Mandy's Amazing Wedding

This is about about a wedding that took off in a new direction.

My grand-niece Mandy got engaged and then began the intricate wedding planning, a feat that took months of serious study and negotiations.

They live in the interior of B.C.

Mandy’s best friend’s family owns a winery and the family offered their grounds for the wedding. Beautiful manicured lawns, vines in neat rows and a breathtaking view of the nearby mountains.

They would have two enormous tents set up  for the reception, sit-down dinner and dancing.

They knew where to go for the wine.

It was the most meticulously planned event in the family and it was going to be a smash. And it was, but not what they planned.

On the day of the much-anticipated event, B.C. had the storm of all storms--high winds, driving rain, power outages everywhere and it lasted all day.

First to go was the power, then the tents. 

My information is all second hand since I live three thousand miles away but this is what I gathered: Phone calls went out to all able-bodied  friends who raced to the scene, armed with anything that might help them with heat, light and sound.

The nearby enormous storage barn (it stored wine barrels on their sides) was pressed into use as the entire-event site. Mercifully that barn had never sheltered animals so the cleaning was quicker. Chairs were hastily set up for the ceremony and they would later be pressed into service for the dinner.

Tables were set up in another area and beautifully set, as originally planned.

Tapers and votive candles blossomed everywhere—there is a candle concession somewhere that found their sales zoomed astronomically that day.

Instead of the bride serenely strolling along the lawn on the arm of her father, he escorted her through the dark barn to the entrance where the minister waited.

Mandy and Jordan, here's to a happy lifetime together. You've already survived the storms.

Awesome's Culinary Adventures

This is Laddawan, my daughter-in law. Her family calls her Aw and we call her Awesome.

This shot was taken this past summer in an elevator somewhere in Chicago,. She began with a visit to her home country Thailand, then Wisconsin, Vancouver, B.C.,  and finished with a week-long Alaskan cruise before returning home to Kitchener, Ontario.

She had hooked up with a couple of family members who wanted to see a bit of everything and they did very well.

During that almost three-month long trip last summer, she took pictures this way:

Tourist sites—2%

Food 98%

She is a superb cook. In Bangkok, during  her teens, her entrepreneur aunt, who owns a couple of restaurants, put her to work  during school vacations cooking  for the noon-hour crowd. You have to be fast, colorful and gifted for that crowd.

The population in Bangkok varies from sixteen to 20 million in a day and the lunch hour is a mad blur of activity.

She cooks mostly Thai although her North American food is wonderful. She brushes up on her English watching all the cooking shows and taking massive notes.

We love being invited for a meal at her place.

She can take her food many notches hotter than most of us but we’re slowly working our way up the scale. It’s worth it—she makes fabulous tiny crunchy spring rolls like you’ve never tasted and she does amazing things with fat, juicy shrimp and the ribs—they look dry and overdone and then you bite into one and you’re in food heaven. I’m salivating now.

She took tons of pictures of food in Thailand recently. They rely on seafood, noodles in various forms and loads of veggies. Everything seems to revolve around what  she calls "noodle".

Here’s a look at the Thai portion of her recent trip. 

                                         

                                          A lot of cooking is done at the table and everyone automatically                                                         shares.

She's holding a large local oyster

It's beautiful and she can whip up any of these beauties in minutes. Just stay out of her way--she moves fast.

Hot Tub Makeover

A couple of years ago my son Steve bought a second-hand hot tub for his wife

There was a certain amount of mirth watching this safely hauled  in a small  truck all across town

My daughter-in law didn’t seem all that interested, so the tub languished for a couple of years in the back yard, collecting snow and leaves.

The ah- ha moment came when Steve got interested in having an attractive back yard as opposed to—well, he’s my son so let’s say it was unfinished.

The tub was cleaned out, all  outlets closed off , water added and voila,  a fish pond was born.

He added  some interesting rocks, a couple of aquatic plants from his sister and then it was fish time.

The best thing to do  is to go to the pet store and ask for a dozen “feeders.”

It’s also best not to know what they were going to be fed to.

I brought over the first batch and within a couple of days there was one fish left.

Not too so difficult to figure out what happened—aside from the muddy footprints on the deck there were more signs on the top of the nearby trampoline.

Raccoons, that’s what.

Now I can think of a couple of aesthetic ways to solve the get-outta-my-pond dilemma, but Steve went for the prison compound look and here it is.

In his defense, he’s a busy guy and this had to be quick and dirty. For now.
Still I can't help imagining tiny little gold fish with rifles slung across their backs, patrolling back and forth.
Despite the  penitentiary look, of the fifteen fish we added, there are eleven left and we think the lost ones died of natural causes.

It’s pretty raw around the edges but this has been an experiment of sorts—does a hot tub work as a fish pond? Yes. Will fish survive in the new pond? Yes, once we consider how to thwart overhead birds in search of sushi (this is helped by floating a small log on top-- it provides shade and safety).

Next year, there are plans for a pergola covering the pond and part of the deck and the pond siding will be covered for a unified look.

And as for the coming winter—we keep the pump going so they have an air hole and those cold-blooded little sweeties will hunker in like the rest of us.

You Missed A Spot

There’s always something new to see when you look out an apartment window

Re-Making Old Bones

It has always been my view that it’s a really  good idea to stay away from hospitals and in my younger days, the only time I  broke that rule was because I was not a fan of home births. You agree to that and you may find yourself cooking dinner right after because you’re such a good sport.

That’s bad planning in my opinion.

This is my way of leading up to my operation. This was a big deal because I still have my tonsils for goodness sake and I had been pretty firm about the no-hospital edict.

 A couple of years ago I developed tendinitis in my left leg, and that was the right leg’s way of calling for help as it was doing all the work.

The right leg joint was worn out, abetted by arthritis.

Surgery was the answer for my problem so that meant a hospital visit.

During the preliminaries I was declared a remarkably healthy specimen and in fact, while some patients are encouraged to recuperate in a nursing home or with a willing relative, I was told I’d probably be fine with someone there for the first couple of days and then I could manage.

This is what happens:  the hip joint is tidied up (actually they remove it and put in a false one) and this is what the artificial joint looks like

Still with me?

Here’s what I know: I exhaustively interrogated everyone I knew who’d already had the op and they all were pleased with the results.

I was the oldest of the bunch but I didn’t see this as a problem.

On my well-prepared for day, There’s a picture of me looking cheery and double-chinned as they wheeled me to the OR suite and then there’s the picture taken of me the next day. At least the double chin was gone.

It all went well; I had a spinal which was amazingly easy. I did ask the guy not to let me hear the sound of hammers and saws though, and he complied.

I was still cheery and determined to be the most alert, healthiest patient who ever crossed that threshold.

When I woke up the next day, there were oxygen prongs in my nose and when the nurses tried to get me up and walking, I fainted.

 Next, I had a transfusion and I got very sentimental about that; some kind person volunteered his/her blood just so someone like me could have the needed blood. That was so kind.

After a day of re-grouping, in quick order I learned to use a walker and that I didn’t handle codeine very well. In fact I bounced off to la-la land to the amusement of the nurses. So I settled for something less la-la and managed. I was there an extra day because of the transfusion so I went home on day 4, with my from-out-of-town daughter in tow.

She planned to stay for the suggested two days and she finally got away on day 7.

I felt about 120 hard years old and no longer looked like a candidate for head of the class.

When I was home, visiting nurses came regularly to change the dressings and a physiotherapist came to get the exercises on track. After a few days the staples were removed and that’s a piece of cake.

Despite my good intentions and the fact that the operation was a success, I am now permanently on a walker.

For my final visit to the surgeon he was satisfied the surgery was a success so his work was done. He was right—his surgery was a success although I was complaining about a lot of pain.

He politely said arthritis had done a lot of damage in my lower back and it would take altogether too much  surgery to repair the damage and I was too old for all that anyway.

So here I am still feeling 30 in my mind and my body is not keeping up.

Nine months later I’m still glad I had the operation but would have preferred a better outcome

So I’ve decided that I’ll keep the thirty-year old mind and try to live with the much older body, and I now have my very own handicap parking pass, which makes grocery shopping a whole lot easier.

Best of all.  I’m 25 pounds lighter.

And that’s my reward

Well Hello

After I produced five sterling sons, I turned to the thought of producing a daughter and here she is.

Okay, we were extremely happy and possibly relieved  that number six was a daughter.

At the left is her youngest and tallest, who is about to enter grade twelve

Next is the one who was worth the wait.

And next to her is her eldest, who just defended and earned her Masters this week

At the right of the lineup is the boyfriend of Miss striped top and he is a pre law student at Carlton University.

Hope to see you all again soon

My Pal Jesse

In a minute I'll tell you  about former Blue Jay Jesse Barfield. and why I have a crush on him.

The Blue Jays came into my life about the time  we moved from the boonies into downtown Toronto.

On Saturdays, when the team was in town, we started attending the games with our son Mike .Oh those gorgeous afternoons getting seriously sunburned  in the outdoor exhibition stadium .
During one of the first games, there was some sort of tension building between the teams and they all thundered out of the dugouts onto the field. It sounded like a herd of bison (remember, bison  grow to a ton or more) and I was sure these players would  kill one another.

Apparently this is a guy thing and they all snarled and pushed a little but that was it.

Eventually the Jays moved into the newly built domed stadium and that was a treat in itself. 

