Category Archives: Love, Family and Friends

A year ago

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367 days ago at this time, I was hugging my beautiful Toronto work friends goodbye. I remember feeling a happy fluttering in my belly, along with a strong urge to throw up. Walking away from my downtown office is when I actually internalized the fact that, for better or worse, I was finishing and beginning an adventure.

Screen shot that says "you registered on WordPress.com 1 year ago! Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging!"

This popped up on my phone on May 31, 2014. Thanks WordPress!

The night before, I had spent an hour hammering out my first blog post. Reading it brings so many feelings back into my head and heart. It was exhilarating to know we were finally going to give our dream lifestyle a shot. And horrifying to think we were leaving stability behind.

In the days that followed, I called our wonderful landlords (how I now admire their impeccable yard skills!) to tell them we were moving. I picked up dozens of regrettably empty boxes from the LCBO. And we ordered last suppers from our favourite delivery places — I miss you, Banjara Indian Cuisine.

Fast forward to now, when I’m often asked if the whole thing was worth it. It’s a tough question to answer.

Most days, I say yes. In this new life, I cook more, see JF more, read more, spend more time living en francais, see family more, and give back to causes that mean more to me. I also love working on our house, in our garden, in our little town.

But is our new life everything we expected? Of course not. I still overload my schedule. I haven’t properly broken in my new purple sneakers. My job is great, but short-term. Our red brick beast/house adds a whole new layer of busy. The hammock we pictured ourselves regularly lying in hasn’t even been installed. And there are Toronto people and things I miss ferociously.

After weighing both then and now, I’ve concluded that I’m closer to who and where I want to be than I was a year ago. I’ve also decided it’s important to have those someday dreams. But it’s equally important that I remember to enjoy the lumpy, potholed (or these days, mosquito-ridden) road I’m on. At the very least, I think I’m headed in the right direction.

Dandelions in a farmer’s field by our house. I know I’m supposed to hate them, but I like them.
My clothesline. It squeaks and doesn’t move up and down very well, but it’s mine!
Members of my Rebelo family playing World (e.g. this violent but awesome street game http://bit.ly/Sp6QiN)

Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place

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I know, I know. It’s been way too long since my last blog post. To those who have come to expect weekly updates, I apologize. Gaps like this shouldn’t happen again – too often.

In my defense, it’s been a rather busy few weeks. In addition to my usual social adventures, I got over my fear of gardening:

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Sang and played in public:

Greg and I, performing

My new friend Greg and I, performing at the Advanced Learning Conference

And celebrated my amazing mother:

My mom, laughing

Maman

But more than any of those things, my energy and enthusiasm were directed toward a single very important event: my babelicious sister Alicia’s marriage to her beautiful Sebastien.

My sisters an I

Alicia (right) in all her glory. That’s Geneviève and I to her left.

If you know my fam jam, you know Alicia and I couldn’t be more different. I played with Barbies; she played with Tonka trucks. I studied the impact of colonialism on third world countries; she has an engineering degree. I like Bananagrams; she plays League of Legends. I’m vegetarian; she loves ribs.

My someday wedding will be simple. Probably a backyard barbecue. Alicia, on the other hand, bought herself a red Cinderella gown, rented a hall with vaulted ceilings, pulled together a full and fun bridal party, hired an amazing caterer, then invited her many guests come in victorian steampunk attire. (SIDE NOTE: Don’t know what steampunk is? Neither did I. Try Google images.)

Of course, their ceremony music was from Moulin Rouge: 

I didn’t take pictures until after dinner (e.g. well into wine), so I’m very much looking forward to the images by Kelly Moss, Midland’s superstar photographer. Here are some to tide you over:

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I’ll admit, I had my doubts. But it turns out Alicia isn’t adopted, because eventually, I got into it. I liked the lace parasols, rusted key seating chart, and vaudeville-inspired photo booth. And I was delighted with my poofy hair and mini top hat fascinator.

But most of all, I adored seeing my radiantly happy sister exchange vows with her brilliant and kind partner. I have never seen a person so happy and in love as Seb when he put that ring on her finger. I’m so privileged to have been part of their day and so glad they found each other.

The lovebirds, on a less glamorous day.

The lovebirds, on a less glamorous day.

Mother’s Day

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This is my mom, cooking as usual.

My mom, cooking as usual

My mom houses me when I’m homeless, points the way when I need direction, and cares for me when I’m sick. Last week, when I was feeling overwhelmed by the weeds in my garden, she and my avo spent an afternoon cleaning my yard.

