Tailspin

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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.

Toronto skyline from the ferry

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:

  1. walking my dog
  2. cleaning stuff (because it’s usually been awhile)
  3. sitting at my laptop volunteering/blogging
  4. 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?

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

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.

My big, fat Franco-Ontarian wedding

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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!

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.

 

The benefits of dog walking

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Every morning, I wake up at 6:45 a.m. and put on:

  • A pair of wool socks
  • And then another
  • Long johns
  • Sweat pants
  • A tank top
  • A t-shirt
  • A hoodie
  • A down parka
  • Sorel boots
  • A long scarf
  • Some woollen mittens
  • And a toque

before filling my pockets with lavender-scented poop bags and kibble. Then I spend a solid 10 minutes trying to clip a leash on my very excited dog before michelin-manning it out the back door.

Every time that blast of cold hits my face, I think: “I’m a good dog owner, I’m a good owner, I’m a good dog owner” while gritting my teeth and dreaming about the fence we’re going to get as soon as the ground thaws. By about the tenth minute, we’ve reached a local trail and Odie is prancing about like a king. I can’t feel my nose.

FullSizeRender

There are no dignified photos of me in my dog walk getup, so here’s one of Odie in the snow, pre haircut.

The walk home – about half an hour later – is usually a bit more eventful. Cars pulling out of driveways, kids walking to school, and retirees taking out their garbage in their pyjamas. Odie, whose universe used to be limited to a backyard, greets them all by jumping on them.

But last week he suddenly started barking. I was puzzled until I saw the stout elderly lady who had slipped and fallen. She’d been on the ground in her nightgown for nearly half an hour in -35 degree weather. Her nose was bleeding, but she didn’t want a doctor. She asked for help getting up and into the warmth of her home.

I tied Odie to a post, put one of my billion layers over her legs, ran to get JF, and we helped her inside. After about ten minutes of hand-wringing over the possibility that she was concussed, I called the paramedics after all. Before leaving for work, I made sure they found her house.

On our after-work walk, Odie and I dropped in for a visit. Jean was fine, but her nose hurt like the dickens.

Morals of the story? Dog walking is a great way to meet people. Also, visit your older neighbours regularly. Also, spring will be awesome.

Digging around for his frisbee

Digging around for his frisbee

Homelessness in Elmvale

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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.

FullSizeRenderTonight, 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.

30 gifts

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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.

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.

This is us trying to embrace winter.

So here it is, my cure for the murky, miserable winter blues.

In 2014 I…

  1. Played my first round of real Penetang bingo.
  2. Took on a new volunteer role with le Festival du Loup.
  3. Travelled to England to see dad and Nora get hitched.
  4. Survived the worst winter ever – barely.
  5. Bought a snowblower. We’ve christened it blowy.
  6. Tried and loved stand up paddleboarding.
  7. Hosted a few good shindigs.
  8. Met real witches in Salem on Halloween.
  9. Drywalled the kitchen ceiling and painted the attic.
  10. Sang and played in public – a bunch!
  11. Celebrated New Year’s Eve in Paris.
  12. Explored every high tea joint in Toronto, eating tiny sandwiches at every one.
  13. Started going to the gym again – kind of.
  14. Toasted my sister and her perfect partner at their wedding. 
  15. Became flexitarian.
  16. Checked out the Elmvale Maple Syrup Festival.
  17. Made the local papers a few times.
  18. Baked cookies with cousins.
  19. Kindled my passion for municipal politics by volunteering.
  20. Deepened my love of boardgames. For our wedding, we might register for Ubongo, Munchkin and Dominion.
  21. Celebrated a whole year of blogging.
  22. Was offered a fantastic permanent job.
  23. Kind of figured out the gardening thing – kind of.
  24. Got into the Elmvale groove.
  25. Went on another wine-fuelled trip with the Humber gals.
  26. Played my first round of golf and didn’t totally suck.
  27. Joined our local francophone community choir.
  28. Celebrated nine years with the world’s handsomest Franco-Ontarian.
  29. Dropped my 15-year Wal-Mart boycott and took vavo shopping.
  30. Got to know every inch of Tiny Marsh.
Maybe winter isn't so bad after all!

Maybe winter isn’t so bad after all!

Much love to all the beautiful people who made 2014 great. May you all enjoy 2015 as much as I think I will.

The big friendly giant

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A big black dog sitting on a little bed

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?

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.

Ring-ing in the new year

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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.

This is us, right after he asked me.

This is us, right after he asked me.

A lot of people are surprised at this news. I was too! For years I hoped – but didn’t expect – to officially commit to the world’s handsomest Franco-Ontarian engineer.

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

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!

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.

Another one of us in Portugal, just for kicks.

Another one of us in Portugal, just for kicks.

Letting my heart be light

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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.

The gift of time

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Snow day. Two words that come together so beautifully.

Last night, a lot of snow angrily swirled its way to the ground. This morning, I got a call at 6:30 a.m. saying our offices were closed because snowploughs couldn’t clear parking lots fast enough. Magic.

Downside of snow 3: driving
Downside of snow 2: cleaning off my car
Downside of snow one: shovelling

After lingering in bed over a book, I cleaned house, washed clothes, and ran errands. I put the crockpot on at noon, ordered Christmas gifts (fa la la la la!) and picked up the mail. It felt marvellously unhurried, yet efficient.

Part of me loved Toronto’s mild winters – I wore wellies through January 2013 – but in my six years of working there, there were only three total snow days. Yes, I counted.

As JF and I learned last year, winters in Simcoe County are cold and long. The shovelling gets tiresome. But our snowstorms deliver whole days where I do exactly what I want to do. And every time it happens, I’m so grateful for the gift of time.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7a89Wxr-afE

You had me at hello

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There are romantics, and then there’s my dad.

My dad, performing at a pub in Midland last year.

My dad, performing at a pub in Midland last year.

On father’s day, most people buy their dads fishing rods, barbecue sauce, beer and power tools. My dad, a musician and poet, always insists he only wants hugs. We get him candles, notebooks, rom-coms, and treble-clef-covered tchotchkes.

I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be more sappy. But about a year ago, while on vacation in England, his gushy idealism reached a whole new level.

Before settling into a train ride to Edinburg, my dad – single for the last 15 years – placed his suitcase on the seat next to him. A few minutes later a woman asked him if he would kindly move it so she could take her spot. He acquiesced, and they chatted through the whole trip.

About a week after that, Nora met him at the airport to say goodbye. They went out for hamburgers and vowed to keep in touch. Over the following weeks, they talked every day – using FaceTime to bridge the enormous distance between Midland, Ontario and London, England. He was head over heels.

Dad went to London for Christmas 2013, and when he got back, they were engaged. I had never seen him so happy. By March, he had moved there.

 

Things got a little dicey with immigration over the summer. And I have to admit to wondering whether the whole thing might be an elaborate scam. But I can now safely say that my sisters and I will be donning our best togs and toasting their marriage on December 28 – in jolly old Britain.

This is a beautiful story for about a billion reasons. They were both lonely. They didn’t let a single obstacle get in their way. They will live happily ever after. But most of all, it’s beautiful because it’s proof that anyone – even the most romantic of romantics – can find true love.

And I must be my father’s daughter because the whole saga makes me believe in pixies and pots of gold.

Félicitations, Pa! xo

Félicitations, Pa! xo