The team won the world series in ’92 and ’93 and we were thrilled out of our socks

We were so in touch with that team that we knew the names of their kids and what they ate for breakfast. I can’t remember now who it was, but one player and his wife had a noisy altercation in a hotel lobby in town, and two days later they had to sit for a televised news conference to explain themselves.

That was life with the Jays in those days

Then we had this lengthy dry spell when the heroes all retired or went off to other teams and it was re-building time which took a whole lot of years.

Last year they began to show some substance and this year, the pouring- in of a bunch of money and some new players and they are looking really good.

But I started out to tell you about Jesse Barfield. 

He was an outfielder in their golden days with an amazing arm .

Well, recently I saw in the local paper that he was coming to town for one night to give a talk at a great  place called THEMUSEUM, a unique non-profit center with visiting exhibits such as two-story tall  dinosaurs, much smaller Egyptian mummies, and you can also hear talks from  live people like Jesse.

Above-mentioned son Mike is a board member so it wasn't hard to persuade him to take me to see Jesse for his one-night stand. 

Was I thrilled? Damned straight. There was my hero of the early 90’s, looking twelve feet tall and charming. I got to meet him before his talk and he gave me a hug.

Here I am looking short for the first time in my life, with my hero. Besides, how often do I get to be the only female among almost a dozen men?

Jesse is a delightful speaker and a lovely man.

The present team is growing on me but there wil always be a special place in my heart for Jesse and the rest of the team  of twenty-odd years ago

Gardening Apartment Style

I'd  had apartment life under my belt for a year before I found myself seeking out gardening opportunities.

I yearned for things that were impossible to grow in a microscopically small balcony space, robust charmers like pumpkins, squash and cucumbers.
I pictured vines creeping their way to the balconies above and below me, and  that posed a delightful picture as I recalled the shriek from the balcony below when a dribble  from my watering can snaked over the side.

So. where to plant a veggie garden? My opportunistic mind immediately swung to #3 son, Steve

 He lives a five-minute drive away and up to a couple of months ago I’m not sure he was aware there was a garden at the back of his place.

He built a lovely deck and they used that, but it was best not to look at the tangled wasteland that branched out from there.

The previous owner had planted a big raspberry patch and we all were invited to pick our hearts out, and we did. It took a compass and safety clothing to find the way to the patch, but we managed.
It's possible I  taking dramatic license here but you get the point. It wasn't pretty.

 I made my move when the last of the snow was finally disappearing.

“Hey,” I said over Sunday morning breakfast, “ May I use a little of your back garden to plant some veggies?”

 And that’s how it started

Once the snow melted, I stood on the deck with Steve, surveying the back property. A couple of raised  beds would be lovely if he wouldn’t mind bashing some boards together.

Well, contractors don’t bash anything. They get out a level and string and everything is perfectly squared.

After he installed the raised beds, he thought about the  leftover paving bricks stashed under the deck and next thing you know, they were laid neatly around the newly organized raspberry beds.

When the first seedlings sprouted, the fun began.

Steve installed his tiny rose garden and so that they would look their best, he had the shed moved a tad forward and to the right. 

The potatoes (not shown) are a story in themselves. When I noticed that gleam in Steve's eye I wanted something to grow fast to pique his interest. I rummaged through the potato bin and found some with eyes ; I cut them in pieces and planted them the same day in one of the beds. To my amazement, since I didn't follow any rules, they all took and they are flourishing. He loves to watch them grow

This picture was taken early on and shows how neatly organized things were rapidly becoming. The raspberries were even manageable.

I am fully aware that by next year I may have to scout out someone else's garden since I think Steve will have plans for every inch of his land.

If I keep this up, I may get a whole new generation developing green thumbs. and I can have some of the harvest without the grunt labor

Just as long as I'm allowed to get my hands dirty.

This has possibilities.

Gardening in Eagle Territory

The first time I went apartment-hunting I took along two things: an  explicit bucket list and my real estate agent, who volunteered for the task.

I wanted to live in the heart of the city so that narrowed the field. Most apartments downtown are for people who live for their jobs and night life, so they need a bed and a closet.

I wanted space and a view.

News was out about a newly renovated building; each apartment had its own own laundry and there was lots of guest parking, so we tried that first.

We checked out a two-bedroom where the residents still lived before moving to a condo. My realtor bluntly asked, right in front of our rental guide, why they were moving and they rather bluntly explained; constant elevator breakdowns, old windows that fogged and dripped all winter and too-small  rooms so they kept tripping over one another

I was mortified that my friend would be so blunt—and really glad he was.

Next we tried an old building a few blocks away and it almost fitted my bucket list like a glove.

Corner suite, knock-out view, hardwood floors, good- sized rooms, windows that still don’t drip and so far the elevator has been faithful.

But there was a problem: my bucket list included a roomy balcony where I could have a small potted garden. This balcony weighed in at  7. x 11 ft. The door opened at one end where the plants would have to go and the best stretch of area is interrupted by the window air conditioner.