Maman is one of those unsung heroes of the world. She quietly, but efficiently, fundraises for charity, volunteers at community events, and excels in her work — all while keeping a meticulous house, exercising regularly, making deliciously elaborate meals, socializing with her Manhattan-sized network of friends, and beautifying the universe with her impeccable taste.

Sometimes it rankles to know that my mother is, and always will be, infinitely cooler than I am. When I was in high school handsome young men I liked would tell me they had a crush on her. Talk about your classic chopped liver.

Mom and me, circa 1985

Classic Mikaela and mom, circa 1985

But mostly, I’m just grateful that some miracle resulted in her giving birth to me.

One of my goals in moving from Toronto to Simcoe County was to spend more time with family. And when I picture my family, my mom is always at the centre.

Just a year ago, a weekend in Midland meant slogging through cottage country traffic, cramming in visits with friends, eating mom’s food, then schlepping back to the city to crash. Last night, a Tuesday, I had her and some friends over for a casual and decidedly unhurried dinner. Radical.

It’s sad that we only carve out one day of the year’s 365 (or 0.3%) to express gratitude to moms — so often the most amazing people, and the most taken for granted.

So here’s to mothers everywhere. But let’s face it, mine’s the best.

Mom and I, sometime last year

Mom and I, last year

 

Finding Humphrey

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Back in 2013, when we were pondering the move from city to country, we had a very specific lifestyle in mind.

Picture an ecologically and beautifully renovated old stone farmhouse on a hill, hidden from the road. Every day after work, I’d wear a big floppy hat and tend an organic vegetable garden while JF went birding with our dog Humphrey. Then we’d read together on a big, soft sofa by the fire, the dog curled up at our feet.

It was a nice dream. Instead, we bought a fireplace-less (but pretty!) victorian house on the main street in Elmvale. I’m out most evenings and haven’t touched the garden. JF sneaks in some birding between slow and painful renovations. I’ve read only two books since August.

But there’s still the question of Humphrey.

The closest I came to a childhood pet was the time mom let me keep some toads in a bucket on our deck. I was a bad toadmother and they got away. So, I’ve been asking myself two important questions:

  1. Am I attracted to the idea of a dog, or do I actually want one?
  2. Am I prepared for all aspects of dog ownership?

I’m certain there are things we should do before diving into the world of chew toys and poop bags — like actually answer those two questions and maybe fence in our yard — but the far more fun thing to think about is what kind of puppy we’ll get.

We both really want a rescue, but my nasty allergies and overzealous cleaning habits mean we’re thinking hypoallergenic and non-shedding. So, in the manner of my friend Brad’s most recent blog post, I’d like you all to vote for one of the following options:

  1. Airedale Terrier
  2. Barbet
  3. Bernedoodle
  4. Petit Basset Griffon Vendéen
  5. Schnauzer
  6. Sheepadoodle

VOTE HERE and help us choose!

My funny valentine

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Yesterday, I re-read my blog top to bottom. Leaned into it with magnifying glass, found a few typos, wished I’d said some things differently, swallowed a few reminders of my brashness.

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JF and I at Fort Henry

I realized that not a single post paid homage to my partner, JF – the quiet, perfect person who makes me functional.

Ours isn’t a new or sparkly love. It’s kind of like our house – charming, old, beautiful, quirky, a little worn, comfortable. We work at it a lot. I’m drawn to it. It’s where I want to be most of the time.

JF fixes things, keeps me humble, and likes birds. He reminds me that I enjoy mopey folk music, makes me laugh, and raps about things like toast. He rubs my back when I’m sick and holds my hand when we walk together.

I’m a sentimental boob all of the time, but maybe that’s because I’ve got such a lovely person to be sentimental about. I’m grateful for him every day. Even when he leaves his dirty socks on the coffee table.

Família

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An older woman sits on a deck

My grandma. Her name is Micaela and I was named after her.

Ask my Portuguese grandma how she’s doing and her response (delivered with a thick
accent) will almost always be one of the following:

  • Still alive,
  • Above ground, or
  • Fine.

Hardly cheerful, but certainly honest. I wish I had the license for brutal truth telling she currently carries in her giant, practical black purse.

When she was visiting her hometown of Algarvia a few years ago, she ran into an acquaintance on the way to church. He was bent over with old age and barely able to walk. She said to him: “You’re still alive? If I had your health I’d rather be dead.” He passed away later that week.

