that she will realize that there is still a flame that burns in me and that together we were and could be a good team again.

In the meantime, if you happen to see my Passion, I would really appreciate it if you could kindly tell her that her best friend is really very sorry and that she will never take her for granted again.  And then dive on that little bugger, pin her down, box her up, and ship her collect to me via Fed/Ex!


Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

FOR MY BETTER HALF WITH LOVE

Oh what a simple stroll, hand in hand, with someone you love can do for your cluttered mind, your tired soul and your heavy heart.  Have I told you lately how much I adore my better half.  He is a very good man and I am incredibly lucky.  Thank you my sweetie for a lovely walk in the rain. You make my life bearable and memorable.

xxxooo

SIGHT UNSEEN

I once read somewhere that our visions begin with our desires.  I had always thought that I was well aware what that quote represented until this past weekend.  I was on a garden tour you see and had entered the delightful garden of a gentleman whose gardening passion was 65 years strong.  What made his garden even more spectacular than those of the others was that he was visually impaired and that his garden was created on 2.5 acres of quick draining, sandy and rocky soil on a steep incline.  And it didn’t stop there, as his garden was self sufficient with not only a vegetable garden but an orchard and a backyard bowling green.  I was speechless as I stood there in the rain watching him tend to his vegetables, by feel rather than by sight, and it was at that particular moment I believe that I came to understand that it truly is our soul that sees and not our eyes.

And while I stood there in complete silent awe, a particular quote from Patricia Barrett of The Sacred Garden came to my mind: “Connection with gardens, even small ones, even potted plants, can become windows to the inner life.  The simple act of stopping and looking at the beauty around us can be prayer.”

I heard that prayer that day and left the garden with an everlasting moment of gratefulness.

Until Next Time.

Smooches Pooches

IT WAS A CRAZY LITTLE BIRTHDAY!

I have a running joke with my closest family members, i.e. my mother and my better half.  That is that I was born under a dark cloud, the reality is that I was born three weeks late which I believe has ultimately screwed up my destiny.  Everything possible that can happen, will happen to me.  If there is a pole in the middle of nowhere, I will ultimately walk into it.  If there is one mosquito and 2000 thousand people, it will find me and not only get me once but a few more hundred times for good measure. Wherever I walk, I cause the ones I love some serious stress and usually you will hear one of them say: "watch the curb, watch the pot hole, there is a dip in the road, there is a tree up ahead."  And not only am I destined or pre-destined to be a klutz, but my whole path in life has been a series of potholes.  Not that I am complaining, it makes life fairly interesting, if not a wee bit painful at times!

As like every birthday I have ever had, my mother goes beyond what is necessary to make it memorable for me but ultimately something goes astray. This birthday was no different with the exception of me.  I knew that bad things were going to happen and I just embraced it and went with the flow.  I woke up sicker than a dog (strike one), we went on a garden tour where it just poured and poured (strike 2), I drank too much before we left and almost peed my pants (strike 3), one of the gardens was so packed that we couldn't find parking after we drove 30 minutes to get there (strike 4), my mother sat in pitch and I tried to get it off her butt with my hand and then everything stuck to my hand for the rest of the day (strike 5), we had a picnic lunch on a back road in the middle of nowhere in the car because we couldn't find anywhere dry (strike 6), I stepped out of the car into a great big muddy hole of sludge (strike 7) and on the way home after the garden tour was over, the sun came out (strike 8).  And those are just some of the highlights. But you know what? I just don't seem to care.  And at some point, it just was so ludicrous it was funny and I couldn't stop laughing.  Its just par for the course in a day of my life and I just wouldn't have it any other way. I can't imagine everything going perfectly right, and if it did, I am sure I would pass out from sheer boredom.  

I have to admit though that no matter how much my water downed, hair sprayed hair was dripping in my eyes, I did not miss the beauty that surrounded me.  It is definitely at times like this, when I am standing there like a drowned rat with mascara running down my face, sneezing with a kleenex stuffed up my nostril, my legs crossed to avert a dangerous bladder problem and my pitch covered hand stuck to my hair, that I continue to feel blessed.  Really!  Because whatever my problems are, nature counteracts it with tiny miracles that are nothing short of spectacular.