I envisioned  a small table and two chairs fitted around the a/c and good luck to the plants

The gorgeous view and hardwood floor had me hooked so I irrationally believed I was creative enough to make that balcony flourish with plants and people .

This was my first garden spot; veggies and flowers and my knee  co-mingled

a smattering of petunias for a start

and a small harvest

no more trumpet vine

honeysuckle and barbecue a thing of the past

 I loved those peonies


Keep in mind  moved in in June.  I thought I adapted rather well and there was time to work out a better plan for the next summer.

Apartment Life

For me, apartment life is completely new and an adventure.

Life on one floor is  much easier; everything is at at reach and doubling up is the norm. The computer goes into the bedroom, along with desk and semi four poster bed. The guest room is also the sewing room and storage for anything that doesn’t fit into the four storage closets in the hall.

And the hall has room for some of my books and the vital bundle-buggy

The view is amazing.

When my six kids were young and eating like starved mules, I used to dream about having two stoves in my kitchen. Two ovens, eight burners—sheer heaven. Now that there’s just me, I bought a stove with two ovens and I use both. Okay, I have the family over for dinner most Saturdays so I really have a need for two ovens. I’m sticking to that

I still live like a semi-hermit with and, surprisingly, I  find it pleasing to know that there are families living all around me and that we have to co exist.

There`s a protocol for sharing an elevator. You nod or say "hello," and whoever gets off first says, "have a nice day,``or a simple “goodbye” will do.

Pets are allowed in apartment buildings and this does not sit well with all residents. Dogs are inclined to bark while their owners are absent and that might be for nine hours or more.
They're all pretty cute in my opinion. I am wary of the creepy guy who lives on my floor and apparently has a few weasels and reptiles, which he mentioned one day while we shared the elevator. I never took my eyes off him in case something slithered out from his sleeves.

Early on the mornings that  I’m trundling my laundry down to  the second floor, dog owners are heading out  for the morning run. Apparently it’s stylish to wear flannelet pyjama pants when walking the dog. I guess they’re comfy and the animals are really anxious to get outside, but it looks a tad strange
.

I knew that laundry machines cost two dollars so I was armed with a bunch of toonies only to find that the machine takes two loonies,. Nothing but.

My building is on the old side as are the majority of the residents. In the late afternoon, the lounge on the first floor is the gathering place for many. Walkers are parked in the corridor, coffee is purchased in the variety store next door, and everyone shares the day`s events before moving off to make dinner.
 As yet, I haven't joined this group—I`m a loner remember, but it could happen.

An ambulance shows up often and sometimes someone is carted away for repairs and sometimes there is a police presence to keep pet owners and non- pet owners from bashing one another with their canes or cell phones.

There`s a pool and I plan to try it out one of these days. There`s also a small gym and ----well, it could happen.

Across the street there`s a small, beautiful park and on either side there`s the theatre for cultural events and the main library. How  perfect  is that?

I remember with glee strolling across to see a Diana Krall concert and thirty minutes after the final curtain call, I was in bed.

It’s because I’m the way I am, but before I felt so isolated and now I feel like part of a the whole. It’s 
a good feeling.

Big Changes

I’ve been absent while I dealt with shaking  up my life

For some time the plan was that I would  take over the main floor of son #3’s house;  he and his wife would make an apartment for themselves on the second floor and son #1  would take the existing apartment in the basement

We all get along extremely well and we tend to live like hermits with visiting privileges

All of this was based on son #3 building a bathroom on the top floor and then we’s all be self-sufficient

Well, son #3 is a carpenter/contractor and he was really, really busy with his work so the extra bathroom didn’t materialize and I returned to planning the next phase of my life.

I had been living in a 900 square foot semi-detached house. This was a deliberate plan—down-sizing  from my four-bedroom and pool to this tiny place with a bare bones yard for me to turn into a garden.

Next thing I knew, ten years had gone by and the garden was getting beyond me

Still, that itch was there and I needed something to attack.

It finally happened on a bitterly cold Ontario winter day when I looked out the frosted front window  in time to watch a car slide sideways down the narrow road.

The driver didn’t look particularly alarmed so I went back to thinking about me and I realised I related to that sliding car

  You can’t get too hyperactive when hip replacement surgery is looming but something had to change,so I skipped  the notion of tackling a mountain range in Tibet while  battling hyperthermia and considered what might be a tad more realistic

It was time to consider apartment living and I’m not sure I’d ever even been in one

I put together a bucket list of what I wanted (lots of windows, a great view and an en suite).

Then I put the tiny house on the market and it sold in one day.

Clutching my bucket list I went apartment hunting and found a venerable old lady smack in the heart of the city 

It turns out to be the best thing I’ve done in years and there was no hyperthermia involved,