foto friday: mannequins remind me of "today's special"

Sporadic postings over the past few weeks are due to a rather busy schedule, at work and otherwise.  As soon as I find a rhythm to this gong show I'll be posting again regularly.  In the meantime, may I distract you with pictures?

I'm genuinely beginning to wonder: are they teaching improper use of apostrophes in school now?  Infractions are more common than proper use.  Could someone who graduated grade school recently or with children let me know?

 Excellent marketing campaign: include a tiny QR code image on a poster for people to scan with their smartphones.  Place poster on the opposite side of subway tracks.

Another view Yonge Street from my office.  Even traffic can be beautiful.

One night last week Andrew worked late at his school for a long and boring meeting.  Amusing each other on our iPhones, I took this shot of Oberon and sent it to him.  "He looks skinny!" was my Italian husband's reply.  "Was he fed?"

LCBO's holiday advertisement clearly shows, beyond any doubt, that our dog is the preferred pet of young white couples in love.  

And we are a white couple in love.

There's something about this opera collar that makes me want to break into this Swavorski store front, bypass the jewelry, and steal the dress.

This mannequin shocked an appalled me, hiding around the corner of the Gap.  Boys will be boys.

Is it just me, or are the legs on these mannequins grossly unsubstantiated?

mama monday: guts

If you haven't acquainted yourself with the phenomenal site I Heart Guts take a moment or two to check out a few profiled organs.  I love any initiative that takes regular objects and animates them.  Like Marcel the Shell with Shoes On.



In keeping with the mama theme of Mondays, and the patience/hope required along the way to pregnancy, I've been thinking a fair bit about guts.  All those internal bits of us that (usually) feel nothing and (seemingly) do nothing.  They're just...inside.  Like the guts of a computer or a car.  Few understand how they operate and even fewer know how to fix them if something is amiss.

When I had a kidney infection, and because I had never before experienced the particular surprise associated with a kidney infection, I couldn't figure out what was wrong.  I'm not hungry...I guess I have a stomachache?...sort of a side cramp...but in my back...OK, now I need to assume the fetal position to keep the pain at bay...and now we're at the hospital and they're administering morphine and antibiotics and it's all over.  That was weird.

A scrap or cut or bruise is obvious, and the pain is acute.  Internally, things tend to work out on their own or send you muted, cryptic messages until a specialist is able to translate for you.  Guts are obscure, vague, enigmatic.

In African culture, I'm told, what we in the Western world refer to "heart" is not located in the chest but in the belly.  In Hebrew tradition (including translations of the Old Testament), heart and soul are intermixed with liver, stomach, and guts.  There was no separation for them: body, soul and spirit was one and the same. 

I know this to be true because when I'm sad I feel it in my stomach, and when I'm happy I feel it in my chest, and when I'm frightened I feel it shooting through my veins. 

Somewhere in my guts, I believe, God is sorting out the mystery of conception.  Somewhere in my guts, I believe, I harbour the hope that we'll meet the babies of our future.  Somewhere in my guts, I believe, I'll find the strength to bridge between the two seasons: waiting and welcoming.

---

"And the knowing in her guts

Something's still gonna grow

She ain't leaving 'till it does"

(Brooke Fraser, Crows & Locusts)

"By the God of your father, Who will help you,
and by the Almighty,
Who will bless you with blessings of the heavens above,
blessings lying in the deep beneath,
blessings of the breasts and of the womb."

(Genesis 49:25, Amplified)

wifercize wednesday: princess hair

I'd like to tell you of a time before wifedom.

When I was but a wee thing, my parents would read me Disney's Sleeping Beauty before bed.  The version, published by Disney Editions, included the original 1959 illustrations:

And, yes, I was a die-hard romantic at age 4 (although I really had a thing for Snow White's Prince Charming instead, because of the whole "Prince Buckethead" thing...anyone with me?)

(click to enlarge)

And, yes, I loved the mice and the fairy godmothers and the dragon-slaying and such, but what I was really fascinated by was Princess Aurora's hair:

The big honey-coloured locks, tapered down into a finely sculpted curl.  THIS was princess hair.  I had to have it.  Problem was: I had fine, pin-straight hair that defied all curl.