And in any event, it was memorable, this birthday of mine, and although extremely simple by most people's standards, it was special to me nonetheless.  And while I like to say that I am 21 on the left half of me and 21 on the right half of me, becoming 42 has started with a splash!  Now where are my rubber boots as I am in some serious need of puddle jumping!  

Until Next Time.

Smooches Pooches

A GARDENER'S TALE: SLIGHT GREEN THUMB WITH DEFINITE BROWN TOE

I like to believe that I am the most fabulous and talented of gardeners. The fact remains, however, and with the greatest of sighs, that I am just average in my gardening expertise at best. Give me a house to design inside and I am in my glory but give me a garden to design and I am perplexed.  Not because I can't imagine what I want, but because I can never determine which plants go with which dirt and what fertilizer goes best with which plant and is the ground clay, or should the ground be alkaline, should you lime that plant, or give that one blood and bones.  ITS UTTERLY EXHAUSTING!  I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Sadly, I have had so many compliments on my garden and I cannot take credit for any of it!  The foundation of my garden was created by a landscaper and my only contribution is that I water the crap out of the plants so they don't die!  Or maybe that is why some of them have died, too much water perhaps?  Who knows!

I have decided that my forte lies with evergreens.  Thankfully they are hardy, thankfully they do not require a lot of care and thankfully they tend to make your house look beautiful without a lot of work.  People ooohh and ahhhh and I think to myself, it isn't me people, these evergreens have done all the work themselves.

Still doesn't stop me from looking in garden nurseries.  In fact, I love fleurs.  I usually buy them in large abundance.  I plant them here, there and everywhere and I apply the same principles to them that I do with the evergreens, i.e. they will take care of themselves.  You have to ask yourself, based on this misguided philosophy, why is it every year I still go out and scratch my head when my fleurs start to take on that pitiful weedy appearance!  Thank goodness I didn't have any children, can you imagine.. "oh hey honey, let's get ready for work, the kid will take care of itself"!  Sheesh!  scary thought!

Anyway, on the weekend, I hit my favourite little garden nursery.  I am kind of opposed to those large uninviting ones.  Not because the plants aren't very good, but because I love the coziness of this little place in a converted home on a small town lot.  I can walk around it many times over and never get bored, that's for sure!

This year, I have kind of held off from buying a lot of posies.  I suppose to save them from my mediocre gardening skills.  In fact, I think that this may have been the most charitable thing I have done all year.  I am sure that when I walk past a potted posy, it cringes with "please don't buy me lady, please!"  Well I listened this year, and stuck to just my hanging baskets... They will survive as usual due to my better half taking care of them, and certainly not from anything I do!

And while I am slightly sad that my yard won't be filled to the brim with colour, it's okay, because I would be the first to admit that I was born with a slightly green thumb and an unfortunate definite distinctive brown toe!

Until Next Time

Smooches Pooches.

HELP, I'VE BEEN PICKLED!

 
For those of you who have known me since I was a delightful child (yes delightful I said!), I have had an affinity for pickles, and as I have gotten older, this affinity has turned into an obsession and passion in finding the perfect pickle.

Over my life I have been accused of hiding pickles, drinking pickle juice, eating part of the pickle and putting the “bum” back in the jar, and even eating the last pickle and leaving the jar in the fridge.  But I am here to set the record straight.  Yes I am obsessed.  No, contrary to popular belief, I do not drink pickle juice (although I may have had a shot or two of it when I was child).  No, I never stole that jar of pickles at my childhood friend’s home and hid it somewhere (come on, even I have some decorum people!).  No, I don’t leave the bums in the jars (good lord, I like the entire part of the pickle).

