foto friday: dodie's chair

My great-great aunt Dorothy is a legend. We all called her "Dodie" since my grandmother (when she was a child...that's how far back Dodie goes) couldn't pronounce Dorothy. Dodie lived through two world wars, scarlet fever, and 20+ years as a retired, single woman living in a high rise at Yonge & Bloor. She passed away when I was 18 but she's still one of my heroes.

When she, in her 80s, was diagnosed with cancer she invited family members to her apartment to pick out what they'd like to take. The thought horrified me, mostly because it was my first old-person-almost-about-to-die situation since my grandmother died when I was 8, and partly because I just wanted Dodie to stick around. Forever. I didn't want her stuff, I wanted her.

When I was younger (5? 6 years old?), as we walked through Queen's Park to feed the pigeons, I asked her, "Dodie, when I have kids you're going to be their great-great-GREAT aunt, right?" Dodie squeezed my hand and answered, "We'll just see, won't we?"

Now here we were, her closest family members, in her apartment on Isabella street, half-visiting and half-scoping the place. I remember sitting near her oversized armchair, on the floor, with my back against the arm while she played with my hair. She asked me what I wanted to take. I said nothing. "Pick something out, for me. It would be nice for me to know what you took."

In the end, I asked her travel journals and photo albums, and a poem about the city of Toronto she had written and my uncle Jeff had framed. I remember feeling pleased that it pleased Dodie to have me ask for those particular things. To me, Dodie was a world-traveler but was also a Torontonian at heart. Just like me.

Along with those prized possessions, I inherited a few pieces of furniture after she died. They've resided with me in four apartments and, now, in our first house. One of them was her oversized armchair which we've opted to reupholster and put in our (current) guest room/(future) baby room.

And when our baby is old enough, I'll tell stories about great-great-GREAT aunt Dodie. We'll sit in the oversized armchair and look at travel photo albums.

Anyone know of a reputable reupholsterer?

foto friday: up in the air

The best man on the planet turned 30 on March 6th (he brilliantly chronicled about this milestone here) and as a surprise I took him on a private flight around Toronto. As born-and-raised city kids, there isn't much left in the way of Grand Things that we haven't seen/done in Toronto: the ROM, the Museum, the AGO, the TSO, etc.

We joke that, last year, Andrew took me to the CN Tower for my birthday and this year, well, this year I took him a little higher.

Here are some of the highlights:

Chris, a friend from work, who has his piloting license.
Also very good with keeping secrets.

The plane. Smaaaaall.
Yeah. We're talking small.
The view!
A 45° angle. Fun > what you're imagining.
Handsome on his 30th.
Headphones = looking important.
Andrew flying for a bit! Toronto is in the distance.

(belated) wifercize wednesday: lean on me

Sometimes things aren't as easy as we make them out to be.

Sometimes, after we've used up all of our own strength, all of our own resources, all of our own answers, and all of our own optimism, we're left with...well, our backyard that Solomon has used as his personal poop deposit zone all winter is a perfect symbol. We're left with what feels like a yard full of recently thawed poop. Which is not the only reason, but is a very good reason nonetheless, that we need God. Because God doesn't run out of strength, resources, answers, or optimism. We're finite. He's infinite.

I've been feeling my finite...ness? recently. In waves of yards full of recently thawed poop. When I feel overwhelmed by difficulties or, what's worse, in a holding pattern of comfort laced with dissatisfaction, I feel trapped. And I get cranky.

A good friend and co-pastor at another young adult congregation, Noel, spoke a few weeks ago on the process of waiting. She uttered such pearls of wisdom (obnoxious to me as they were in my time of waiting) as:

• Waiting is about relinquishing my rights and my control to make something happen.
• No matter what you're waiting for, you have a happily ever after because you are royalty (your Dad is the King).
• Timing = the situation being perfect and favourable for the desired outcome.
• God is working behind the scenes even when we don't see it.
  

