My mother’s garden is beautiful – a layered work of art. My mémère’s garden had a spectacular assortment of roses and lilacs, perfectly pruned. My avo’s garden is full of robust vegetables, and blooms that smell like her islands. They all putter in big hats.
Yet, their skill continues to elude me – like their cooking genes. I’ve got a black thumb and it sucks. BUT, like Charlie Brown with his football, I keep trying anyway. And lately, I’ve actually made some progress.
I put a lot of tasty plants in pots. They help me with mojitos, pizza and salad.
Herby pots. Mmmmmm.
2. With help from Helena, Fina, Andy and Owen, I added a new garden bed. Don’t ask me to identify plants.
Plants donated by my family, plus the lilac bush JF bought me to honour mémère
3. I expanded my herb garden. Problem is, I already had all the “normal” herbs. So if you ever need sweet woodruff or russian sage give me a call.
Plus some ferns and a bush from Heather and Jerry that I can’t seem to identify. Anyone know what it is?
4. We have beautiful old trees and little sunlight. That means a lot of hostas.
I’ve added some trumpet vines and bee balm to the hostas
5. I added forsythia and creeping jenny to this garden bed. David is looking solemn and beautiful as ever.
David, peeking through the lilies and hostas
6. I created a shade garden last year. No flower will ever bloom in this dark corner, but it’s starting to look green and happy.
Hostas, hostas all around
7. This is my hopeless cause. The hostas, ferns and hydrangeas are filling in nicely. So is this creeping evil plant that is temporarily pretty but then just swallows up everything else.
So, so, so full of weeds, punctuated by hostas
There are tons of other problem spots (a weedy stone path, those damn dandelions, illogical decks) but I feel like I’ve made some progress. I’m celebrating the small wins.
I’ve struggled to write lately, because there’s at once so much and so little to say. Life – full of to dos, visits and meetings – is blasting by at warp nine. Yet, it all feels rather pleasantly humdrum.
But instead of letting you believe I’ve been eaten by Odie, my blog left to wither tragically, I thought I may as well share some updates from Elmvale.
1. The Lefaive girls are back in business
Gen has returned from the distant land of Guelph to eat mom’s food and work at ye olde Disco Harbour. It’s been great to see her more regularly.
2. Odie is a sweet terror
He playfully flattens all children. JF says his wagging tail feels like a bludger to the crotch. He also accidentally crushes your toes when accosting you for affection. On the upside, he now knows how to sit AND walk on a leash (little victories!).
3. Wedding plans are progressing
We have a location, a tent, a caterer, flowers, a dress and an officiant. Plus a lovely friend has offered to make 100 invitations by hand. Please make note of their loveliness when you get yours.
4. We’re regularly visiting the sands of our youth
We splurged and bought a Tiny Township beach pass for Tobias. I’m pissed at the cottagers who erect barriers (physical and metaphysical) to keep locals out – my family has been using these beaches a century longer than yours! – but glad this option for pseudo access still exists. Here’s to the smell of coppertone.
5. I joined another board
Yes I know, I was just whining about how busy I am. But I couldn’t say no. It’s with La Clé – an organization that’s vital to the health and well-being of the local francophone community. I’m delighted to represent both my hometown and my age bracket.
6. My garden has expanded
Helena and Owen devoted a whole day to helping me create a new garden bed in the yard. It’s looking a little sparse, but (finally!) intentional.
7. My choir did another concert
Minus a few terrifying bars, it was quite good. We were mostly on key and everything. And I always feel good after singing with friends.
8. The 2015 Humber High reunion took place
The gals from PR school do an annual general meeting. It always includes food and shenanigans. This time, we had a big breakfast then went to Body Blitz, sat around in warm water all day, and talked. It rocked.
No one likes a bathing suit photo poster, so here’s last year’s AGM
9. I painted a wolf
Or rather, a wolf cutout, at Quest Art. Several acrylic-splattered howlers, including mine, will be available at le Festival du Loup through a silent auction benefiting both the gallery and local francophone musicians. Win win!
10. We bought a Roomba
This shouldn’t be news, but this little round robot is so beautiful to me. He whirls around, bumping into furniture, happily beeping and sucking up dirt. We’ve named him Rambo and I dedicate this song to him.
I think that’s kind of it, folks! I figure since I’m getting as granular as dirt on my floor, it’s probably time to stop. The road goes ever ever on (how many nerd references can I fit into one blog post?).
A few days ago, Kristin challenged her friends to summarize the soundtrack of their lives in 12 songs.