That kind of earnestness can be tough – especially when directed at me – but I wouldn’t trade my avò in for a hundred ladies of Fatima.

Until I was about 14, I’d go to her house in Perkinsfield every day after school with my sisters. She’d serve us bean soup, giblet stew, bacalhau or shake n’ bake – always with a side of homemade bread and practical advice, washed down with coca-cola.

Avò, my sister Alicia, and my cousins Priscilla and Nathanael. Oh, and a baby bathtub full of dough.

Avò, my sister Alicia, and my cousins Priscilla and Nathanael. Oh, and a baby bathtub full of dough.

After eating twice our weight in her immaculate kitchen we’d watch Sailor Moon from her floral couches and play backgammon with our uncle John (a.k.a. João). Then she’d bundle us up, kiss us on the head, and send us across the yard to our house so we could get ready for bed.

Avò always says that family is the most important thing. When I think about how much she’s done for me, it’s clear she lives by that affirmation.

Spending time with my grandma today reminds me of the deep tunnels my family has dug into my heart. Some memories are etched onto my brain forever, squished tight against some kind of giant, pulsing affection node.

Love like that can never hold a stain or wrinkle – kind of like her table linens. So even though I no longer eat giblet stew, I’m grateful to be able to drive 15 minutes to her place for a cup of tea and a story about the old country.

Me and my grandma, outside her house

I think we look alike, don’t you?

29 gifts

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Every January, my slightly-above-average whining abilities grow to superhuman, x-men mutant power strength.

This year’s self-pity key messages include: “Christmas is over,” “I’m exhausted,” “that wasn’t a real vacation,” “I’m sick,” “I’m overweight,” “our 113-year-old house is draughty,” “my arms aches from shovelling,” and the classic “there are three long months of winter to go.” Blurgh. Cough. Sigh.

When I was 12, my mom rarely let me spend more than 10 minutes being surly and grumbly. As soon as she heard a complaint or sniffle, she started singing this song:

So, with the grouch anthem bouncing around in my skull, I’ve decided that instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’m going to:

  1. Focus on the positive. Like my friend Kristin, who keeps reminding me of life’s gifts.
  2. Cleanse. JF and I are officially off wheat, dairy, sugar, caffeine and booze for two weeks.
  3. Clean the house. I’m obsessively tidy, but the place hasn’t been scrubbed down since early December.
  4. Exercise. I’ve bought some purple shoes. Now I have to use them.
Purple, adidas running shoes - squeaky clean

My new, squeaky clean runners. Talk about incentive!

To start thinking positively, I’m emulating a former colleague. On her birthday, she makes a list of highlights from the year gone by – with one bullet for every year she’s been in the world. Here’s my new year take on her tradition.

In 2013 I…

  1. Finally achieved my dearest wish: slowing down and moving back to Simcoe County
  2. Discovered that for good friends, the road from Elmvale to Toronto (and vice-versa) isn’t so long
  3. Celebrated eight years with a handsome, kind and smart man
  4. Bought a big, beautiful, draughty house
  5. Cleared said house of wallpaper
  6. Watched the sun rise over the north rim of the Grand Canyon
  7. Accompanied one of my dearest friends down the aisle
  8. Gained a “new” car and travel buddy
  9. Celebrated my sister’s engagement to an amazing person
  10. Hiked to the highest point in Zion National Park in excellent company
  11. Had a great time making ugly clay bowls at the Gardiner Museum
  12. Joined a book club
  13. Performed with two great choirs – I even did a small solo
  14. Grew my hair long
  15. Explored Ontario on weekend trips with JF
  16. Planted a lilac tree in my own garden, to honour mémère
  17. Went on a wine and pizza-fuelled road trip with college friends
  18. Took a graphic design course at OCAD
  19. Took on some exciting new volunteer roles
  20. Found a great (and local!) job
  21. Started a blog
  22. Had my avo over for dinner for the first time ever
  23. Saw my dad finally find true love
  24. Rode the barf-inducing Polar Express at the Elmvale Fall Fair
  25. Hosted a few good parties
  26. Flew to New York with some great people
  27. Discovered lululemon tights
  28. Had the Rebelo cousins (age 8 to 25) over for the weekend
  29. Got and decorated my first Christmas tree

Reading this list banishes all of that whiny goop from my heart and reminds me that I really am tremendously, astoundingly lucky.

