It's Snow Laughing Matter ...

The winter storm this past weekend has got people talking about the Blizzard of 1999. I'm sick to DEATH of people making fun of Toronto for calling in the military! The people who are doing this obviously didn't live here at the time. We received approximately 120 cms of snow in a little over two weeks. That is four fucking feet of snow, plus mind numbing temperatures and high winds for weeks on end. It was a disaster! Driving was impossible. Getting to work was ridiculous. Finding places to put the snow was hopeless. Just when we got the roads, driveways and sidewalks cleared, we would get another foot or more of snow.

Why doesn't anyone make fun of the people in Quebec during the ice storm of 1998? They called in the military to help them too! So why then are we idiots for doing the same thing? Is it because snow is white and fluffy and therefore less demonized than cold, hard, despicable ice? I don't think so. I think people just like to make fun of Toronto. It pisses me off because those weeks in January 1999 were absolutely horrible; it was extremely scary and I would not want to repeat them for anything.

So just stop it with the Toronto-bashing. Sheesh.

Daddy's Girl

I'm a Daddy's Girl and proud to admit it! My Dad and I have always been very close. He is celebrating his 75th birthday today and while I am accepting of the fact that I'm going to be 50 next year, I find it difficult to believe that my Dad is 3/4 of a century old. He has always seemed so young and full of life to me. I guess that's the way it is with the ones we love -- we see them as they are now but our hearts remember them the way they were when we first learned to love them.

Happy Birthday Dad! I love you.

More Fun With Words

I found this little gem on our Employee Assistance website yesterday:

Peter and Ellen, on the other hand, find family gatherings a source of holiday woes. First, they drive two hours to Peter's parents' home in the country for brunch. Then, they get in the car and drive another two hours to Ellen's mother's home in the city for the holiday dinner. Peter and Ellen are not only tense from the driving and rushing around, but also because neither one of them really feels comfortable with each other's in-laws.

Wouldn't "each other's in-laws" actually refer to their OWN parents???

It’s The Most Stressful Time of the Year!

I watch Breakfast Television every weekday morning and today, Tracy was out in front of Union Station asking people how they are “coping” with the stress of the upcoming holiday season. This topic always comes up in December and makes me laugh. I thought it was supposed to be “the most wonderful time of year”?

I can hear it in people’s voices in the office when they’re talking about the gifts they have to (1) find (2) buy and (3) eventually pay for. Rob commented that once Xmas is over, their stress continues in anticipation of the delivery of their credit card bills. I don’t understand why people allow themselves to be forced into meaningless consumer relationships that thrive on personal debt.

I gave up Xmas a long time ago. I don't buy gifts and I don't accept gifts. I donate money to charity (this year's charity is "Give A Day's Pay to AIDS"). And in response to people’s queries about whether I’m ready for Xmas, I simply say: “I don’t do Xmas.”

I am boycotting the firm's Xmas party and all luncheons. I am staying away from the malls until 2008. I'm hopping on a plane to Mexico on December 25. I'm through with all the marketing BULLSHIT that tells us we have “do” certain things on certain days of the year.

Cherish your friends and family year round. Give gifts when you feel like it. Send cards when someone needs a lift. Pick your own heroes. Don't get sucked in by the idiot box and the media's false worship of wafer-thin socialites who serve no useful purpose in life other than to make headlines.

Enjoy a stress-free holiday by spreading the good cheer over all 365 days, not just one.

Making Your Bed and Lying In It

Rob and I went to DC this past weekend and stayed at the Holiday Inn in Georgetown. It's an old hotel, with sleepy service (the front desk people would much rather talk to each other than to any of the customers on the paying side of the counter) and outdated furnishings ("Hello? The '80s called and they want their curtains back!"). The place was convenient to where we needed to be and we've stayed there before so it's not like we were surprised by the conditions.

When it came time to get into bed on Saturday night, I turned down the bedspread to find the weirdest combination of bedding I've ever seen on a hotel bed anywhere:

1. The bottom "fitted" sheet was not pulled fully onto the mattress so by the simple act of sitting on the side of the bed, the sheet came completely off.

2. The top sheet came up to the top of the bed and was folded over almost 24".

3. The blanket on top of this came up approximately 2/3 of the bed. When I was lying down, the blanket came to my waist.

4. There was another sheet ON TOP of the blanket. WTF?!!! It came up to my shoulder level.

At some point during the night, we both woke up freezing. I didn't have enough covers on me and couldn't pull the blanket up any further than my waist. Plus the bottom sheet has pulled free of the mattress at my feet. So I got up at 3AM, tore the bed apart and remade it to my satisfaction.

I started remaking the bed at Rob's place, even before I moved in. He used to jokingly tell everyone that "the military has been in to make the bed" and he wasn't too far off the truth!

I had the whole bedmaking thing down pat during Basic Training. Since we were always lined up alphabetically, two of my best buddies were Joanne McPhee (in line ahead of me) and Denise Noseworthy (in line behind me). Noseworthy was 1/4" short of 6 feet tall so we would get her to lie under the bed (pulling the bottom sheet tight through the spring platform) while Jo and I worked our magic on the top of the bed. The bottom sheet had 45 degree angled corners, the black stripe in the gray wool DND blanket ran down the centre of the bed and the top sheet was folded exactly 18" over the top edge of the blanket. The pillow also had to be pummelled into a certain dimension.

By the end of our 10 weeks together, the three of us could make three beds in 20 minutes. And we only ever slept in our beds the night before we were being issued clean linens (once a week). I slept on top in my sleeping bag the rest of the time.

Compare and Contrast

I'm addicted to those design shows where they re-do someone's bedroom or bathroom or livingroom or diningroom or whatever room. I never thought I had a creative bone in my body but apparently I've learned a few things watching those shows! Here are some examples of what we've been able to accomplish at home recently (click for larger pics).

Bedroom Before:



Bedroom After:



Livingroom Before:



Livingroom After:



Diningroom Before:



Diningroom After:



Fireplace Before (it's the grey slate in the far right of the photo):



Fireplace After (note the use of Mexican tiles in the new mantle):



Apparently, I am a Design Goddess after all! :)

Fun With Words

There has been some debate on another blog about the proper spelling of the word "y'all". It is a southern idiom and a contraction of "you all" (in Spanish, we say "ustedes" which cannot be contracted). The rules say that when using an apostrophe to create a contraction, it replaces missing letters. Therefore "you all" would contract to "y'all" with the apostophe replacing the letters "ou" from the word "you".

However, apparently in the South, they don't say "you" -- they say "ya" and therefore argue that the proper contraction is "ya'll", with the apostrophe replacing the "a" in "all". I somehow doubt people in the South who eschew the use of contractions are walking around saying "ya all" but this is what they are trying to make us believe. Whatever ...

On the subway this morning, I noticed a poster advertising the Downtown Yonge Kidzfest with a Window Wonderland (you can see the poster here). Note the second sentence in this beauty: "RYERSON STUDENTS MUST CREATE HOLIDAY WINDOW DISPLAYS ON A BUDGET OF $100. COME DOWN AND SEE HOW THEY FAIR." (emphasis added)

You would think that the person who designed this poster should have a better command of the English language. I'm only writing a blog so my slip-ups (I call them "typos" ... tee hee) are not plastered all over the subway. By the way, this obsession started long before I started reading Lynne Truss' grammar books (note the correct use of the possessive apostrophe here!). :)

My Commute This Morning

You all know how much I love taking the subway to work in the mornings (it is the only thing I don't like about my new living arrangement). Lately, the subway has been PACKED in the mornings, with people jammed right up against the doors and not moving when the doors open to allow other people to get on the train (even though the middle of the car is empty).

This morning, it was the same scenario but I stepped on anyway and this guy stepped on right behind me. By the time we got to the next stop, I was hot, cranky and not at all sure this guy behind me was going to behave himself, so I pushed my way back off the train, vowing to wait as long as possible for a comfortable ride into work.

Less than two minutes later, an empty train pulled into the station and I got on totally empty car. I had the entire car to myself! It was amazing. I laughed out loud at the joy of it! :)

The Good Old Days

This weekend, Rob and I had our first overnight guest since the renovations were completed. My friend since Grade 4, Mary Ann ("MAK") arrived on Saturday afternoon. MAK is a real estate agent so we were really interested in her "professional" opinion of the condo. I am happy to report that her initial market "eval" was extremely positive and our attempts to create a warm and inviting home were confirmed by her experienced eye and friendly nature.

While she was here, I dug out a photo album with old photos in it so that I could show Rob how she looked in a red polkadot bikini! Once we started taking that walk down the road of remembrances, I came across a bunch of black and white photos from my formative years. Some of these are just too cute not to share ...