Next to the people and Odies I love — and maybe garage sales — music is my very favourite thing. I have several thousand CDs, 13,000 songs on my iPod, dozens of classical piano books, a musician father, and a long history of attending concerts.
Narrowing the huge pool of wonderful things my ears have experienced down to 12 measly songs was a daunting task. So with a nudge from my friend Elaine, I decided to pick songs that have been important to me over the years — not necessarily my favourite songs today — and post them in chronological order.
1. Simon and Garfunkel, Cecelia – age 6
When we first moved to our brand new house in Perkinsfield, the floors were so glossy and smooth that Alicia and I would sprint and slide across the dining room in our wool socks – inside out, for extra speed. For some reason, the game only worked with this song.
2. The Cranberries, Ode to my family – age 10ish
The first album I ever bought for myself was The Cranberries’ No Need to Argue. It was the year Santa gave me a ghetto blaster for Christmas. I would lie on my bedroom carpet, stare moodily at the ceiling, and listen to this on repeat.
3. Stephane Grappelli and Django Reinhardt, HCQ Strut – age 12ish
Suddenly, I loved jazz. None of that newfangled modern stuff with chords that hurt my ears. Just the greats. And this particular ditty always sent me to a happy place.
4. Chet Baker, I get along without you very well – age 13ish
This man. I think I was in love with him. I dreamed of going back in time and saving him from his addictions. Then we’d buy a cottage in the mountains where he would play and sing for me all day long. I may still be in love with him! Sigh. Perfect music to dream to.
5. Beck, Nicotine and Gravy – age 15ish
I’d heard Odelay, but Midnight Vultures blew my mind. It’s still one of my “if you lived on a deserted island” albums. And this song, with its fantastic layers, was a favourite. A Beck show is still on the bucket list. To Kanye, I say suck it.
6. Radiohead, No Surprises – age 17ish
When I was at my very lowest, I started my relationship with Radiohead. I’m not sure they contributed positively to my mental health, but they made music better.
7. The Flaming Lips, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots pt. 1 – age 19
In my first year of university, I stayed with my aunt Fina and uncle Andy for a few days because I was dying of the flu. Fina made me soup. Andy cranked the Flaming Lips. And I got better. Every once in awhile, I still dust this song off and take it for a spin.
8. Wilco, Jesus, etc. – age 20
In my second year of university, JF – lover of mopey cowboy music – stepped into my life again. He made me a mixed CD with Bright Eyes, Antony and the Johnsons, Les Cowboys Fringants, Joanna Newsom, and this song. Wilco’s Sky Blue Sky show in Toronto is one of the best concerts I’ve been to. We love them still.
9. Elliott Brood, Only at home – age 23ish
For some reason, this is still one of my very favourite driving songs. I know all the words (or sounds? Pretty tough to tell what he’s saying) and always scream at the end.
10. Vampire Weekend, M79 – age 25ish
When this album came out, my ears were delighted. Harpsichord AND synthesizer AND xylophone, all in one sound? Amazing. I remember listening to this song in JF’s tiny little bachelor apartment at Avenue and Eglinton and making fried eggs.
11. Megafaun, The Longest Day – age 27ish
These guys opened for the Mountain Goats at the Opera House and this was the most lovely moment of the evening. We held hands. The rest of their set was lackluster.
12. La Roux, Sexotheqe – present
Lately, I’ve needed a dose of musical sunshine. Here’s a song that makes me bop around on the drive to work.
My life in Toronto was hectic. Between my beautiful friends, my busy job, and my volunteer adventures I was lucky if JF and I spent even two hours a week together on the couch. Weekends were filled with late nights that contributed to my sleep deficit with regularity.
The constant frenzy was part of why I moved. I thought maybe the city, with its americanos and office towers, was the root of the problem. I remembered – and yearned for – the slow and easy pace of my youth in Perkinsfield.
Okay Toronto, I guess it really wasn’t you, it was me.
For awhile there, it looked it really had all been Toronto’s fault. Minus a month or two of frantic spackling and painting, I spent our early days in Simcoe County reveling in the luxury of an relatively empty calendar. “Aha!” I thought to myself as I watched home decorating shows, “country life IS slower!”
Then I joined a committee or two. Started singing in a choir. Signed up to help with Georgian’s variety show. Made new and awesome local friends. Took on some big projects at work. Began planning my wedding. Got a dog.
You get the picture. We’re back to the old non-routine. My weekends are booked into October. I’m rarely home, and when I’m in Elmvale I’m either:
walking my dog
cleaning stuff (because it’s usually been awhile)
sitting at my laptop volunteering/blogging
sleeping
Oh how I long for uninterrupted couch zombie time!