While yes, I will admit that it is true that I like to put mayonnaise on my pickles, cuts the acidic content and provides a very creamy pickle flavour. And Yes, I have pickles in my potato salad, egg salad and tuna salad.  And yes I like a good crunchy pickle on my plate with dinner almost every night. And  I can confirm, I have been known to cut up pickles and sprinkle them on my chicken.  Bizarre? Well of course!  But most obsessions are.
   
A perfect pickle to me, is like a great glass of wine to someone else, and while most people realize that pickles come in many flavours, sizes and brands, I’m here to tell you that not all pickles are made equal.  In fact, I have become quite the pickle connoisseur.  I have tasted and tried practically every brand of pickles imaginable, from the local store shelf, to your rare speciality brands, to the grandmother down the street sporting her bread n’ butter version at the community craft fair.  Yes my friends, I have tried and done them all!  I even love the word pickle.  Say it with me “pickle”.  Pickle, pickle, pickle!!! Isn’t that a great sounding word?

However, there are times that I feel much like Goldilocks:  This pickle is too small, this pickle is too big (yes while some things are much better bigger, I can attest that a pickle too large is not one of those items), this pickle is too tart, this pickle is too soft, this pickle is too sweet, where’s the pickle that is just right?

It’s taken me years to find the perfect tasting pickle and I am happy to report that I have finally found it.  A delightful (there’s that word again), crunching, exhilarating to the senses, absofreakinlutely perfect brand of non-local Gherkins.  Ahhhhhhh, just the sheer thought of a good, crunchy gherkin puts an ear to ear smile upon my face.  Oh the complete joy of it all.  My better half calls them the “crack” version of pickles, and I tend to agree! Of course, I have spent a lot of time scouring the local farmer market’s store to get it as you can’t buy it in your grocery store, but it is so worth the drive my friends.  Unfortunately, it’s getting harder and harder to locate them as it seems others have stumbled upon this quest for the worthy pickle.  And once I have that jar in my greasy little hands, I can confirm that I can deplete it three days!

The other day however, I wondered if my obsession had gone too far.  I had sat down on a Friday night and scarfed 5 pickles down in one sitting.  I couldn’t stop, they were so good.  It didn’t seem to matter that the juice was pouring down my chin or that I swear I could hear the pickles screaming “oh my gawd, here she comes again, duck for cover... oh gawd, she got Edgar..  Rest in Peace Edgar, oh gawd she just downed baby Huey, will this madness never end!!”  Nope, I just sat there greedily sucking them back like I had never had one before!

You will be happy to know that the pickles got there revenge as I woke up on Saturday with a pickle sized canker on the side of my tongue.  Unfortunately, I was born with a cow-sized tongue in my mouth, the kind that I could stick out and send you flying with one good lick!  And therefore, this canker was housed on the side of my rather large tongue where my teeth rest and I spent the next two days in agony and slathering on copious amounts of Oragel to numb the pain.  I suppose that this should teach me a lesson, but I fear it hasn’t!

However, I do hope the pickles have appreciated their two days of respite because I am happy to report that my tongue is satisfactorily healed and I have a feeling that tonight, I will exact my revenge back...!  Mwaaaa haaaa haaaa....

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

SATURDAY RENDERINGS

Today was a day of discoveries, better described as hanging out in my home town of my childhood.  I have spent years viewing my town thru the eyes of a perpetual twelve year old, and never quite being able to conceive that there might be beauty beyond those of the memories of an adolescent. So I decided to challenge myself today by wandering the streets of my youth and finding things that maybe the person I was in the past would miss, but that the person in the present may find and appreciate. These are the small joys of being an adult.  Realizing that time is fleeting and that sometimes you must stop and really, deeply inhale the scent of the roses.  And although I think it is safe to say that at this point in my life, I would never move back, I will concede to that saying "never say never".  

I hope that your weekend is filled with simple joys.

As for me, I was pleasantly surprised!

Until Next Time.

Smooches Pooches

THE TALE OF THE BLUE HAIRS AND THE ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET

I suppose I should start by first apologizing for this blog entry, in case it offends anyone.  And let me make it abundantly clear that I adore the elderly.  In fact, if the stars a line accordingly, I hope to make it to that distinguished status myself one day.

However, the other day I got to pondering away in my never ending chaotic mess of what I term loosely as my brain, regarding the elderly.  I suppose that since my grandmother is turning the ripe old age of 95 years old a week from today, that certain thoughts started to flutter.

I was reminiscing about my other grandmother, who had passed away when I was in my 20's.  She was 78 at the time and had a faulty heart valve.  In essence, the warranty had run out on this amazing device that kept her alive for a large part of her life.  We had a small family inturnment followed by a tea at her retirement complex.  I remember walking into the tea feeling that slight numbness that usually follows after you have just lost someone you loved, but walked out of the tea in complete amusement followed by utter disbelief.  We had just witnessed what I would call nothing short of a full out piranha eating frenzy.  The hall was filled to the brim with a sea of “blue hairs” who had donned on their feed bags and were gorging their selves silly as if it were their last meal.  In fact, we the family, who were mourning my grandmother’s loss, were lucky if we were able to obtain a drop of tea that day.

I would like to think that this was an isolated incident but a few years later, myself and three of my friends had decided to take a long weekend and stay at this lodge on the ocean.  The owner had neglected to advise us that the lodge was also being inhabited by a rather large geriatric card playing Bridge Group. 

The lodge itself was spectacular, and the other inhabitants were deeply and quietly engrossed in their game, and we were free to wander throughout the grounds soaking in the beauty of nature and listening to the lapping of the ocean waves without a peep from another human being. That was until we were subjected to the cattle call being rung, three times daily for meals, at which time the stampede of blue hairs was something to behold.  They appeared out of nowhere from every crook and cranny possible.  Literally, little old ladies who could barely walk one minute earlier were throwing their walkers and canes to the side and sprinting at a pace that would have even impressed Carl Lewis in order to get to that food first.  I actually had one lady take her cane and Tonya Harding my Nancy Kerrigan knees just in order to get one person in front of me.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, let me tell you, you have never seen anything until you have seen some senior citizen at an all you can eat buffet.  The food on their plates were piled as far as the eye could see!  They didn’t care what they put on their plate, just as long as that plate was a foot or more high!  Whether it was meat, salads, pasta, condiments or desserts, if you can name it, it was there teetering precariously on their already over flowed dish.  And if you think it can’t get any worse, I am here to tell you it did.  Crooked fingers were thrust into my face followed by shrill voices that said “move it girly”.  Elbows were thrust into my stomach followed by expressions such as “get it before those young’uns do” and “hurry hurry Esther, those girls are coming, get it now!”  Seemingly sweet looking grandmothers were purposely sticking their canes out in order to trip us on the way to the dessert table.  I spent most of those meals covering my head in order to avoid being beaten by one of the many granny Wal-Mart nylon encrusted white purses that you see everyone over the age of 80 carrying!  Suffice to say that I lost a total of 8 pounds that weekend from the complete lack of food, and I do not exaggerate when I say that I ate so little that a small mouse would have dropped dead from sheer starvation.  Needless to say, I eventually got in my car and drove the 30 km to the nearest convenience food store in order to purchase some severely overly processed sustenance just to sustain my energy from the next elderly onslaught!

I learned a lot that weekend.  I learned that should some serious disaster hit the earth, it would not be survival of the fittest.  It would be survival of the blue hair.  I learned that canes not only assist in facilitating balance for walking but also can be used as lethal weapons.  I learned that you should always take a wide girth around a scrawny but rather fast-moving, sharp, elderly elbow. But mostly, I learned that under every blue hair, wrinkled face, sparkly eyed grandmother lies a most incredibly worthy opponent.

Until Next Time.

Smooches Pooches

MONDAY MUSINGS

I wish I was a professional photographer as I so enjoy taking photos but I do the best I can with my little Cannon Powershot.

I was on a mission today, to find things that were interesting.  Surprisingly, it was not that difficult and this is how my day of photography went!

Here's hoping that your week is Spectacular.

Thank you for taking the time to view my blog and my photos.

Until Next Time.

Smooches Pooches