Obviously, my love for shoes and fashion started after this photo was taken!


My inordinate fondness for stuffed animals was also deeply ingrained during the first 12 months of my life -- this bear looks bigger than I do!


My life changed dramatically when my brother was born but there are still days when I let him worship his big sister (on the Dodge).


I learned the price of beauty early in the 1960s ...


I believe my disdain for organized religion commenced after I was forced to wear this little number ...


I used to be skinny (too bad I also looked like a boy). No wonder my Dad insisted I get a "girl's" bike ...


And finally, the famous bikini shot. Mary Ann looks pretty much the same (after two kids, no less!) but I've filled out somewhat since this photo was taken in the 70s.

Bah, Humbug!

Ho-ho-hold the display business
HELEN GODFREY (Globe & Mail - November 9, 2007)

Toronto -- Here is an idea whose time may have come: Stores with elaborate Christmas window displays before Nov. 25 should be fined a $1,000 a day. They can make the cheques out to the United Way or Food Bank.

I know they've probably had their holiday merchandise on hand since the boxcar arrived from China in August, but I resent having the season thrust at me. Christmas used to be such an enjoyable time of year.

This woman is overstating the obvious (and I could kiss her for it). Every year, it seems that this Xmas crap starts earlier and earlier. This year, the Santas were competing with the Satans on All Hallows Eve. BTW, I refuse to type "Christ"mas because if God was still around (you know he's not or none of this would be happening), he would regret the hell out of lending his name to this unholy-holiday.

My family knows how much I hate Xmas but I still had to remind my Mom after she asked me, "Tell me again why you hate Xmas so much?" *sigh* It was difficult to explain to Rob. It will be our first Xmas together and implored him NOT to put up a tree. And forget my friend Mary Ann. She LOVES Xmas ... and snow ... and skiing. I'm really starting to worry about her. Anyway, here are the reasons:

1. It happens in December. When it's cold. And snowy. Nothing good can come from this type of weather.

2. The commercials start in OCTOBER. WTF?

3. The music sucks. Actually, it is enough to drive you to drink (but not drink and drive because that would be illegal). When is the last time anyone wrote a NEW Xmas song? It's all the same old crap, regurgitated by geezer rockstars with non-existent careers and too many grandchildren.

4. It turns normal people into weirdos and weirdos into lunatics who can talk about nothing other than buying gifts for people who don't need anything and weird food like eggnog and pudding. *barf*

5. It makes it impossible for anti-Xmas people like me and my friend Heidi to go into the underground at lunchtime to buy food or tampons. LOL

So when it comes to Xmas, I JUST SAY NO!!!

My Gynie Has A Website

Nothing generates fear in a woman more than anticipating a trip to the gynaecologist. Actually, I’ve never had a gynaecologist before so when my doctor informed me that he was referring me to one, I was quite nervous. My last two PAP tests came back inconclusive. Apparently my cervix is (1) just too small or (2) just too evasive for my family doctor to find and capture its cells. Actually, I know it is a little bit off centre but I’ve never been sent elsewhere because of it! Bad, bad cervix.

Initially, I was scheduled to meet with Dr. Gifford-Jones (not his real name but his nom de plume) last Wednesday but jury duty interfered. What's worse than a trip to the stirrups? JURY DUTY! Unfortunately, jury duty turned out to be a big "non event" because, while we were initially told we were required at the Court House for three days (thereby giving me ample time to plow through three unread novels desperately needing my attention), we were dismissed after the first day. What a letdown! After all these years of working in legal, I've never experienced a jury trial. Oh well, I'll get my chance in another three years.

So anyway, back to my new best friend, Dr. G-F. I had to meet him at the clinic where my family doctor also has his practice. Since Dr. G-F is only at the clinic one day a week, he doesn't have a receptionist and sees patients through the walk-in clinic. I arrived a few minutes early and sat waiting, trying to calm my butterflies. Shortly thereafter, the doctor came into the waiting room and called my name, introducing himself to me. What service! We sat in his office to discuss the "procedure" and he told me a little bit about himself. At age 83, he has done more than 150,000 pelvic exams. I felt I was in good hands, both literally and figuratively. He assured me he was a "gentle fellow".

All of my initial concerns dissipated under his warm, wonderful demeanor. I was actually looking forward to this! (Well, not really but I was certainly a lot calmer than when I arrived.) The examination went smoothly and everything checked out normally. After I dressed, we talked in his office for a few minutes about writing, working, relationships, dating websites, marriage and birth control. I could have talked to him for hours, he is such an interesting man! Anyway, here is the link to his various health-related articles. They are informative, humourous and timely: Health Links

Remembering a Family Hero

I remember spending a lot of time at the townshouse in Waterloo that was home to my Uncle Ken and his family after they made the move from Windsor. I was a young teenager in the early 1970s and my seven cousins formed a raucous crowd so different from my own small family. I loved spending time with them. My cousins Maggie and Teresa became the sisters I never had. I knew I qualified as family simply by surname but the love shown to me by my Uncle Ken and Aunt Theresa indicated that I had become an honourary member of their brood as well.

I remember the late nights at my parents' home with their playing cards with my Aunt and Uncle for hours. I remember the sounds of my Dad banging the cards on the kitchen table, the clink of highball glasses and the smell of my Uncle Ken's cigarettes. I also remember the commotion that resulted whenever my Mom and Aunt Theresa won a hand of euchre. The men loudly accused the women of cheating and this increased the noise level. I struggled to stay awake so I could listen to them laughing.

I remember the road trips I made with Maggie and Teresa to London after my Aunt and Uncle moved there in the early 1980s. Aunt Theresa often had some story to tell us about her latest attempt to scare the crap out of my Uncle by hiding behind the door at the top of the stairs, jumping out and yelling "BOO"! Uncle Ken always had some homemade craft to show me, like the infamous "footstool" with real running shoes on the four legs. I never found it too difficult to sweet talk him into making me one of his tart lemon meringue pies.

I remember a visit from my Uncle Ken after I got married and moved to Ottawa. Before he retired, he came there on Post Office business and took me to dinner at a revolving restaurant. We had a grand time talking about the family and the "olden" days. We laughed like hell when we discovered my purse had remained intact on the window ledge while we circled the restaurant for over an hour!

I remember my Dad and I meeting Ken, my Aunt and my cousins on King Street in Waterloo across from the Ali Baba Steakhouse to watch the Oktoberfest parade every Thanksgiving Monday. Uncle Ken and my Dad entertained the crowd with their smartass remarks to all parade participants, especially the two mayors and sports celebrities. I can still see the pride on my Uncle's face and the tears in his eyes as he saluted the dwindling number of verterans marching in the parade, from his wheelchair.

I remember going to see him in the London Veterans Hospital after his stroke and seeing the sparkle in his eye when he saw me. His mind remained sharp but not as sharp as his tongue as he barked his orders to the nursing staff. I pitied them from my exalted status of Favourite Niece. I tried to talk him into moving closer so we could see him more often but he was stubborn to the end and insisted on ending his days there.

I remember my cousin Mark running across the funeral home parking lot on that cold November day to pass a photo of his late father to my Dad through the open window of the car. And I remember my Dad's frosty breath as he told Mark, "Your Dad was my hero".

In fond remembrance of my Uncle Ken, who left us on November 2, 1998. You are gone but never forgotten.

Stupid People (or if I ran the world, it would be perfect!)

When I leave work at 4:30PM, I usually go out the Bay Street exit and head south for half a block to the lights. Sometimes, I need to go north. Goddess forgive me! Unfortunately, half of the people who live outside the city are heading SOUTH, to Union station, so they can get on the commuter trains and head out of the city and back to their cozy bedroom communities. These cities generally have an area code of 905. Toronto’s is 416. We therefore called them “905ers” and, while some of them are friends of mine, the ones who refuse to give me 2” of spare sidewalk deserve a bitch slap to the head. HELLO! I live in Toronto! My property taxes PAY for the fucking sidewalk you’re walking on so don’t you DARE push me out of the way so you can catch your precious train! GRRR!!!

Why do I continue to get involved financially with my friends? Is it because I am a nice person? Is it because I inherently trust my friends to be responsible adults? Is it because I always have money and they don’t? I have one friend in particular who never pays me back when she says she’s going to pay me back. Ergo, I have to send her emails, constantly reminding her of the outstanding debt. Then, when she does have the money, she makes me come and get it from her or she gives me $12.50 in nickels and dimes in a Ziploc bag. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??? As far as I’m concerned, she should be hand delivering it to me with sugar on top, and thanking me profusely for giving her to loan in the first place. Never again. GRRR!!!