JF – the master of taking as much time as he needs – has always said that I made myself this way. That I choose to live in a tailspin. That I can opt out any time. That this probably isn’t healthy.
Why is he always right?
It’s time for me to admit that he’s right. My life, as it is, isn’t sustainable. I must slow down. I must choose to do less. I must learn to say no.
Confession: balance has eluded me since I was about 16 years old. For years, my M.O. has been run run yay run run busy run run run ok run CRASH OW BURN… cough… sputter…splat. And lately, the splats have been deeper and heavier.
I’d say I’m in a solid sputter phase right now. All my brain and body seem to want is sleep, snuggles and Star Trek – life’s trifecta of laziness. I’m functioning, but I’m exhausted. I can’t even be bothered to edit this unfiltered blog post. Looking down at my life from above, it’s pretty great. I know that. But when I’m like this, everything feels like a burden.
This is the face of a tired and whiny woman
So friends, don’t be surprised if I can’t come to that volunteer meeting. Can’t hang out this weekend. Can’t commit to that cool project. It’s not because I don’t love you – I do! – it’s because I’m trying remember the grouch anthem, right this tubby old sinking ship, and bail myself out… again.
The date will be June 11, 2016. Our dog will be there. It will be big and casual. There will be booze, dancing, fireworks and a potato gun. But that’s all I know about my wedding, so far.
Us an the Odester. We want this dude there on our big day!
Having a small Franco-Ontarian wedding without maiming hearts is impossible. We have 24 francophone aunts and uncles between us, plus 15 from our German and Portuguese factions. And I love my cousins — all billion of them.
My beautiful Lefaive cousins
Can’t wait to celebrate with these people
My cousin Owen – one of my all-time favourite people
Rebelo cousins (and Steph, who is basically a Rebelo cousin)
I’ve helped plan many weddings. I’ve attended at least 30. We’ve talked extensively about our ideal day. I have a whole pinterest board about it, so it’s practically planned already, right? But with our guest list, it all boils down to what we can afford.
Right now, the big question is the venue. I’ve found a sum total of zero in-budget, non-ugly spaces that can accommodate 200 people that aren’t Elise and Roger’s backyard. Truly, all we need is a pretty field with electricity and space for a thousand cars. Is that so much to ask?
Still, we shall overcome. And however frustrating this first leg of planning is, it’ll be a lovely day with the people dearest to us. Or at least, a memorable one.
It’s the coldest night so far this year, and I can’t stop thinking about the young homeless man who lives in Elmvale. He used to sleep in the post office at night. Then we got this letter.
Tonight, I chatted with him in the lobby of TD Bank. He looked pretty comfortable lying by the ATM, bundled up in his worn sleeping bag and parka, but I doubt he’ll be there long because the building has cameras.
Every time I see him, I think about how desensitized I was to extreme poverty while living in Toronto. Would I have noticed him, young as he is, if he’d been tucked into some archway at Yonge and Dundas? Probably not.
I also think about the invisibility of poverty in places like Elmvale.
Friends who work in social assistance say north Simcoe County has more than its fair share of challenges — addiction, violence, teen pregnancy and hunger. My mom, a former teacher, would come home with stories of students struggling and failing to break the cycle of poverty.
As I type in my pyjamas — with my partner, my dog/furnace, and my sleepytime tea — I am so grateful for the people and things I have. We are fortunate ones.
Last January, in my usual post-holiday melancholy, I wrote a list of 29 gifts offered by the year 2013 – one for each birthday gone by. It was like sunshine on my face after days of cold and dark.
Sunshine on our faces.
This January felt entirely different. After happily bouncing around Europe for a few weeks, I came home rested and excited about my engagement.
Now I’m settling into the usual winter doldrums. Brushing my car off every morning is killing my soul. My face hurts when I walk my (lovely and adorable) dog at 6:30 a.m. I’m dying of a vitamin D deficiency. Yadda yadda yadda.
This is us trying to embrace winter.
So here it is, my cure for the murky, miserable winter blues.
In 2014 I…
Played my first round of real Penetang bingo.
Took on a new volunteer role with le Festival du Loup.
Not Humphrey, but pretty awesome anyway. Welcome, Odie!
Someone has replaced my spreadsheet-making, ever-cautious fiancé (what a weird word!) with his risk-taking, adventurous doppelganger. First, the engagement and now, a dog!
As many of you know, we’ve been trying to adopt a furry friend for about a billion years. We’ve responded to over a dozen Craigslist ads, newspaper listings and kijiji posts – always just a bit too late.
Yesterday morning, JF answered a listing from Wasaga Beach. Odie, a one-year-old bernedoodle, needed a home because his mom was downsizing. To our great delight, she answered within minutes. Could we go see him that afternoon?
When he came bounding up the stairs – a big, black ball of legs and fur – our eyes opened wide in shock. He was enormous! But he snuggled up to us both immediately, laying his head on my hip for a scratch.
After an anxiety-ridden coffee break at Tim Hortons’ (is he TOO big?) we went back to pack his huge crate, bed and dishes into tiny Tobias. He hopped in without hesitation, crouching his head because the roof of the car was too low.
When we got home we took him for a walk and pondered the enormity – literally – or our decision. After setting up his things in the mudroom we watched him excitedly wander around our house. All 85 pounds of him.
How can anyone resist this face?
But when we sat down to watch a movie, he cuddled with us and all was well. How lovely to have a giant, happy, sweet and friendly teddy bear!
There is a lot of training and hard work ahead. But there are also a thousand hugs, kisses and games of fetch. And I’m so excited.
Well, it happened. Nine and a half years after our first date at Festival du Loup, JF asked me to marry him. We’re excited and happy. And slightly terrified at the prospect of planning a big, boozy, Lafontaine-style party.
Before you ask, yes I thought of proposing to him. But I wanted him to want to get married, and uncertainty meant waiting. Which, when you’re with the world’s handsomest Franco-Ontarian engineer, isn’t so bad, really.
Just look at how handsome he is. xo
In any case, he timed his proposal beautifully. We were in the lush gardens of a Portuguese castle, by a waterfall. The sun was setting. We’d spent a lovely week in Lisbon together. We were relaxed and full of delicious custard tarts.
Here’s the castle.
Here’s the waterfall.
Here are the custard tarts.
The proposal, however, was a bit more authentic. He was wearing his ugliest toque. We were walking up a big hill, so I was sweating and wheezing. I had to pee. As we swung by the waterfall, JF grabbed my hand and said: “so pickle, wanna get married?” I was confused, so he added (for clarity): “wanna get married soon?”
Ring. Check!
I laughed, then hugged him and cried. Then – in true JF fashion – he gave me a spreadsheet of ring options. We settled on a simple and pretty pearl, or, as I’ve come to think about it, shiny clam poop.
When I told my avo we were getting married, she said: “that’s nice – and it’s good for the one up there” (she pointed to heaven) and then continued to discuss her arthritis.
That about sums it up. It won’t change much, but it is nice. And it’ll be lovely to have people —friends, family, government, and sure, God—recognize that we’re pleasantly stuck together for life.
I’m an optimist – and generally a pretty positive person – but the gloom of early winter gets to me. Sometimes the dark and cold sneak their way into my brain and leave me feeling totally zapped. Those days, I feel like I could just melt into the upholstery of my sofa.
That’s part of why I love Christmas so much. It’s a big, tinsel-covered excuse for celebration in the middle of the crummiest season. It cures most of my ailments:
Getting poor? Put what you need on your Christmas list!
Need a drink? Cure the doldrums with mulled wine!
Working too hard? Don’t worry, vacation is coming!
Want chocolate? Have one of ten billion holiday cookies on your counter!
Feeling glum? Try singing Deck the Halls five times!
Dark out? Switch on the Christmas lights!
Twinkle lights
Mustachioed wine
Chocolate advent calendar from mom
But it’s not just the gifts, treats, and warm spiced beverages. Christmas lifts me up because of the way people come together. Friends clink glasses, couples watch old movies, families play board games, and organizations work to help their communities. Here are some examples from my life these past few weeks:
Eating sushi made with love by my friends Joël and Danielle
Listening to uncle Louis and his family perform at First Light
Making cookies with JF
Work has felt particularly Christmassy this year. Every department at Georgian is doing something to make a difference. There are coat collections, mitten trees, toy drives, and silent auctions at every corner.
Last week, a dear co-worker met a student in the hallway who was bawling because some inconsiderate movers had bailed on her. She was out of money and short on friends. My boss rallied some of my (bigger, stronger, healthier) colleagues and a few hours of heavy lifting later, the student was settled into her new apartment. It was kindness as its simplest and best.
So as December chugs along, I’m resolving to be kind too. To myself, JF, those I love, the people I meet, and my community as a whole. It’s my cure for slush, wind and ice.
Hello Field 