I became obsessed with princess hair for a 6-8 year period after that, sketching page after page of princesses with hair that I began to call "eight curls".  This was, simply, because I drew them using figure eights:

(I'm not making any of this up)

When I was eight years old I persuaded my mother to give me a perm* and gave her the strictest of instructions: "I want it to look like princess-eight-hair." 

* Error message: do not perm your hair if you only have a bob to start with and expect it to look like long, flowing Princess Aurora hair afterwards.  It will, instead, resemble Little Orphan Annie:

While I waited a few years for my clown curls to grow out, I resigned myself to the fact that I was born to have straight hair.  Not princess hair.  Not eight curls.  Just straight, straight hair.

. . .

UNTIL MY WEDDING DAY when Melissa attacked my mane for a few hours and unloaded half a bottle of hairspray on it and I came away looking as close to Princess Aurora as I ever had previously:

It was obviously perfect timing to celebrate the fact that I had found my Prince Buckethead Charming:

Most days, I use a curling iron to keep my princess-eight-hair looking princessy:

I have been officially approved by Adelaide Hardy, age two-and-a-half, who came to our church one Sunday and pointed to me throughout the service, whispering to her parents, "Princess!  Princess!"

Thanks, Addie.  xoxo

mama monday: this too shall pass

Too busy to post today.  A place holder will have to do.  This one is from the fabulous band OK Go, who I have been a fan of since 2006.

Sometimes, when you're being snapped at at both of your jobs (and one of them voluntary!), bureaucracy is driving you bureau-crazy, a fire alarm goes off in your building for a half an hour, and the thought visits you frequently, sometimes hourly, that you'd just rather be breastfeeding in a rocking chair, well, sometimes all that helps is a beautifully mastered music video entitled, aptly, "This Too Shall Pass". 




You know you can't keep letting it get you down
And you can't keep dragging that dead weight around
Is it really all that much to lug around
Better run like hell when you hit the ground

When the morning comes
When the morning comes

Can't stop those kids from dancing but why would you want to
Especially when you are already getting good?
'Cause when your mind don't move then your knees don't bend
But don't go blaming the kids again

When the morning comes
When the morning comes
When the morning comes

Let it go, this too shall pass
Let it go, this too shall pass

You know you can't keep letting it get you down
No, you can't keep letting it get you down

Oh, is it really all that much to lug around
And you can't keep letting it get you down

When the morning comes
Oh, you can't keep letting it get you down
No, you can't keep letting it get you down

foto friday: november rain

Let's begin:

This is what my husband regularly prepares for me on a Saturday morning, to show me his love.  He's pretty much this awesome at everything he does AND YES THAT MEANS WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS.

A book title that caught me off guard. 
Is this what literature has come to?

These four (one not shown) women were on the subway yesterday evening as I rode home from work.  Each impeccably dressed, each lively and laughing, each conversing with each other as if they had been for years.  I must admit I stared at them the whole ride.

My fabulous husband is ordained as a minister!

A date with my dad at Korean Grill House.  Dad and I have been going on dad/daughter dates since I was just out of high school, and I love them.  This was our first in almost three years (my Reverend Husband takes precedence now) so it was about due.

Before we threw ourselves at the all-you-can-eat meat menu:

...and after:

wifercize wednesday: cyber-sentimentality

I have a stubborn habit of having to know.  I just...have to know.  I have to know what you're laughing at, I have to know why you have that scar, I have to know why the lady on the bus is frowning, I have to know how to reupholster a chair*, I have to know when I'm going to become pregnant, I have to know who said the pope could be the pope.  Dan Brown recently told me the answer to that last one.  It's the answer that suits me, anyway.

* (I hope to reupholster a chair of ours and document the chaos progress on this blog.  Stay tuned.)

Andrew and I knew each other for six years before we started dating but that didn't stop me from Googling the heck out of him after our first date.  Family, fine, schooling, fine, interests, fine...that was all covered over Pho and, later, over coffee.  What I really wanted to know was what Andrew was like when I wasn't around.  The best way I know how to experience this is with the wondrous gateway of Google.

