wifercize wednesday: travel companion

I just realized that half the time I write "wiferCize" and the other half I write "wiferSize".  Jazzercize is spelled with a "c"...should this make a difference?  Jazzercize is also a mix of "jazz" and "exercise" which is spelled with an "s" instead of a "z".  

Wifercize it shall be.

On a recent trip to Raleigh, North Carolina to visit with our good friends (and sometime pastors), Duncan and Kate, I realized two things:

1. I love (I mean l-o-v-e) traveling with my husband.
2. Marriage is, at best, shared life experiences.

Neither conclusion is ground breaking but both would be considered revolutionary by my previous self.  I used to love (I mean l-o-v-e) traveling alone.  By.  My.  Self.  Traveling in packs or even with one other companion would irritate me to no end.  My inner monologue was that of George Clooney's character in Up In The Air:

Never get behind old people. Their bodies are littered with hidden metal and they never seem to appreciate how little time they have left. Bingo, Asians. They pack light, travel efficiently, and they have a thing for slip on shoes. Gotta love 'em.

Traveling with others wasn't practical or fun.  It slowed my routine, it disrupted my contemplation, it ruined my pace, it killed my buzz.

On one of my last solo flights I sat at the window and stared out of it as the plane took off.  For an instant I pictured a husband - faceless and nameless - sitting beside me, reading a newspaper, fiddling with a cell phone, or otherwise being husband-y.  In my mind I turned to give him a kiss.  Nothing glamorous.  Just a kiss.  For fun.  I later wrote a poem about that image: my fictitious travel companion, and I was hooked on the idea from that moment.

flight to korea
november 2004

just one kiss
can’t I kiss you just once?
your lips on mine
just once
just now
I thought of you
your lips on mine
I smiled at you
in my mind
just mind
that you don’t waste
your kisses
save them for my lips
kiss me enough
your lips on mine
to make up for
today

Five years later, Andrew sits beside me and reads the in-flight magazine, plays games on his iPhone, and often tolerates a kiss (or two, or eighteen) from me.  I still prefer the window seat and he likes to offer it to me.

Last night I heard a Jamie Cullum song, All At Sea, for the first time in ages.  The lyrics used to be my anthem during the peak of my solo-travel days:

I'm all at sea
Where no-one can bother me
I sleep by myself
I drink on my own
Don't speak to nobody
I gave away my phone
Like a warm drink it seeps into my soul
Please just leave me right here on my own
Later on you could spend some time with me
If you want to
All at sea

Hearing those dismal words again reminded me of a second song, Swallowed In The Sea by Coldplay; the one Andrew told me was his favourite when we first started dating.  It became a kind of response to my resolute "all at sea" lifestyle, and challenged my isolation:

The streets you're walking on a thousand houses long
Well, that's where I belong and you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea
You belong with me, not swallowed in the sea
Yeah, you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea

I guess we are all susceptible of falling into one of two sentiments: either that couple-hood is the enemy, or that it is the answer.  I was once a card-carrying member of the former group but, although I don't fully agree with the latter, I now know that marriage solves many more issues than it creates.

Life, although whimsical enough if experienced unaccompanied, is best shared.

mama monday: link-a-lot

Here are a few of my favourite sites related to all things mama.  My love of babies dressed as bookworms is only surpassed by my love of witty writing so I hope you'll enjoy the selection.  Not all sites are suitable for work, men who are squeamish, or those with no sense of humour.

This site, called "Mila's Daydreams" was featured in the Globe and Mail last week.  It stars the daughter (Mila) of a mom (Adele) from Helsinki.  It's reached Antoine-Dodson-esque fame in a short amount of time since it's the cutest thing since Anne Geddes.  And 87% less saccharine.

I'm so proud to say I know these people.  Melissa, due on Thansgiving, and her husband, Jonathan, have been updating her Tumblr site, "Melissa Börger", with week-by-week countdown photos of the pregnancy.  Best.