What is it with people who bring strollers on to public transport and then block the aisles? I am fairly dexterous. Even in my Anne Klein boots with the 3” heel I can run for the streetcar, carry home 20 pounds of groceries and jump over 2’ puddles. (In fact, I don’t buy any type of footwear unless I can run full tilt in them – except maybe slippers.) Some stupid man with a stupid kid in a stupid stroller was on the bus this morning. He sat in the first seat and parked the kid and the stroller in front of him. As a result, everyone who got on to the bus had to turn sideways and walk through a space less than a foot wide, including the crippled, almost blind man with the cane, the young father trying to hold on to his two rambunctious toddlers and the fat woman with her shopping cart. GET A CLUE PEOPLE! You are inconveniencing a whole bunch of people here and potentially causing an accident. I blame the bus driver who should have fixed this problem from the get go. GRRR!!!

Then there is this woman I work with -- she sits behind me and we share a work space with a low dividing wall between us. It is a nice office and most of the people here are really great and friendly. I was moved into this space while I as away on vacation and while I was disappointed with the switch, I really didn't have a lot of input into the process so I just accepted it and got on with the job. Unfortunately, this woman has not said "boo" to me since I started working here. One of the other women came over, shook my hand, introduced herself and welcomed me to the neighbourhood. This other one can't even say "good morning", "goodbye",
"shut up" or "drop dead". I even tried to make small talk with her in the coffee room one morning but she walked out on me in the middle of a sentence. Now most of you know that I am a fairly sociable person but how do you deal with this crap? It sure makes coming to work a pleasant experience ... NOT! I am not used to ignoring another human being, no matter how weird they are. GRRR!!!

What the fuck is wrong with people?

Good Deeds

Why is it when you do something nice for someone else, you feel better than when someone does something nice for you? This morning, as I was crossing the intersection at Front and Yonge, I saw a young Asian woman walking around the corner and heard a distinct “ping”. She looked down quickly but kept walking. Having lost an earring on the street many, many years ago (I ignored the “ping” sound and have been searching ever since!), I decided to take a closer look.

There on the ground, behind the light pole, was a silver chain bracelet with a large fob clasp which had fallen off her delicate wrist. It looked expensive. Even if it wasn’t, I knew it was probably important to the owner. I scooped it up and went racing up Yonge Street in pursuit of the owner. I am always hesitant to stop strangers on the street by touching them but this time, I didn’t hesitate.

“Excuse me!” I cried.

She stopped and turned towards me, looking startled.

“Is this yours?” I asked, holding the bracelet out towards her.

Her eyes opened wide when she saw what I was holding and then exclaimed, “Oh yes it is!”

“I heard you drop it and saw you look but decided I would check the spot and there it was.”

Then she smiled a smile of gratitude, “Thank you SO much!”

The look of her face made my day.

Kindness To Canadians Abroad

I ran across this wonderful story today while reading the Acts of Kindness section in the online version of the Toronto Star. I thought it was poignant and just loved the Vimy connection.

I had just finished a foreign study term in Switzerland and had [enough] time before my flight to Toronto from Paris to see Vimy Ridge, something I had always thought was important.

Unfortunately I missed a connection in Brussels on my way and therefore missed the shuttle to the 90th Anniversary Memorial Service when I arrived in Arras. I took a bus from Arras the next day to Vimy which was still a ways from the memorial, but I decided I would walk through the countryside regardless.

I had walked for five minutes when a little car pulled up beside me and an elderly man asked if I was Canadian. After telling him in my broken French that I was, he offered to drive me to the memorial.

He told me he picked up Canadians every time he saw them, because he was thankful for the efforts during the world wars. He even promised to pick me up afterwards.

When I returned to the visitors centre, the guides called him up and he was back within minutes. He drove me to other cemeteries and sites that I would not otherwise have been able to see and drove me to the station to catch the next train to Paris.

His kindness showed me that almost a century later the kinship forged between our countries was still strong. The gentle man, as I was told in the visitors centre, was known locally as the 'grandpere des guides' - the grandfather of the guides.

Morgan Ip, Ottawa

Internet Friends

I make friends with people on the internet all the time. I’ve been doing it for almost 10 years now. Sometimes I actually meet these people in person (like my friend Jackie in London, England) and sometimes I don’t. Certain people I don’t want to meet but others I definitely do.

Laurie Perry is one of them. She writes a blog that is so wonderful, I can only hope to emulate her one day with my writing. She’s such a gifted writer, she’s actually published a book called: Crazy Aunt Purl's Drunk, Divorced And Covered In Cat Hair: The True-life Misadventures Of A 30-something Who Learned To Knit After He Split.

The cute title belies the content. Laurie went through some “stuff” during her separation and divorce. No matter where you are in your life at the moment, you will relate, in some way, to her personal struggle and the success she has obtained as a result. You can buy it online at Chapters/Indigo.

Or simply do what I did: go to Coles and ask them to order it for you. If we buy enough of these books in Canada, she just might come up here for the book signing trip. (Note to all my American readers -- this book is available at Barnes & Noble and through Amazon.)

If you can’t buy the book, at least check out her blog: Crazy Aunt Purl.

October 9 (Coming Home)

Our final morning started with rain but it cleared by 11AM when Trevor arrived to collect us. We had a leisurely time in the morning, getting packed up and ready to leave. We were a little worried about our luggage weight (although we tried to keep our spending to a minimum) but figured we would just pay the penalty for the flight home. We knew we were over the limit on the flight from Paris so we were expecting the worse. Trevor drove us to the Station in Darlington, and we bought some sandwiches there to eat on 2.5 hour train ride. We met a couple of sisters from Wales on the platform by commenting on their two dogs, Honey and Jack. Honey was a Westie and Jack was a Yorkie. One of these days, we’re going to get a dog … :)

We arrived Manchester airport without incident and our flight left exactly on time (without any excess baggage charges for either of us) and, in fact, we arrived 45 minutes early at 6PM. The Thomas Cook flight home was a dream compared to the flight over -- roomy cabin, great food (on an airline!) and fun crew. The only negative thing was the fact that the movie was Shrek III. Is this movie playing on every single airline in the world right now? LOL When we arrived in Toronto, there were HUGE lines at customs. I don't know the reason for that because it was a Tuesday night. But after a 1/2 hour, we were through and our luggage was already there, waiting. The carousel had stopped before we got there. We grabbed a taxi, got caught in traffic on the 401 (what a welcome home!) and arrived home at 7:30PM. The only time I used my MasterCard was to pay the driver and when I checked my account online the next day, I found $60 in fraudulent charges from the taxi company, supposedly for the day before when I was still in the UK. I am fighting that out with Bank of Montreal as we speak.

Our trip was over but we have so many wonderful memories. This blog is a great way to help us remember what we did and where we went. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

JAM xo

October 8 (City of York)

On Monday, we had to drop Rob’s parents in Northallerton for the day and then we stole the car for a trip to York, a historic walled city in North Yorkshire. I was particularly interested in seeing it because Toronto used to be called York. On the way there, we detoured to Linton-on-Ouse to visit the RAF base there. Unfortunately, since it is a training base, it was closed to the public but we managed to find the airstrip where the students were practicing their touch and go’s.

Rob went to boarding school in York and hadn’t been back since graduation. But he was sure he could find his way around. We parked at Bootham School and headed towards Bootham Bar, one of the four bars or gatehouses, leading into this walled City. Hungry again, we stopped for coffee, burgers and half a pint at the Hole in the Wall pub before walking along the City walls to Monk Bar. Descending from there, we ambled through the Shambles, winding our way down cobblestone pedestrian-only streets towards York Minster. I was stopping constantly, to take photos of funky shops, pub signs and flowers blooming in window boxes overhead.

The Minster itself was very impressive and while we went inside to have a quick look around, we did not pay the admission price. We also made a quick stop at Thornton’s in order to buy chocolates (Rob brought them back for me from his last trip and I love them!) and Marks & Spencer to take a look around. We used to have “Marks and Sparks” in Ontario but it was always quite conservative and, dare I say it, dowdy. WOW! Have they ever upgraded their image! We made the mistake of going into the women’s wear department and I wanted to buy everything I saw. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any room for extras in my luggage.

We finally left York (after stopping for a pee break at Rob’s old school – I thought they were going to kick us out for trespassing but no worries) and drove to the Yorkshire Air Museum at RAF Elvington. There were numerous WWII Artifacts including aircraft, bombs, gunner cages, uniforms, etc. There was also a large display devoted to Sir Barnes Wallis, creator of the R-100 airship and the bouncing dam buster bomb (May 1943). After a long day, we reached home in about an hour and had a casual dinner of bangers and mashed.