A friend of mine aided me in my quest, and we began to email links we found to each other.  The further we scrolled, the more delicious the outcomes:

I figured these moments of discovering e-nuggets about my husband were over.  I WAS WRONG.  Recently, while looking up his Wishlist on Amazon [lover, you didn't read that...at least, not until I give you your gift tonight] I happened upon a much older Wishlist of Andrew's.  First, his profile:

This, I love.  "Andrew D. Gazaneo".  It's not enough that Gazaneo is one of the rarest Italian names on the planet, nor that his family is the only family that shows up in a Canada411 search, Andrew felt it necessary to include the "D".  For "Domenic" - his father's name.  That's just so...Andrew.  Not to mention that the only point he decided to include in his profile is "My dog's name is Comet".  This too, is true.  Or was.  Comet was Andrew's dog since he was 10, and he passed away probably around the same time as Andrew when created this profile.  "My dog's name is Comet" is just as significant a characteristic as "D" for Domenic and he wanted Amazon to know it.

This archaic Wishlist had but one item on it:

A Panasonic DVD-L50 Portable DVD Player...by Panasonic.  "Currently unavailable" probably due to the decrease in DVD sales and, with it, a decrease in all items DVD related but, at one time, Andrew had his eye on this piece of technology enough to add it to a Wishlist.  He wished for it.  I can tell you why.  Firstly, it's portable.  Andrew is nothing if not practical.  I would bet he was thinking long-term and the lightweight, easy-to-handle, travel friendly body of this DVD player in particular appealed to him.  Secondly, Andrew was and still is an avid movie fan.  What better way to watch his beloved legal thrillers than on a built-in colour LCD monitor?  Lastly, it received an admirable 4.5 stars out of 5.  This means that Andrew did his research, as he still does to this day.  I'd put money down on the fact that he read the majority of all "142 customer reviews", if not all of them.

And there it sits, added October 27, 1999, "unpurchased", like a tiny time capsule of longing.  If I knew him then as I know him now it would have been purchased, delivered, wrapped, and presented to him with all the love in the world.

The irony is that Andrew had his name drawn at a church Christmas function when we were dating and won a portable DVD (or was it CD?) player and it remained in its original packaging until we re-gifted it a few years later.

Tonight, Andrew is being ordained as a pastor, legally recognized as a minister by the provincial government.  He's put in so much energy, time, and passion into the long-term vision of our church, he's researched all the stipulations, and, although he might not have turned out to be like Tom Cruise's character in The Firm, he is still a sexy beast and now has something better to brag about than his really hairy chest: he is the Reverend Andrew D. Gazaneo, his dog's name is Solomon, and his wife is very, very proud of him.

mama monday: tick-tock, biological clock

I was out with a lovely young lady for lunch today who asked me when my biological clock began to chime.  She, concerned that she wasn't as "baby crazy" as her peers, wondered if it was normal not to want to pop out infants in multiples during her early 20s.

I assured her it was.

Last week, I joked that my friends were once convinced that my biological clock was digital.  It make no sound, it sounded no alarm.  For years, while girlfriends dated, engagified, married, pregnacized, and baked cookies, I dated, wrote, worked, traveled, and ate out.  I didn't really "climb the corporate ladder" as much as I dramatically cascaded along bookshelves on a wheeled one, like Belle in Disney's Beauty & The Beast belting out a musical number.  I wasn't opposed to children, I just didn't have time for them.  They weren't a priority, and neither was domesticating.

On my 25th birthday (to the day), I felt the urge to go home, home to Toronto, like a migrating bird.  I wanted to nest close to my family.  When I met up with Andrew I experienced the unnerving sensation of being with the person the I was going to be with for the rest of my life, which added to the drive to settle down.  But once we were two years married and looking to start a family did I begin to suffer the phenomenon of Everyone-Is-Pregnant-Itis*.  Pregnant bellies bulge everywhere I go.  They bump me on public transit, they delay the elevators, they waddle throughout the supermarkets, they post ultrasound pictures on Facebook. 

I am convinced that the "settling down" chip, implanted in us from birth, implements whenever and however it is made to - each according to its host.  Some people make effervescent younger parents, either on purpose or by surprise, and some become refined older parents, again, not always according to script. 

When it does, all of a sudden, things like this will make you all quivery inside:

*  Similar to Everyone-Is-Getting-Married-Itis, which generally strikes those looking to find a special someone.