"Pacing the Panic Room" was the original (and rudimentary, in my opinion) inspiration for Melissa's site.  Photographer Ryan took weekly pictures of his wife, Cole, leading up to the birth of their daughter, Tessa.  American Apparel heard of the project and began to send Cole maternity samples to wear in the shots!  The rest is blogging history.  For a completely adorable video of the whole process, click here.

A writer and friend of mine from university, Angela, started her blog, "The Half-Assed Housewife" a few years ago and is still not receiving the global accolades that her writing deserves.  Wife, mother (biological and of the fostering variety), knitter, vegetarian cook, and one of the funniest people I know.  The image below is from a notorious post you can read here.

New parents (as in, just found out they were pregnant a few weeks ago) Nik and Thea are friends of mine from university.  Their blog, "The Craptastics", is occasionally updated by Nik who still writes prose that can make me laugh out loud.  His poetry sucks though.

The original blogger-turned-celebrity, "Dooce", stands alone as my favourite blog of all time.  I once read through several months (years?) of her archives in one sitting.  Author (of blog and books) Heather likes to talk about wifehood, motherhood, living in Utah, her dogs, poop and boobs.  And that wasn't in order of prominence.

foto friday: table of contents, part 2

Here is this week's mixed pictorial narrative:

The TTC subway system shut down between Keele and Jane stations last week.  This crowd of people was. not. moving.  At one point, someone from miles behind me shrieked, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST START MOVING.  WE'RE GOING TO DIE HERE."  We just giggled.

 

 The Elmwood Spa, where Andrew and I retreat to when the knots in our backs require scolding.

 

This streetcar driver brought his son to work one day.  He allowed him to open and close the doors, ring the bell, and sound the horn.  Knowing the TTC, the child was probably unionized.

 

 What could be more awesome?

Enjoyed lunch with my friend Amy at Queen Mother Cafe on Queen West.  Their patio is accessible only by traveling first through the restaurant, down a flight of stairs, through a long hallway, past the bathrooms, and back up a flight of stairs - but the outcome is worth it.

 

Andrew sorting out his teaching materials on our dining room table.  He becomes Mr. Gazaneo to two special ed classes and a careers class on September 7th!

 

Yes, we do own the most photogenic cat on the planet.  How kind of you to inquire.

 

Life imitates art outside of Café Balluchon.  Yes, that last one is a koala.  

 

I, however, do not ♥ vampires.  Andrew have laughed through watched a few of the movies from the Twilight series and cannot fathom how such an inflated budget could have been spent on a cast who can't act.

 

wifersize wednesday: a civilization of two

One night, as Andrew and I were getting ready to leave a crowded pub, I squeezed behind a friend's chair to get out and Andrew followed behind.  I was already laughing that we were thin enough to navigate the tiny space, as Andrew asked our friend to pull in a little farther...

"We're skinny minis."

I thought it, and he said it.  Or did I say it?  The shock on Andrew's face let me know that we said it simultaneously, in the same breath, and with the same intonation.  It was as if I opened my mouth and his voice came out.

We joke about our "bluetooth" ability, a kind of marital telepathy, but this was bizarre.  Not only do we never use the expression "skinny mini" (who does?  grannies?) but the surprise of using it at the exact same moment freaked us out.  Thank goodness a table of friends witnessed the phenomenon.

Since that night, and subsequent retellings, the Skinny Mini Episode has joined the barrage of Gazaneoisms, turned up on Facebook, and is now used as a handy reference tool.  A replacement for the expression formerly known as, "Jinx!  You owe me a beer Coke."

This kind of stuff fascinates me.  I loved this quote from an article from The Boston Globe written by Joan Wickersham:

"I guess that most longtime couples have their own lexicon — phrases that have come out of some shared experience and entered the private language of the marriage...  There’s a clichéd idea that what makes people stay in love is things like candlelight and flowers and sexy glances across crowded rooms. All that is lovely, and it helps. But so does our nerdy private language. The language of marriage is personal. It doesn’t translate, and it’s not transferable. Nobody reading this column is going to start mentioning serrated knives or waiting rooms. You have your own phrasebook, developed naturally, over time...  And for me, it’s a way of remembering that first glimpse of marriage as a team, a civilization of two; and remembering how lucky I still feel that he and I share a language, and a life."