October 7 (Muker, Yorkshire)

We finally had a lazy quiet morning on Sunday and we thinking of a late breakfast when Rob’s Mum told us to “get a move on!” LOL We ate, showered and dressed so that the four of us could take a day trip to Muker. Rob’s Dad had vacationed in the area when he was a young boy so when he retired and was looking to start a small business somewhere, he chose Muker. Before Swaledale Woolens opened, Muker was a small village with a pub. It is also a hiker’s destination, especially for those on the coast-to-coast walk across England. The Yorkshire Dales are challenging, even to the most experienced hiker but I can understand the allure, especially seeing the beauty of the Dale with my own eyes.

Anyway, Rob’s Dad sold the wool shop (all the wool is 'grown', spun and knit locally) but still likes to drop in occasionally to check on things. The village now boasts a gift shop/art gallery and tea shop/café, in addition to the pub and the shop. It was bustling with tourists, locals and hikers the Sunday we were there. After a lovely lunch at The Farmer’s Arms, we had a quick “walkabout” and went uphill to The Studio. This is a small room, with windows on two walls, which Rob’s Dad keeps in the hopes that it will eventually be used as an artist’s studio. There is a sink, a kettle, a couple of heaters, 3 chairs and bottle of wine. We rested for a bit and then Rob and I wandered off to take photos of the Dale and more sheep.

Finally, it was time to leave Muker and head home. His folks dozed in the back seat as we trundled along on twisty, windy roads. I took a two hour nap when we got home but then it was up at 6PM for drinks, followed by a scrumptious dinner of leg of lamb with roasted potatoes and brussel sprouts. It was our quietest day yet!

October 6 (Richmond, Yorkshire)

Saturday is market day in Richmond. On their website, Richmond is described as: “An historic market town, with Norman castle, Georgian architecture, cobbled market place, monuments and abbeys, the fast flowing river Swale, and breathtaking scenery -- a town that inspires painters and poets, past and present.” We took a tour of the Richmond Castle, including a trip up the narrow staircases to the top of tower. The view was spectacular! (See my photo link below)

Or course, I got hungry around 11AM so we headed to the local chippie for lunch. Rob’s Dad told us later that we went to the better of the two in town. All I know is the fish and chips were great. I decided I wanted that bracelet after all so we went to the HSBC bank and I withdrew £100. The cost was $205CDN plus a $5 service charge. I bought my bracelet and Rob bought some flowers for his Mum. We returned home and drove the car to the Bowes Museum in Barnard Castle. This is an amazing place with way too many artifacts and antiques to absorb in one visit. The vision of a grand French chateau in the middle of North Yorkshire was very disconcerting. One exhibit we did enjoy was a tribute to Emile Gallé and the origins of Art Nouveau of the early 20th century. Only then did we realize that the iron sign we saw in Paris was done in this style.

We stopped in Middleton St. George, where Rob spent some of his childhood, as well as Middleton One Row, where his father grew up and finally, St. George’s Ancient Church Cemetery where his grandparents are buried. It was a lovely old place, with headstones tipping over from centuries ago. We saw a daughter cleaning her father’s grave and working on the flower bed there. Her mother, a wee, frail, white-ahired lady, was perched on a neighbouring headstone, supervising her progress.

That evening, we went out for dinner to The Traveller’s Rest in Dalton, near Richmond. A simple country inn, with a roaring fireplace in the front room, the menu was posted on a huge blackboard so we spent some time there, trying to decide what we wanted for dinner. Once seated, we order a bottle of Spanish Rioja to complement our meal. Dinner itself was such a surprise – it was one of the best meals I’ve ever enjoyed. I had goat cheese salad with an entrée of salmon/prawn fishcakes. Rob had chicken wrapped in bacon with gruyere cheese. Rob’s parents had the pork tenderloin. We split two apple tarts four ways and enjoyed a lively discussion about the difference between a tart and a pie. According to Rob’s Dad, a tart has no “roof”. LOL

The cost of dinner was £110 with the tip and well worth every penny. While Rob was up paying the bill, I went around the corner into the kitchen and adopted a Dragon Lady stance, with hands on hips, demanding “Who is the chef here?” Three people turned to look at me with the fear of God in their eyes and two of them pointed to the young woman in the middle. I proceeded to tell her that our dinner was fantastic and after four days in Paris, it was better than anything I had tasted there. After many smiles and thanks, we were on our way, back through the hilly country roads, past sleeping sheep and home to bed.

Enjoy My Yorkshire Photos Here

October 5 (Paris to Yorkshire)

We were up at 6:30AM on Friday. I hate having to set an alarm while on vacation but what can you do? We were out the door by 7:30AM, after bidding a fond adieu to our little Parisian flat. I can’t say enough about this charming studio apartment. If you are interested, contact me for details. We wheeled our suitcases one block to Rue Sebastopol and we able to nab a taxi in short order. He was an excellent driver and not chatty so our drive to Charles de Gaulle airport was uneventful and blissfully quiet except for our own conversation. My bag was 2 or 3 kilos overweight so we had to pay a small fee before we could receive our boarding passes.

Our EasyJet flight was an hour late, due to fog in Paris. However, they had a “relaxation lounge” at our gate and I was able to snag to full-length loungers. Unfortunately, the lounge wasn’t exactly closed to the rest of the airport so we could see and hear the kids screaming in the play area. It was a long wait and there were no seat assignments so when we were finally loaded on the bus to be transported to the plane, I was expecting to sit at the very rear of the plane. However, we were able to sit in the first row, by the door. What luck! We had 3 seats between the two of us and Rob chatted up the flight attendant about her job during our one hour flight. We had to buy our coffee and snacks on flight but they were surprisingly good. Not bad for a 39€ trip!

We landed in Newcastle about an hour late but the skies had cleared, affording us a spectacular view of Swaledale from the plane. Deplaning and clearing customs was a bit of a cluster f***. There were two lines – one for citizens of the European Union (Britain, France, Italy, etc.) and one for non-European citizens (Canadians, terrorists, etc.). Rob has both passports but insisted on standing in line with me. The line crawled along and, in spite of the fact that we were the first off the plane; we were near the last to get through customs. I had to prove I was actually leaving the country.

I was starving again, so I insisted we buy sandwiches at Gregg’s, an English chain of fast food and drinks. The sandwiches were fresh and tasty at only £1.85 each! Rob’s parents frequently hire a driver to take them places so Trevor was on hand in Newcastle to collect us. We drove to Richmond along the M1 and finally arrived to a warm welcome from Rob’s folks and warm soup on the table. After lunch, Rob and I took a short stroll around town. We wanted to see the marketplace, Castle Walk, go to the HSBC and get some batteries for my camera. We bought them at Woolworth’s, and then strolled through town and along New Biggin Street where I found a lovely silver shop with some nice pieces. I saw a bracelet I liked but didn’t buy it.

Once back at home, I had a bit of a lie down for a couple of hours until 6PM, when it was time for an aperitif. Rob’s parents strictly adhere to this charming practice and I think I will adopt myself at home, but only on weekends. They offered to take us to a local Italian restaurant for dinner. In fact, I believe it is the ONLY Italian restaurant in town. They also have a Thai restaurant and two Chippies. There are many, many pubs as well. Dinner was lovely but the restaurant became very crowded towards the end so we had to carefully manoeuvre Rob’s Mum down the stairs with her cane. Again, we were early to bed in anticipation of the next day’s adventures.

October 4 (Paris)

On Thursday, we again had pan du chocolat for breakfast. All I can say is, I’m glad I don’t live in France because it would be difficult for me to refuse these things every morning! We were having another touristy day in Paris so we started on the métro and headed towards the Arc de Triomphe. We then walked down the Champs Elysées but after our rather small petit déjeuner, I was ready for some serious food. We stopped for lunch at Bistro George V and both ordered a glass of rosé to go along with our steak frites. The Parisians eat a large meal in the middle of the day but I was still surprised to see the petite young woman beside me devouring a steak the size of Manhattan!

After lunch, we walked. We turned on the Rue Boiteie and walked along there to Avenue Hausmann. This brought us to the Galleries Lafayette. By this point, for some reason, my hip was bothering me mightily so we had to go inside. Rob took me into the store entitled “Femme” (women) and we walked right into the accessory and jewellery department. All of sudden, my hip felt better! LOL The choices were endless and expensive. I recognized a few of the designers we carried at Viva including Les Nereides and Les Joyaux de la Couronne. We didn’t spend long in this store because of the outrageous prices. We continued along the Rue de l’Opera, behind the L’Houvre and past the Palais Royal. We took some stunning photos, including a sign for the metro in arte nouveau style (more on that later in my Yorkshire blog).

We finally reached the Rue Rivoli, which carried us home for a rest and a chance to do some packing since we were leaving quite early in the morning. Eating in Paris had proved to be a bit of a challenge. Our expensive lunch at the Eiffel Tower was delicious, as well as our dinner at Le Train Bleu, but we were having difficulty finding a low cost, nutritious and tasty meal elsewhere. Most of the patisseries seemed to have the same menu, none of which was appealing to me. The constant cigarette smoke in my face was also a big deterrent. We finally discovered an Italian restaurant in our neighbourhood called Pasta Ricca. It was quite busy and the menu looked appetizing, with a good selection of wines and salads. I had a Greek salad (in spite of the fact that we were in an Italian restaurant, it was quite good!) and Rob had a shrimp/avocado salad. We both had pasta and a good Italian red wine. Up to that point, we had not been able to find anything except French wines, of which we are not particularly fond. After our wonderful mean, we scooted home and we were again worn out and ready for an early night.

Enjoy My Photos of Paris

October 3 (Vimy)

On April 9, 2007, the Canadian War Memorial at Vimy, France, was rededicated after a complete overhaul. The original monument was falling to pieces so a huge retrofit was undertaken by the Canadian government. There was extensive news coverage of the rededication and at that time, I remember saying to Rob that I would like to go to Vimy one day. And so began our discussions about a possible trip to Europe. Wednesday October 3 was the day for us. We were booked on the 10:22AM train out of Paris to Arras. We actually set the alarm for 8AM, and after a cold breakfast of bread, paté, cheese, champagne, OJ and pain du chocolat, we set out via the Métro for the Gare de Nord.

Less than an hour later, we were eating again at Café du Pays in Arras (coffee, omelette and frites). We took a taxi to Vimy, which is a very small farming community about 20 minutes from Arras. The weather was awful – rain and fog – but somehow appropriate, given our quest. We met Brianne from Niagara Falls at the front gate. She explained the layout of the grounds and suggested we visit the memorial first before heading to the visitor’s centre. We walked down a short road, flanked on both sides by maple trees in full fall foliage. Once we cleared the trees, we looked to our left and saw the monument in the mist.

I had seen photos and news footage of the Vimy memorial but nothing prepared me for being in close physical proximity to it. It was breathtaking and heartbreaking. I will let my photos do most of the talking about this sight because words cannot describe it. There were a few people milling around the monument with us but after awhile, we were left alone with it.

The land surrounding the monument was granted by France to Canada “in perpetuity” after the war. The monument is built out of white stone from Croatia (the mine had closed but they re-opened it to refurbish the monument). The lawn immediately surrounding the monument is well-tended but beyond that, most of the area is roped off with warnings about live ordnance. The rolling hills were unnaturally built from craters of exploded mines and weaponry. The lip of the ridge could be seen through the trees and the drop off was steep. No wonder the area was coveted by both sides -- it would give the occupier a definite visual advantage and act as a natural barricade. The herd of sheep quietly grazing off to the side were our only companions, along with four large crows cawing loudly as they circled overhead. The mist dampened all sound and we found ourselves talking in low voices as we walked around the memorial.

Designed by Canadian sculptor and architect Walter Seymour Allward, the Vimy Memorial stands on Hill 145, overlooking the Canadian battlefield of 1917, at one of the points of the fiercest fighting. It took 11 years and $1.5 million to build and was unveiled on July 26, 1936 by King Edward VIII, in the presence of President Albert Lebrun of France and 50,000 or more Canadian and French veterans and their families. In his address, the King noted, "It is a memorial to no man, but a memorial for a nation."

At the base of the Memorial, in English and in French, are these words: "To the valour of their countrymen in the Great War and in memory of their sixty thousand dead this monument is raised by the people of Canada"

In fact, more than 66,000 Canadians died in action or of their wounds after the war; more than one in ten of those who had worn uniforms. Among the dead are many who have no known grave. Inscribed on the ramparts of the Memorial are the names of 11,285 Canadian soldiers who were "missing, presumed dead" in France.
(courtesy of Veterans Affairs Canada)




I was loathe to leave this special place . . .




Finally, we pulled ourselves away from the monument and made our way to the Visitor’s Centre. Inside, we were greeted like visiting royalty by the young Canadian staff. The Centre is totally manned by Canadian bilingual university students who apply in Canada for the opportunity to live and work in France for four months. We watched a video on how the monument was refurbished. We decided to go visit the onsite cemeteries before taking a scheduled tour of the underground trenches at 3PM. There was a large flagpole with a Canadian flag and the sun came out just as I was about to take the photo.

In the cemeteries, we met three guys from Sheffield who were on a one week tour of different battlegrounds in France. They gave us a ride back for the tour of the Grange “subway”. The five of us went down with Scott, our tour guide from Whitby Ontario, along with 25 English school kids. Being in the trenches and the underground human “subway” was a harrowing and humbling experience. As Reg, one of our fellow tourists commented, “Every Canadian needs to see Vimy.” For a history of Vimy Ridge and Canada’s amazing contribution to this battle in World War I, please refer to the Veterans Affairs Canada website.


Sarah, another one of the Canadian students, ordered a taxi to take us back to Arras where we stopped for a Croque Monsieur (toasted cheese sandwich with ham) and a beer while we waited for the train. We were home by 7:45PM, and after a light supper with some wine, we were in bed for another early night.

Click here to see my photos of Vimy

October 1 and 2 (London to Paris/My Birthday)

On Monday, we had an early start to Waterloo Station. Rob’s Aunt was worried about our getting there on time and was in a near panic when the car we had ordered the night before hadn’t arrived. Rob decided to walk out the Mews and flag down a taxi. After a few minutes, one came trundling down the Mews and it turned out that the taxi driver, Jane, knew Priscilla from their Bridge club. We arrived at the train station in plenty of time, got through customs with the officials there giving our passports a cursory glance and enjoyed a wonderful train ride to Paris. I knew we were going through the “chunnel” but there was no announcement. We had gone through a few tunnels beforehand so it wasn’t until we were a few minutes in before Rob announced we were, indeed, in the chunnel. It was uneventful and I tried not to think of the millions of tons of water over our heads and all around us. The Gare de Lyon is old and beautiful (more on that later). Our taxi driver spoke limited English but we were able to give him direction to the apartment.

We arrived at 149 rue St-Martin in the 3eme arrondissement 15 minutes later to find a very ugly building. The entrance was flanked by a patisserie and a used clothing store. We had the code to enter the building and were even more disappointed once inside. The entrance hall was dark and dingy, lined on one side the metal mail slots. Pushing through the next door, we found ourselves at the bottom of a decrepid staircase leading up to the first floor. I pushed the call button for the elevator and Rob wrestled both our suitcases into the lift. There was barely enough room for them and him, so (not quite trusting the lift) I took the stairs to the third floor. Things did not get much better the higher we went. This building had definitely seen better days. Eventually, the owner, Daniella (“Dany”) arrived, apologizing profusely for keeping us waiting. She led us into the apartment and we discovered a hidden gen. The flat was trés jolie and extremely well appointed with fridge, two burner stovetop, dishwasher, small European washer/dryer combo (in the same machine!) and a television.

We had anticipated paying her a safety deposit equivalent to the rent (320€ for four nights) but were concerned about getting it back. Our flight was scheduled for early Friday morning and she would have to meet us by 7:30AM to refund our deposit. Apparently she liked the looks of us and told us to forget the deposit so Rob just paid her the balance owing and off she went! We unpacked and relaxed a bit before heading out to pick up a few groceries. We went for a stroll around the neighbourhood and ended up at the supermarket for groceries, wine, etc. We had a light supper of salad, cheese, pâté and red wine after taking a short siesta. It was raining but we decided to go for a short walk before calling it a night.

We slept in on Tuesday morning, waking up at 9:45AM. I guess being on vacation was wearing us out! My Beloved quickly dressed and ran downstairs to buy me a “pan du chocolat” (not called a croissant in Paris) for breakfast. Served with a small pink birthday candle (Rob brought two, just in case one broke in transit), along with champagne and orange juice, it was a great start to my birthday celebrations. Once outside, we made our way to the Chatelet des Halles métro station and opted to buy a 3 day pass for 18.60€ each. The line we needed was down 3 escalators and 2 sets of stairs. I found the entire system to be hot, dirty and confusing. (No doubt the heat was caused by our being so close to the Centre of the Earth!).

We arrived at the Eiffel Tower for lunch. Rob had made a reservation online at Altitude 95, the restaurant located on the first level of the Tower or 95 metres up. He didn’t receive any printed confirmation so, of course, they didn’t have our reservation but fortunately had plenty of room for us. We were seated one row back from the floor-to-ceiling windows and, while we could see everything, we were anxiously watching the couple next to us finish their coffees so that we could grab their table. Sure enough, we were able to move over before our first course arrived -- gazpacho soup and Caesar salad for me; goat cheese salad and salmon for Rob; and a glass of rosé wine for both of us. We settled on molten chocolate cake for dessert (guess who got to choose that!) and café au lait. It was a lovely, long, luxurious lunch – perfect for my birthday!

We walked back along Les Invalides and Blvd. St-Germain, not really shopping but stopping to take photos and admire the architecture which was everywhere. We passed the Palais de Justice and asked to be stand just inside the gate to take some pictures. Rob bought me a scarf I admired for 10€ and a velvet jacket on the street, also for 10€. We took the obligatory touristy photos on the bridge over the Seine and finally wound our way back home to rest.

For some reason, we decided to take the subway to dinner at Le Train Bleu. In retrospect, it was not a good decision because by the time we arrived, I was hot, sweaty and cranky. The restaurant had our reservation but seated us next to a wait station so I could watch all the waiters scrape food into the garbage. Not great so Rob asked if we could change tables, which we did – much better! The restaurant is located in the Gare de Lyon train station. The restaurant is quite popular with tourists and locals. It is extremely beautiful, with its high ceilings and huge windows. Its immense rooms are crammed with sculptures, gilt and vast paintings. The restaurant was very busy, with a business conference of sorts going on in the back room, as well as large tables of business suits discussing the days’ events. We shared a plate of smoked salmon and a bottle of St-Emilion cab sauv. I had beef tenderloin and Rob had the duck. We split another chocolate dessert and both had coffee, although I could not drink my espresso – too strong for me. We took the metro home and I slept like a baby!

September 30 (London Sightseeing)

On Sunday, we again took the tube but this time we went to Green Park station. We were on our way to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. The weather turned glorious – it was warm and sunny for most of our sightseeing day. The walk through Green Park brought out my camera, for the first time. There were numerous canvas and wooden chairs scattered throughout the park, and a sign charging to use them. I think it was £4 for two hours (or maybe £2 for four hours). I’ll have to check my photos again. There was a group of 4 brightly dressed “monks” in front of us (Hari Krishna?) and they strolled off through the park to do whatever it is monks do on a Sunday afternoon.

The crowds thickened the closer we got the palace. And suddenly, there it was, in the middle of the city. I don’t know what I expected but I didn’t expect this. It seemed smaller than I imagined and, dare I say it, kind of boring with its plain, boxy exterior. The gates were quite embellished however (see photos) and the gardens were beautiful and obviously very well tended. The tourists surrounding us were speaking so many different languages, I couldn’t figure out what half of them were. The police, mounted on huge white horses and bikes, were doing a fine job of keeping everyone back of the line. We could hear the band playing the Dam Busters March. Most of the activity seemed to be taking place behind the gates and we couldn’t see very much. Once the band starting playing Frank Sinatra songs (yes, really!), we decided to leave. We did manage to see the band march off and they were quite impressive.

We walked along Birdcage Walk, named after the Royal Menagerie and Aviary which were located there during the reign of King James I. We strolled along to the Victoria Embankment and stopped for lunch at the Churchill Café, a little Italian joint that had a special of roasted chicken, fries and salad for £7.50. We had that and coffee. The meal was quite good and quickly served by harried Italian waiters. We were enjoying our meal until a French couple sat down behind us with their two children. Both parents proceeded to chain smoke during their entire time at the table. It was a forecast of things to come in France. :(

After lunch, we decided to go over to the Parliament Buildings, which were quite impressive, including the large statue of Richard the Lionheart on his horse. We took a lot of photos here, as well as shots of Westminster Abbey and another statue of George V. Unfortunately, the Abbey was closed for choir practice so we meandered around the west side of the building, photographing the 10 Christian martyrs who are depicted in statues above the Great West Door. I spotted a small walkway leading into the Dean’s Yard. The outside walls were covered with red maple ivy and the green dappled lawn was breathtaking (see photos). Then we discovered the door to The Cloisters which was one of the highlights of our trip. We walked slowly along the stone corridors, reading the ancient funeral effigies on the walls, enjoying the quiet and relative coolness of the well-trodden passageways. We also went inside the Museum to view various royal costumes preserved and displayed on life size wax figures of the original owners. We found a small garden at the end of one hallway and several small doorways, about 5 feet tall.

After we left the Abbey, we walked halfway across Westminster Bridge over the River Thames and took some photos of The London Eye on the far bank. We waited for double decker bus no. 11 to the Financial District and walked towards the Tower of London. We encountered a small parade along the way, with people in period costumes. I’m not sure what that was about. We headed towards the river and the first thing we saw was the Tower Bridge about to open to let a ship through. Again, refer to my photos. We spent two hours touring the Tower of London and saw so many wonderful things but the most impressive was the tour of the Crown Jewels, which were on display there. They were enclosed in glass cases, with slow moving sidewalks on either side of the case. We viewed both sides and the size and quantity of the jewels was mind boggling! We toured so many of the buildings and just as we were about to leave (they were closing in a few minutes, we spotted Moira Cameron, the first female Beefeater in history to go on duty at the Tower of London. Cameron, 42, beat five men to the £20,000 per-year job as a Yeomen Warder. She told me she has 22 years of military experience. I was honoured to have my photo taken with her.

Enjoy My Photos of London

September 27 to 29 (Toronto to Manchester to London)

Our trip to Europe started out very badly, with a horrific Air Transat charter flight to Manchester. Thankfully, the overheated cabin, claustrophobic seating, one hour stop in Montreal, etc. is a distant nightmare and the only blot on an otherwise incredible vacation. The £20 premium that Rob paid for each of our pre-assigned sets was thrown away as a result of a flight change – instead of flying direct from Toronto, we had to leave 1.5 hours earlier and stop in Montreal to pick up people there. Rob was able to sleep on the plane. I was not. The air on the plane was so devoid of moisture, I was coughing for a day afterwards. My lungs were completely dried out, as well as my eyes, which felt like they were cracking in my skull. *shudder* Never again! You obviously get what you pay for ($92 return, plus tax).

We arrived at Manchester Airport an hour earlier than planned so we were thrilled to discover the train into London ran every hour on the hour. So we opted to catch the noon train. However, our prepaid tickets (£27 each vs. £100 each at the station) represented reserved seats on the 1PM train. We decided to play “dumb” tourist and hopped on to the earlier train to Crew. Once there, it was a 20 minute wait for the connection to London. Aboard the train to London, we discovered two empty seats reserved from Liverpool to London with no occupants, so we plopped ourselves down and donned our dumb tourist expressions. The ticket collector barely looked at our tickets so we relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

Arriving at Easton Station an hour earlier than planned, we called Rob’s Aunt Priscilla to announce our imminent arrival. Finding the taxi queue proved a bit challenging despite the unilingual signs, in English no less! Although the line seemed a mile long and the taxis miniscule, I was assured by Rob and the man in front of us that you could fit a small car in the taxi. They were right! The cab was like a Mini on steroids, if you can imagine such a thing. There was room for us, our suitcases and much more. I wish I had taken a photo inside, with its LCD screen, TV remote, electronic door lock sensors (“if the red light is on, the door is secure”). Rob and the driver had a serious discussion about our destination and the best way to get there during Friday’s rush hour traffic. The driver was ensconced on the other side of a thick Plexiglas panel and spoke to us over a microphone – very futuristic.

We arrived at the Gloucester Mews in Paddington in due course, £10 lighter. Priscilla expressed dismay at the size of our suitcases but Rob managed to wrestle them upstairs. After saying “hello”, I promptly fell into bed for 2 hours of much needed sleep, while Rob trundled over to the Bank to pick up the Euros he had ordered for our trip to France. I woke up, somewhat refreshed and made myself ready for cocktails. We were being joined by Priscilla’s companion, Rupert. He came bearing an ice cold bottle of Proseco and a large can of Pringles! Priscilla called for reservations at Concordia Notte, one of their favourite local Italian restaurants. As P put it to them on the phone, “You’ll know us when we arrive except we’re 4 instead of the usual 2”.

Dinner was our treat but due to a sore tooth, P did not enjoy her meal. The restaurant was quaint and caught in a bit of time warp with photos of famous people up on the walls from decades past, including the owners in various states of girth. We had a nightcap before finally heading to bed. The pasta and the wine were passable but the company made up for any culinary deficiencies.

In the morning, Rob and I set out to go shopping. The weather was overcast and drizzling. We left around 10:30AM to walk to the nearest tube station, Lancaster Gate. Priscilla suggested we buy a day pass for £5.10 each. There was a huge line for tickets because the automatic ticket dispenser was out of order. It eventually came back online and we paid in cash – very efficient when it works! It was 78 steps down to the platform or you could board a huge elevator like the kind they use in hospitals. The tube was just that – very narrow and very hot – definitely not as comfortable as the subway in Toronto. One car in London holds less than half the number of people you would see on a subway car in Toronto.

We got out on Bond Street and walked to Oxford Street, the discount shopping Mecca of London. I bought a colourful scarf in a store called Next for £12.50. We turned down Regent Street because Rob wanted to take me to Liberty’s. What a remarkable store! It is very beautiful architecturally-speaking and contains very high end merchandise with a huge stationery department. After a quick trip to the “loo” (sinks inside the stalls!), we decided to stop for a spot of lunch at the champagne and oyster bar located on the lower level. We ordered two coffees, two bowls of soup and a plate of smoked salmon to share. Our server informed us that the salmon was flown in fresh every second day from Scotland. I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted anything so exquisite before. Lunch cost £32 with 12% gratuity included.

We exited out the back of Liberty’s onto Carnaby Street, which was full of Saturday shoppers. Bright and colourful, I could very well imagine the vibrant scene of the 1960’s when this street became the centre of fashion trends in London. We found a tacky tourist shop to buy a thimble for my friend Scott.* We continued South and east to Piccadilly Circus which was a madhouse (obviously, aptly named) with hundreds of tourists. We carried down along Regent Street to Pall Mall and Trafalgar Square. There were more tourists here as well. We took a lot of photos and then walked up Charing Cross Road to the Leicester Square tube station. We hopped on the tube to Knightsbridge, where Harrods is located. Unfortunately, our arrival was marred by anti-fur demonstrators with placards of skinned animals and one pathetic, threadbare 6’ “fox” handing out leaflets. Rob noticed that the female protester was wearing leather shoes – there you, you see. :)

Harrods was PACKED with people of every nationality and language. In general, I found London to be extremely multi-cultural and I could imagine myself living there. We spent well over an hour at Harrods, enjoying the massive food court, the luxury bathrooms and expensive merchandise. We spent an exorbitant amount of time in the jewellery department, looking at watches, jewels of every hue and some designer pieces I recognized from my days at Viva (Heidi Daus and Alexis Bittar). The £10 million Egyptian Escalator is worth a ride, although we successfully managed to avoid the statue of Dodi and Diana that was erected somewhere in the store.

Finally, it was time to make our way toward Mayfair, to The Audley, a pub where we were meeting my friends at 5PM. Jackie and I had no problem finding each other in the busy bar, in spite of the fact that we had never met before in person. Scott and Noel were on the same bus so they all arrived together. What a fantastic reunion! We didn’t leave the pub until after 10PM after 5 or 6 rounds of drinks and dinner (Rob, the voice of reason, made us all eat something). It was a long and tiring day but one I will never, ever forget.

* When Scott and I worked together at Viva, he got a strange long distance phone call one day from a man named Jim in England, who insisted that someone had given him a thimble from our store. We never sold thimbles – we were a designer jewellery and accessory store – but someone must have bought this guy a thimble in Mexico and gifted it to him in one of our bags. The story is hilarious because the guy just went on and on and on about his thimble from Mexico and desperately wanting one from “Jalisco” (pronouncing the word with a hard “J” sound instead of the soft Spanish “H” sound) in his thick English accent. When he found out Scott’s family name, he insisted Scott was English (he’s actually American, from Seattle) and beseeched him to go out and find him a thimble with “Jalisco” on it. It took forever to get the guy off the phone but only after Scott promised to look for a thimble. Funny thing is, Scott actually caught himself looking for thimbles and when Jim called back two weeks later, Scott gave him the bad news (no thimbles in Vallarta), along with the number of the British High Commission in Mexico City. Hopefully, Jim got the help he needed there … tee hee.

New Fangled Gadgetry

I don’t like dishwashers. I don’t trust them to get my dishes clean. I’ve owned my condo for almost 8 years and I think I’ve used the dishwasher once. Maybe. I can’t really remember. We never had a dishwasher growing up so my brother and I were assigned dishwashing duty every night after dinner. We would play, fight, and then report transgressions to my parents, who were seriously trying to ignore our petty squabbles while drinking tea and reading the newspaper in the living room.

Rob owns a dishwasher and uses it for everything. I swear, if he could wash his clothes in there, he would! Not really but he is as obsessed with his dishwasher as I am inclined to avoid it. He doesn’t run it every night, especially when he’s there alone during the week. Sometimes, we will run it once or twice on the weekend when I am visiting but I refuse to load it. The thought of opening a contraption, half filled with dirty dishes, to put in more dirty dishes, does not appeal to me.

I love it when I go to set the table and I find schmeek (unidentified food stuff) on his “clean” dishes. It gives me great pleasure to show these dirty dishes to him and then wash them by hand. It is only then that I feel they are really clean. I know I’m weird. Don’t even get me started on dirty sinks. My mother thinks that obsession started at a very young age when she used to ask me to clean the bathroom. I would do the sink but not the toilet or the bathtub. They were just too ‘icky’ for me. Dishwasher = icky.

I also don’t like cell phones. They are the bane of 21st century civilization. I know I’ve ranted about this before but lack of cell phone etiquette bears repeating. Don’t you just hate it when you’re in a conversation with someone, face-to-face, and they interrupt you so that they can check their Blackberry or answer their cell phone? Most of my friends who are handicapped with cell phones know that I do not tolerate this behaviour and think twice about answering anything, except maybe the doorbell, when they’re sharing my personal space. I sometimes catch Rob taking surreptitious glances at his Blackberry when he thinks I’m still sleeping. I feel sorry for him, standing there, bathed in the synthetic blue glow of his little addictive, electronic friend. *sigh*

Going Off The Grid

As many of you know, we are leaving Thursday evening for our European Tour. Not exactly a tour in the true sense of the word since we are only visiting two countries (England and France) but I am excited nevertheless. Packing has been a bit challenging because of the unpredictable weather so I settled on taking a fleece jacket, a jean jacket, a leather jacket and a short trench coat. Rob says if we’re overweight at check in, we will simply pay the extra charges.

I know I will personally be overweight when we get home because of all the food and drink I plan to consume. I’m a little worried about the food in England and am thinking that I will probably eat fish & chips every day. And Paris will be the opposite, with too many wonderful treats to savour. I want to have chocolate croissants for breakfast every morning. Good thing our apartment is situated right above a boulangerie so My Beloved won’t have far to go to search out this delicacy for me.

And because my friends think I know everyone in the world (which I don’t – yet), I am of course meeting familiar people in Europe while I’m there. My best girlfriend from Vallarta, Scott, will be arriving with his new partner, Noel, and we’re meeting for drinks on Saturday night at The Audley. I’m also meeting an internet friend, Jackie, there for the first time. I can’t remember how we met online so we’ll have to figure that out over many drinks.

Other friends, who winter in Puerto Vallarta, will be arriving in Paris on October 4th and we are meeting them for drinks as well. That way, Mike and I can celebrate our birthdays together (his is the day after mine). Before they arrive, we are planning a trip to Vimy on October 3rd to see the Canadian National War Memorial. Some people think that visiting such things is depressing but I see it as an important part of our history, especially given current affairs.

We decided not to take a laptop with us because of the aforementioned weight restrictions but also because we won’t have a lot of time to be sitting around the keyboard. I look forward to hearing from all of you when we get back. I’m sure we’ll have tons of stories and even more photos. My digital camera holds over 700 pictures and Rob’s holds 1000. So be prepared to be inundated with all kinds of good stuff, including English toffee, when we return.

Love, Me xo

My Birthday In Paris

I'm going to Paris for my birthday (I never get tired of saying that). Here's where My Beloved is taking me for dinner (after lunch at the Eiffel Tower and a day of shopping along Blvd. St-Germain) ... can you say YUM???

Le Train Bleu

To Whom It May Concern

I am an original owner at Parliament Square. I was a first-time homeowner when I bought my condominium. I was very impressed with the building and the possibilities for the development of the neighbourhood as well as our community. While the view from my unit isn’t one of the Lake, I quickly learned the advantages of living on the north-facing side of the building. It is much cooler in the summertime and the sunsets are amazing! I also enjoy the City view at night, with all the lights of downtown lighting up the sky. I bought some patio furniture and a lounge chair to make the balcony a comfortable living space during the warmer months.

Since the construction started last year, I have not used my balcony. I did not use it last summer and I have not used it this summer. It is impossible to keep clean. The dirt is incredible. In fact, I rarely open my windows other than a few inches for a few hours at a time because of the dirt that accumulates on the curtains and the carpet. In addition, the noise during the day makes it impossible to open the windows while watching TV, listening to music, talking on the phone or reading quietly.