Which brings me to marital vows. When man and wife pledge "in good times and bad" I'm sure they, like myself, are picturing epic bouts of illness, tragedy, and poverty. Although a spouse is handy to have when those times come, I find the waiting times are even more difficult. The sheer stalemate of some situations requires, by necessity, someone to lean on. Waiting is tiring.

In our wedding vows, we adapted verses that we love from Proverbs (Amplified):

"The heart of her husband trusts in her confidently and relies on and believes in her securely, so that he has no lack of honest gain or need of dishonest spoil. She comforts, encourages, and does him only good as long as there is life within her."

Even in my waiting, I can be thankful. I can be choose to be thankful for the things I have, instead of dwelling on the things I am waiting for. And, as the Sweet Divines say,

"If I had to make a list of things I need to make my life complete
I would check off a man 'cause I already got such a heckuva man."

manly men, girly girls

Ten years ago (wow...I can recount in decades now, like a real adult) I worked as a counsellor at a summer camp. Amid the slew of in-jokes, camp names and code words we coined a term known as "Fluffy kat" which we knew to mean a flirty girl. Cat spelled with a "k" because it seemed...flirtier. We had matching T-shirts commissioned in Huntsville: red lettering on white cotton. Tight fitting, of course. I'm sure someone still has a photographic evidence.

What reminded me of the Fluffy Kat phenomenon today was none other than the new spring/summer ad campaign from French Connection. The print ads are here, here, and here. The commercials (directed as mini French movies) are here. A co-worker's quote: "I just want to eat them like little French...macaroons."

Since I've been on a gender kick recently, these ads made me realize what I love about advertising and art. French Connection reveals just enough of a stereotype (the French-accented narration doesn't hurt either...who is to argue with the French?) that both sexes feel honourably and wryly represented.

The two sides are not competing, not arguing, not vying for power, but rather mirroring the other like flip sides of a coin. Equal, but different.

Also, this campaign makes me want to go to Paris in a way I have never before encountered.

Wifersize Wednesday: manly men, part 2

(click above image to read the ad)

Last week I posted about a turn I recently spotted in media: masculinity revived. Seems as if I wasn't the only one.

Heated debates here: The Inspiration Room, here: NY Daily News, here: WalletPop, to link but a few (including ones on websites called feministing.com, treehugger.com, and jezebel.com...natrually). Just type "dockers ad wear the pants sexism" into Google for more inspiration. You'll have your fill of "Does the Dockers ad campaign promote sexism? Click 'yes' or 'no' now!" banners.

Can't sexism go both ways? Haven't we been telling men to shut up long enough that they have forgotten how to speak up? Haven't we been telling them that they're stupid long enough that they've stopped giving their opinion? Haven't we been telling them that we're strong enough to do our job as well as theirs that they've let us?

(this can also apply to other "isms"...haven't we been telling our culture that youth prized above age so we are devoid of the wisdom that honouring the wise brings?)

When I read the Dockers print ad in the Metro on Monday, I was impressed. Impressed by its composition, impressed by its wording, impressed by its balls. I know this world would benefit from men who aren't afraid to be manly.

Just so we don't misunderstand each other: I'M ALL FOR EQUALITY. Equality does not mean sameness. I am equal to Andrew, but very (very) different. Andrew was the first to say that he didn't want to marry a pastor's wife, but a pastor. We are equally strong, ambitious, creative, educated, and opinionated. We plot together, plan together, produce together, and promote each other. But I love it when Andrew wears the pants.

Last night, for Tuesday Date Night, we caught "The Young Victoria" at the Revue Cinema. Emily Blunt and Rupert Friend do a tremenous job of portraying the young marriage between Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. It's not without its feuds over gender roles. Imagine, instead of who wears the pants it's who wears the crown! And yet their hope for a solid union - in marriage and reign - was in allowing Albert to be more than a first-class servant boy, and instead a man, a husband, and a father.

Foto Friday: nylons + dried lavendar = scented drawer sachet

Sachet. I wonder how many guys reading this blog just stopped reading. Join us next week for another Wifersize Wednesday, boys! I know you read it, because you're making notes about how women think. This is where to get the inside scoop.