This post is, in part, a companion to last week's "editor-in-chief", since there are so many more personal idioms we allow than have been blacklisted.  We can share the stories, explain the intricacies, and lend it out like a Seinfeld episode, but I know that only Andrew shares my "nerdy private language".

mama monday: the tension

Last week I spent 30 minutes in the "family planning" aisle of Shoppers staring at ovulation predicting options.  Do I want my luteinizing hormone to be represented by a "+" symbol?  A double blue line?  A straight forward "yes"?  A digital smiley face?

A DIGITAL SMILEY FACE.

I began to wonder how the human race ever multiplied without the use of digital luteinizing hormone predictor kits.  

And there I saw it, the symbol of the past year, all it's struggles, and all it's tension: I feel like my life is metaphorically sitting on the shelf sandwiched between KamaSutra's Weekend Travel Kits and Canesten.

"Life ought to be a struggle of desire toward
adventures whose nobility will fertilize the soul."

- Rebecca West (1892-1983)

foto friday: table of contents

I am privileged (and brainwashed) enough to own an iPhone.  In fact, my iPhone is a FrankeniPhone my brother pieced together from the body of my first iPhone (which I dropped on the sidewalk) and the screen of my second iPhone (which I dropped in the toilet).  Scientists are searching for the relation between me, iPhones, and gravity.

My FrankeniPhone works marvelously now and is a beautiful tribute to my previous iPhones that have gone on to a better life...as a third iPhone.  If Apple is out there reading this: yes, yes I would consider being sponsored.  Please ignore the part about dismembering your product(s).

I love to take pictures with my FrankeniPhone of things that tickle my fancy.  Most of the time I post these images on Twitter but since use wireless instead of the 3G capability of my phone (again, Apple, please omit), and rarely pick up wireless when I see these things, they stockpile until I delete them.

BUT NO LONGER.

Welcome to my world, via my FrankeniPhone (click on image to enlarge):

Which came first: the chicken or the drunk? 

This is a store front in the Junction that has been teasing me and Andrew for weeks now.  It had better be freaking awesome.

Tiger.  Lily.

At least Value Village should have the decency to clothe them.

When you want to feel scared, circa 1983.

I love old people using new technology. 

This is our church's neighbourhood, Roncesvalles. 
It's going through a tough time right now due to construction and restructuring.  I want to meet whoever wrote/designed these posters.

wifercize wednesday: editor-in-chief

Andrew and I both graduated from University of Toronto and majored in English and, although he doesn't think that Erindale campus "counts", Andrew is one of the only people I know who can match me in a battle of vocabulary.  We whisper sweet grammar in each other's ears.

The only possible downside to this situation (other than driving our friends crazy and making them nervous to write us emails, lest we send them back with a failing grade) is that we take our editors into everyday life with each other.  Clichés are out of the question, social memes are allowable only ironically, and sources must be quoted verbatim.

Over the years, Andrew has drawn the line with a few of my favourites.  He recently canned verbal usage of "O.M.G."  and refers to my punctuation as suffering from Commaitis.  I have parried with forbidding "praiselluia" and "B.T.dubs" (which is a horrendous short-form of "B.T.W." which is already a short-form of "by the way"...atrocious).  We hold each other to account each time we use the popular fillers such as "like", "whatnot", "what have you", and have almost eradicated any usage of the verb "to get", which I deem the Lazy Man's Verb (LMV for short) since you can almost always use another verb to explain yourself more clearly:

"I got this on sale." = "I bought this on sale." (better: "I purchased this on sale.")
"I got a cold." = "I caught a cold." (better: "I acquired a cold.")
"Did you get that?" = "Did you understand that?" (better: "Did you comprehend that?")

I hear the practice isn't uncommon to most relationships, including friends, siblings, and co-workers.  I'm curious: what colloquialisms will you not stand for?