I like a lot of light in my living space so my curtains do not reach the top of the window frame. There is space above all my curtain rods in both the living room and the bedroom to allow the light to enter my suite at all times of the day. The windows in the bedroom are floor to ceiling and wrap around to the side of the balcony. I chose to put sheer curtains here to get maximum light exposure.

During the initial phase of the tower construction, there was a very large, brilliant spotlight affixed to the crane and it shone into my bedroom every night, for weeks at a time, lighting up my room like an airport runway. I made repeated complaints to Comsec and eventually, had to involve the help of Pat McConnell’s office to get this light turned off at night. Lewis Builds would turn it off for a night or two, and then it would come back on again. The entire process had to be repeated again and again and again. Finally, the tower advanced upward to the point where the light no longer impacted on my unit but rather, the people who lived above me. No explanation about the purpose for this light was ever given, even though I repeatedly asked for one.

During the construction process of the lower portion of the building, my privacy has been an issue, especially now that the workers are working directly opposite my unit. They are less than 100 yards away from me and my living space. Eventually, I will have to deal with my neighbours having the same perspective. I literally have to sneak out of bed in the morning, on the “wrong” side of the bed, so they won’t see me. The crane operator on this part of the building had a bird’s eye view of my bed for weeks, through the upper part of my windows not covered by curtains. I have to make sure I am appropriately attired at all times when I am near a window and covered up while I am in bed.

Since buying my property in 1999, the value has increased steadily each year due to the completion of the third condo building at 80 Mill Street and the continued development of The Distillery District. I now believe the proximity of the new building on the north side of Parliament Square will have a detrimental effect on the value of the units in my building, especially those on the north side between the second and seventh floors, whose views are partially or completely blocked by this monstrosity. Considering how the building was first “pitched” to us (i.e. the western most edge of the tower will start at the eastern most edge of our building, the lower portion will only be six stories, etc.), I am adamant that any further development on the site be scrutinized with the utmost concern for the overall affect on current and future residents. The current project was a total “white-wash” and we were given false information so that the developers could get approval to push ahead with their plan.

It makes me sad to think of how the original dream for The Distillery District has become so distorted by the greed and manipulation of Cityscape, not to mention the gross and continued lack of consideration shown by Lewis Builds to the occupants of Parliament Square. This 32 storey tower hardly embodies the spirit intended by the original developers of The District and it does absolutely nothing to maintain the integrity of this extremely important historical site.

Eagle Eyes

I’ve never thought that my eyesight was particularly good or outstanding. I actually have to wear glasses to see into the distance and my night vision sucks. One thing I’m good at, however, is finding things. The smaller, and the more inconvenient the spot, the better I am at locating it.

A few years ago, I remember sitting at an outdoor bar in Puerto Vallarta, about six feet from the beach, when the guy I was sitting beside yelped because he had lost one of his contacts. Apparently it popped right out of his eye. (I don’t wear contacts so I’m not sure how these things can happen …). We were sitting with a large group of drunken tourists and the floor was comprised of large, uneven tiles, cemented together.

Within seconds, everyone was scrambling around on their hands and knees under the table. After they all gave up, I found his contact lens and handed it to him. He was very thankful as he had just started his vacation and was imagining trying to buy contact lenses in Mexico.

Last month, I attended a girls’ weekend up at a friend’s cottage. We were all sitting outside, when our hostess gasped and grabbed her ear lob. She had been fiddling with one of her gold earrings and it fell off, through the slats in the wooden deck and onto the ground below us. We all headed down to see if we could find it. At this point, I was somewhat sure of my skills so I told everyone not to worry, that I would find it.

The underside of the deck was some 15 feet above the spot where her earring landed and the space was covered with dirt, dried pine needles and small rocks. We all started looking but eventually they all gave up, except for me. I sent her back up to the deck with some small stones and asked her to drop them through the slats in the deck so that I could see their trajectory. Sure enough, I found her earring, which was about ½ inch in diameter.

My latest “find” involves one of the articling students with whom I work and another earring. This time, it was a 1 mm. pearl stud. Fortunately, she hadn’t travelled far since she arrived that morning -- she had been to my desk, went into the copy room and was sitting in her office. I assured her I would find it and relayed the contact lens story.

We checked around my desk space, through the copy room and I finally followed her into her office where I advised her to check the inside of her clothes. It was at this point that I came around her desk and looked underneath. The earring was lying in one of her loafers, under her desk. As you can see, my recovery record is pretty impressive and my confidence is growing.

It’s a gift. LOL

I Got My Hair Cut ...

... and it is wash and wear. So tell me, do you love it or hate it? LOL

Highway of Heroes

The following link is for an on-line petition, to name the portion of Highway 401 from Trenton to Toronto to the "Highway of Heroes" ... this is the portion of highway that all fallen soldiers travel, when they are returned home.

Click here to sign the petition.

For The Love Of Shoes!

What is it with women and shoes? I used to think my love of shoes was a result of the Italian blood coursing through my veins. (For some reason, when I was younger, I always attributed great fashion and style to the Italians. Go figure?) Now I believe it has more to do with hormones than blood-ties. Almost every woman I know is obsessed with (1) their hair (2) their weight and (3) shoes!!!

When I was still in high school (mid-70s), platforms and wedgies were all the rage. I was barely working part-time while going to school and didn’t have any money to buy my own shoes. My mother was adamant that I wasn’t getting them but I wore her down and she gave me the money for a pair of metallic blue vinyl Mary Janes with a wedgie sole. I wore those shoes until the vinyl cracked!

On my first long distance trip away from home to Florida during March Break in Grade 10 or 11, I bought a pair of platform sandals, again in blue, with a four inch woven platform and blue leather straps on the sandal. I could barely wobble around in those shoes on my (then) skinny legs but I thought I was the BOMB!

My obsession with shoes began in earnest when I started working full-time and earning a paycheque. For a while, I went through the “antique” shoe phase, especially when I found two pairs, circa 1950, in a second-hand clothing store in my home town. It was in the late 70s and the shoes were pointy-toes stilettos. I wore those shoes dancing every weekend at the disco! I wore them down to the point of no recovery and threw them out. (What was I thinking???) However, I still have the antique handbag I bought with them.

After I moved to Ottawa in the 80s, I was still very much into high heels, along with short skirts. (I had the legs and the ass to pull it off back then, since I was doing aerobics almost every day!) My favourite pair were white leather, with a four inch heel and a piece of gold-toned metal wrapped around the point of the toe. I remember taking my shoes off one night in Hull, at about 4AM and asking my dance partner for a foot massage. He recoiled in horror, accusing me of having “stinky” feet. I shoved my shoe in his face and made him take a whiff – there was no smell. I learned early on that real leather shoes do not cause foot odor! I also had a pair of black suede pumps with a gold metal spike heel. These shoes were fierce! I used to take one off and hammer it on the table or bar menacingly to scare off creepy guys. That shoe could do serious damage in the right hands!

Then the line dancing craze started and everyone had to own a pair of cowboy boots. I, of course, bought a red pair and wore them so much, they had holes in them. The thing with boots is, you can wear almost all year round except for a couple of months in the summer when it’s too hot. After I moved to Toronto and started making “serious” money, I worked for a small law firm downtown, ½ block off Yonge Street. Right around the corner were two stores with rows and rows of colourful cowboy boots. I splurged on a pair of red and black Sanchos (Made in Spain) for approximately $500. I still have those boots and only wear them on cool, dry days. They are lined in leather and fit like soft velvet gloves. I love those boots!!!

After living in Mexico for almost three years, I was so happy to come home to the four different seasons in the year. Autumn really is my favourite because I can start wearing my leather coats and boot collection (see my Favourite Things blog for pics). My latest addition is a pair of Nine West dark brown leather ankle boots, for which I paid $35US (regular $105US, no tax in PA!). Sandy, email me if you want a pic of them. LOL

Now that I've grown up (!) and my world has expanded to incorporate other styles and designers, I've discovered Christian Louboutin. This man is an artist -- so much so that his shoes are on display at The Bata Shoe Museum. Sumptuous leather, 75mm to a staggering 140 mm stiletto heels, with a red laquered sole. YUM!!! Each pair of shoes is handmade and takes four craftsmen over a week to complete. The shoes are surprisingly comfortable ... I should know! I just tried on a pair of $625 black leather pumps. I'm a size 36.5 in case anyone is feeling particularly generous. I'll be checking out the boutique when I'm Paris in October. To see what I'm talking about, go to Christian Louboutin's website here. Vive la France!!!