If you’ve got the early winter blues, I recommend blessing-counting. It works just as well as your granny promised.

Finishing the Christmas Marathon

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My romantic soul is always glad to see friends and family, admire sparkling snow and tinsel, sing carols, and sit by the fire. But even I’m about ready to bring this festive season to a close.

Since December15, I’ve taken part in over a dozen holiday gatherings with people I adore. They all featured jingling music, good laughs and games – plus cookies, alcohol, and (often) that addictive layered salsa and cheese dip that everyone’s mom seems to make.

I call this back-to-back line up of heart-warming, artery-clogging parties the Christmas Marathon. I start the race happily chugging along, but by about 2 p.m. on New Year’s Day, I’m crawling to the finish line, weighed down by holiday excess.

New Year’s Eve is my last hurrah – the final sprint. At this moment, I’m looking forward to visiting with dear friends and popping some champagne. I’m also exhausted to the core and battered by my annual Christmas virus – my body’s way of saying: “stop! stop! too much wine!”

As I pull on my rather tight party dress and pack Tobias’s boot with board games, booze and Benadryl, I’m as excited about the evening ahead as I am about the next day. With a bit of luck, I’ll spend tomorrow night sitting on my couch, eating kale, and remembering the joys of the festive season.

Happy New Year to all!

The Paint Fairy

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Anyone who has ever read A Little Princess remembers the happy moment when the kind neighbour starts turning Sara Crewe’s cold attic into a cozy haven. She gets back after a day’s hard labour to find warm slippers, a comfy chair, and a hot dinner.

Well, JF and I have our own special benefactor: my amazing (generous, funny, smart) aunt JoAnne, a.k.a. the Paint Fairy.

The Paint Fairy comes into our house while we’re at work and makes magical things happen. First, she made our ugly purple stairs a more dignified black.

Left: purple city. Right: dignified black

Left: purple city. Right: dignified black

Then, she swapped our grimy yellow doors for neutral white ones.

Left: Yellow doors, white walls. Right: white doors, white walls.

Left: Yellow doors, white walls. Right: white doors, white walls.

She never drips, does as many coats as it takes, cleans everything up, and leaves nice notes on the kitchen table.

She also (I suspect) does far more than she lets on. Something tells me all the trim in the hallway is looking fresher than before, and I’m pretty sure those exposed pipes were a dirty brown.

The Paint Fairy’s gifts – time and energy – are infinitely better than money under my pillow or presents under my tree, because they make my too looooong to do list that much shorter. And they instantly put me in a good mood when I get home.

Because she won’t let me thank her with money or presents (she’s granted me dinner at our place… pretty sure she’s never sampled my cooking) I want to thank her here.

Merci, ma tante, pour ton merveilleux cadeau. Je t’aime.

If there were more paint fairies out there, the world would be a happier place.

Citry girl in New York

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These days I kind of feel like my Portuguese mom would have felt a year after moving to Manitouwadge from the Azores: super confused about my identity.

I’m not a posh Torontoist, but I’m not a bumpkin from Perkinsfield anymore either. I scoff at people in crocs, but snort at those who order espresso. It’s an interesting space to inhabit.

I’m a country-turned-city-turned-country girl, or (another hybrid word!) a citry girl. And this citry girl just got back from an extended weekend in New York.

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Mireille and Cynthis in Times Square

I’m not going to lie, the trip kind of made me miss Toronto. Not because New York’s not awesome, but because big cities can be.

We shopped for sunglasses at 2 a.m. in Times Square, ate amazing Indian food on Diwali, and bought handmade jewellery from an artisan’s market in Greenwich Village. Somehow Elmvale’s gift shop, Chinese food and farmer’s market can’t quite compare.

Ghost busters stand in a group

Halloween in NYC means meeting Ghost Busters!

Exploring some parts of New York felt to me like bumping into childhood friends – your guts say you know them but you don’t actually. Wall Street is like Bay street, but with better bagels. Fifth Avenue is like Yorkville times 20. Central Park is like High Park, but bigger and, well, central.

Rockefeller Tower

Rockefeller

It was pretty wonderful to be in the thick of it all, but at the end, it was equally wonderful to park my car next to my big red house, step out, and smell the fresh country air.

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Skyline with lady liberty

A big, warm thank you to Mireille and Cynthia, my travel buddies, for sharing the big apple with me. A little city adventure was just what I needed to appreciate where I’ve been and where I’m going.

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Me at the Staten Island Ferry