OK, back to sachets. I came across this idea goodness-knows-when (it might have been from my mother originally...if so, THANKS MARM) and have always wanted to try it. Last Saturday I did, and discovered it to be a pleasant and easy experience.

Here's what you'll need:

1. A pair of nylons (I refuse to use the word pantyhose because it makes me involuntarily puke). I bought my nylons at the Dollarama. They don't have to be top quality. We're not competing for ice dance in them.
   
   
2. Dried lavendar. My husband planted a vegetable/herb garden in the backyard last summer and we had lots of lavender left over to dry. Other sweet or spicy dried herbs will work, but stay away from using anything too savory. No one wants their sweaters smelling like crushed chilies.
   
   
3. Scissors.
   
   
4. A bowl for the herbs. Things tend to get a little messy/dusty.

First, cut the pantyhose, or NYLONS, into segments about 4-5 inches in length. Depending on the bulk and amount of herbs you'll be using, you might want to give yourself more room. Remember, you'll be using part of that length to tie a knot or two.

Then dump the dried lavender into a bowl (it's surprising how much lavender crushed down into so little).

Jam as much lavender into a segment as you can, starting with the toe. For middle sections, tie a knot first to form a base for the sachet and then jam the lavender in. I found it useful to make a pocket like this:

Tie a(nother) knot to close the pocket and voila! a lavender-scented sachet to use with your clothes, lingerie, towels, winter storage, etc. Just don't bother giving one to your husband. I offered a few to my husband and he asked me if I thought he would enjoy smelling of lavender. He did a fairy-like high kick along with the question, so I assume it was rhetorical.

Finished products will look like this:


If the sachet looses its scent after a while, try crushing it in your hand to release more scent. Accompany with fairy-like high kick.


Oh, and dogs seem to like the smell of lavender, whereas cats do not.

Wifercize Wednesday: men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men...

Anyone have the theme song to "Three and a Half Men" in your head?

I noticed an odd trend while perusing Superbowl XLIV's ads (because we all know they make two teams wearing tights and shoulderpads to duke it out over a major holiday weekend just to satiate my advertising needs). It seems as if the new definition of manliness is to be slightly hen-pecked, but complain about it.

Men Without Pants, Dockers

Tagline: "Calling all men: it's time to wear the pants."

Injury Report, FLO TV

Tagline: "Change out of that skirt, Jason."

Man's Last Stand, Dodge

Tagline: "...and because I do this, I will drive the car I want to drive."

Journey to Comfort, Nivea

Tagline: "Now that you're comfortable with who you are, isn't it time for comfortable skin?"


Though laughing, I couldn't help but notice that there was something in each of these videos that made me feel unsettled. Men: are things really that bad, or do you jest? Women: do we really want our men to go bra shopping with us?

It reminds me of a great song by Alanis Morissette (SHE DOES HAVE SOME GOOD SONGS) called A Man, in which she sings out against (that's right: against) hostile feminism. Some of the lyrics are:

We don't fare well with endless reprimands
We don't do well with a life served as a sentence
This won't work well if you're hell bent on your offense
I am a man who understands your reticence

I am a man who still does what he can
To dispel our archaic reputation
I am a man who has heard all he can
'Cuz I don't fare well with endless punishment

I remember finding these lyrics during my own gender war, where I was trying to figure out if I was mad at men for being too manly or mad at men for not being manly enough. Not to mention trying to figure out what "manly" actually was. What I knew was that, as women, we had to take our influence seriously: for the most part, the men I knew were complying with our demands for equality, respect, and honour but also allowing the pendulum to swing so far in its compensation that they also felt maligned.

There are so many schools of thought on the issue, from Eldredge to Driscoll to Meyer to Cunningham to my own husband, Andrew. All of these are Christian references, however, and ones that I'm used to discussing in a church context. Interesting how the Superbowl, geared towards male camaraderie, inspired secular companies to humourously address the same issue.

Are our women too womanly? Are they too manly? Are men too manly? Are they too womanly?

Personally, from a ministerial perspective, and as a woman, I LOVE the Hillsong Men's Conference promo videos: