I hope you recover soon!

geriraedean

“Would you like to have this pink love seat that we bought from the Fairmont Palliser Hotel renovation sale? ” I heard my friend ask on the other end of the phone. ” Would I?  I thought you’d never ask.”  A bunch of my friends, I call them ‘the beautiful people’, had all gone down to this hotel’s purging sale and scooped up a half dozen or more of these lovely pink love seats and several coffee tables to match. I was quite disappointed that I had missed out. This was years ago.  I’d been lusting after the couches for years as I saw them in the homes of my lucky friends and now “I” finally had one.  Bonus:  she just gave it to me (aka free) as they were purging and moving or something.  So there it sat at the foot of our bed for many years.  I continue to look at it and remind myself that I should recover it.  It needed to be  recovered as opposed to slip covered because of the wooden frame.  It was a lovely pink but the fabric was dated and dirty (I mean hello?  the Palliser didn’t want them anymore because they were worn).   I kept it covered with cushions so you could barely see the pink anyway.  I guess I was using it as sort of a make shift foot board for our bed since our bed merely sat upon a metal frame.  I put a mirror and some pictures at the head of the bed to take the place of a headboard and the love seat completed the look at the foot.

Then one day I pinned a beautiful settee on Pinterest that was recovered in black and white striped fabric with gold wood trim.  That would match my black and white striped walls perfectly, I thought to myself.  I would love to have one of those.  But alas,  I am skint these days and this wasn’t a necessity of life so, dream on.  I did spot some black and white fabric at Chintz and Co. last time I was there but it was $45 a metre.  I don’t think so!  Then, as luck would have it, on my last visit to IKEA, to buy decor items for someone’s wedding, out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of some black and white striped fabric. Upon closer inspection I noticed it was on sale for $6.99 a metre.  I wasn’t supposed to be looking for myself but this was a no brainer. This fabric was coming home with me.  So I bought 5 metres of that beautiful fabric (not really sure how I would use it….but the love seat was definitely one option).  There it sat in its clear smooth bag until I found the opportunity to do something with it.   I decided I was going to use it to transform that pink love seat (I have too much pink in my life anyway) and I was going to do it this very weekend.  Lexie was in Nashville at a wedding.  Andrew as at work and Mike would be golfing.  Just me and the love seat in the old Stewart mansion.
So I jumped out of bed this Saturday and rallied all the tools I would need.  A screw driver, a hammer, some pliers, some scissors, a staple gun, some paint and a paintbrush and I set out to rip the old fabric off that love seat.  I am sure there must be some industry standard that indicates there has to be no less that 25 staples per square inch.  Seriously?  In no time at all my finger nails were chipped and my hands were bleeding.  But as I sat there, wondering why I took this on when I could be sipping a Peach Green Tea Lemonade and reading at Starbucks…. something occurred to me.  I’d spend far too many afternoons and evenings this past year sitting at Starbucks sipping a Peach Green Tea Lemonade and basically thinking about all I should do, had to do and doing, precisely, exactly, nothing.
Yes, this was going to be hard work.  Was I afraid of hard work?  Had I ever been afraid of hardwork?  Not that I remember.  Had I become so soft in my year of unemployment that I no longer could do the hard work?  Did I not have stamina anymore? Did I not have perseverance?  Maybe it was the mindset that had abandon me? So I grabbed a stool to sit on, as I realized at this point,  this was going to be back breaking work and settled in to make ‘removing staples’ an opportune time to meditate.  As I sat there on this beautiful Saturday with sunbeams streaming into our bedroom and the sound of lawnmowers in the distance (sure sign of summer)  I decided to press on.  Slow and steady wins the race.  When I think of recovering a couch I usually focus on the sewing part.  Recovering the cushions…that’s my comfort zone.  Oh how I love my comfort zone. Then it occurred to me that I had no idea how to recover this particular love seat.  I had no idea how they applied all the fabric to look so smooth and perfect and once I had it apart, what if I couldn’t get it back together again?  Of course, this isn’t my first rodeo.  I have recovered furniture before.  But not for a long time.  I’d grown soft and lazy and very often, defeated.
I remember, years ago getting quite sick with a cold and I was in the middle of an upholstery project. My parents came over with a Get Well card that said “Sure hope you recover soon”.  They howled.
As I pulled out stubborn staple after stubborn staple I  began a conversation with the most creative person I know, the Creator of the Universe, He began to gently speak to me.  And He reminded me of his directives on how I should handle my new ‘living by faith’ life.  He pointed out that I need to quit talking about things and quit having intentions of doing things and actually do them.  Fear was slowing me down.  Uncertainty about the future was backing me cowering into a corner.   For so long, I had just wanted everything to go back to normal (whatever that was) but I’ve started to have stirrings about a new normal.  That old normal is not going to be my normal anymore.   He reminded me that I just have to plug along and keep taking out staples.  Keep peeling back the layers of fabric and the process will reveal itself to me.  But first I have to start. If you want to walk on water you have to get out of the boat.  And even if it looks like I’m getting nowhere – persist.  Keep doing what I know is right.  Keep pulling out those staples.
Soon I could see clearly how the back piece of fabric was applied.  Yes – I could do this.  Still having no clue about how the front fabric was applied – I kept pulling out staples and within another half hour I could see clearly how all the front fabric was put on.  Once I could see the plan, the work didn’t seem as hard anymore. I still had to finish removing the staples but at least I knew what I was going to do next.  I still hadn’t figured out how the bottom of the love seat was covered as it was all encased in the wooden frame work.  Then I realized there was a screw in a corner piece of wood on each corner of the bottom of the seat and it dawned on me.  Take out the screws and the bottom piece lifted right off, making it infinitely easier than I ever imagined.  Now that the bottom piece was off, I could see how much easier it was going to be to get all the other pieces stapled back in place.  I could now see, entirely, how to put this love seat back together.  Sometimes God gives us clues in our lives and if we follow up on them, things get easier.  But we have to be listening and watching.
There is still a lot of work to be done though.  I have to sand the wood to rough it up for another color of paint and then paint it.  While that paint is drying I will busy myself  sewing the new cushion covers for the detachable cushions.  This truly was the easy part.  I could do this part in my sleep (and usually do).
It was so clear how this was parallel to my life.  I even asked myself this morning…is this how I should spend my day? This little project serves no one but me.  But now I know why I am recovering this couch today. Actually several thoughts came to mind but the most prominent one was this.   I am embarking on my new normal this coming week (because circumstances have shifted) and I needed this lesson.  I needed this reminder.  Just start.  Even if  I can’t see where its all going…just start and He will reveal what I need to know when I need to know it and He will bless my obedience and persistence and will grow in me, perseverance.   Do the hard work.  No one else is going to do it for me.  Most often we don’t know where God is leading until we set out in faith and obedience.
I am hugely encouraged by the lengths God will go to speak to me.  Most often I think an idea is my own and it turns out it isn’t my idea at all.
I’ll post pictures when its done, naturally. Of the couch, that is.

We are not Forgotten

geriraedean

Embracing the rain this morning after enduring  an extremely long, cold, harsh winter.  I thought it would never end.  Customarily, I love winter, but even I have had enough. The smell of rain and the freshness of the breeze wafts through my bedroom window as I lay in bed longer than usual because my body has succumbed to a spring cold.  As I lay here barely breathing, every muscle in  my body aching,  mouth parched from breathing through it all night long, I’m listening to the rain drops beat the roof of our patio just outside our bedroom window and excited at the prospect of how quickly the dead, dry, brown earth will turn to green as the heavens water it for us.  God never forgets the cycle of things.  Things He set in motion.  Things like Spring and Summer.  They WILL eventually come.   That is the hope we have. That the cycle God set in motion from the beginning of time, from the days He created the earth and declared ‘it was good’, will continue their cycle.

Even now, I am up to see if I feel any better standing up and surprisingly, I do….I am watching our aspens bend in the breeze and I observe that leaves are starting to sprout.  I am so looking forward to seeing those towering aspens covered with bright green leaves and listen to them swaying in the wind as I lay in bed at night, trying to keep cool after a hot summer day.  Those days are coming.  I know they are.  Those days of tossing on some flip flops to take a quit jaunt to Starbucks for their latest and greatest frappuccino to refresh us on a hot summer evening as we sit around the firepit on the patio and regale each other with stories of the weeks peculiarities or conquests.

It was also heavenly to feel the heat on our arms, faces and legs as we sat on the patio of a Lake House restaurant yesterday afternoon, gathered to celebrate the union of one of our village children. (sounds like a cult).  Catching up and sharing memories with good friends we haven’t seen for eons.  Good friends that take us back to our own wedding experiences.  As I sat there in a comfy chair on that heat soaked veranda, already not feeling that great, I looked around and thought to myself…it is good.  It is as it should be.  We also were witnesses to a glorious sunset with hues of yellow, pink and purple as a darkness settled over the event, lit by hundreds of candles, creating just enough illumination to share stories with each other in hushed tones.
When life and all in it takes on a bleak verdict I believe we still have hope.  The sun will shine again.  The rain will fall again.  God will show his face again.  Joy comes in the morning.   If not this morning,  then tomorrow morning. This too shall pass.  If you are walking through a particularly tough season,  keep walking, eventually you will walk right out of it.  Nothing stays the same and although we are often afraid of change, it is that change, often, that brings hope.  That brings new beginnings.  That stirs up life in dead places.  We are not forgotten.

Paris is always a good idea!

geriraedean

Speaking of France, which I was a couple of posts ago, I believe that Paris is always a good idea.  We arrived in Paris via the underground Chunnel from London.  Chunnel being short for English Channel Tunnel.  I actually don’t recall when we were actually under the water as they were serving complimentary champagne on the train and I think it went to my head. When in Paris….

Feeling a little tipsy, I think I took a nap and the next thing I knew we had arrived at Gare du Nord train station in Paris.  It was a hub of activity and we grabbed our luggage and bags and held onto them for dear life.  Thankfully, our hotel was right across the street so we didn’t have the fuss of finding a taxi or train to anywhere that evening.
I shall never forget our quaint little Paris hotel.  In London we had stayed at the Hilton, because my sister works with IBM and she managed to get us a corporate rate for the 6 nights we spent there.  But in Paris life was different.  We entered our hotel and checked in at the cubby hole that was the front desk and proceeded to get our bags up to our floors.  The elevator was so small we could either put a person on it or some baggage but not both.  We decided to send our baggage up the elevator and then ran up the spiral staircase to greet it  on the floor we were staying on.  I believe Lexie sent her luggage to the wrong floor and had to run up another flight to send it back down.  We could hear her laughing and talking to us from the 3rd floor because the staircase was open all the way up and positioned in the middle of the lobby.  Once we arrived in our postage stamp room we noticed that there was an NH embossed on the head board of the bed.  We wondered what that meant and Lexie chirped out..its means “Not the Hilton”.  We howled.  Out of the mouths of babes, well she was 17.  I might mention that our rooms actually had private tiny bathrooms in each. So that was a luxury.   Very often, in Paris, the entire floor will share a water closet.
We (and by we, I mean my sister, her husband, Lexie and I) settled in to our rooms and decided to go find something to eat in the cafe at the base of our hotel.  Two of us squeezed into the elevator and the other two ran down the spiral staircase to see who would get their first.  The elevator was one of those rattly precarious old elevators that you could see through with a wrought iron crisscross frame.  I don’t remember what we ate but there was french music playing on the street corners and it was dusk by then, setting a perfect backdrop for the many twinkling lights everywhere.  Basically I just sat there and breathed deeply and reminded myself that, yes, I was indeed in Paris.  PARIS!
We arose early the next morning and made our way to the tour bus that was taking us to the town of Versailles to spend the day at the Palace. A glorious Sunday morning to be in Paris.  It was a beautiful bus ride and a beautiful morning but I think I dozed a little bit on the way. At this point  you’re probably wondering if I slept my way through France.  I assure you I didn’t.  I was wide awake when we entered the village of Versailles and very soon our bus rolled up to the Palace surrounded by a golden iron fence with magnificent gates.  At the risk of over using the word ‘magnificent’ lets just assume that everything that caught our eyes this day was, indeed, magnificent.  We toured the palace with its opulent architecture and decor making our way to Marie Antoinette’s’ boudoir.  Lets just say she was high maintenance. We wanted to eat cake but there was none to be found. Then it was explained to us that the Louvre was an exact replica of the POV (Palace of Versailles) because Marie wanted to live in the city and have the exact same luxuries at her fingertips.  The Hall of Mirrors – breathtaking.  Marie was known for her extravagant
lifestyle and tastes.
We made our way out onto the grounds with green grass cut in shapes and  patterns as far as the eye could see.  The grass really was greener on the other side of the Palace.  The POV is famous for its fountains and my brother-in-law made sure he booked our tour for Sunday since that was the only day of the week that the fountains are on.  They still use all the ancient and historic (could I call it technology?) that they used in Marie Antoinette’s day and each one is turned on manually so its a lot of work and I suppose that is why they only run on Sunday’s.  We lollygagged around the grounds for hours.  Many of the fountains were actually statues of famous historic people and horses.   We wandered into a covered garden off the beaten path and found a lovely little kiosk selling baguette, ham and swiss cheese sandwiches.  They were being served up by a very cute young frenchman that Lexie couldn’t take her eyes off.  We savored every mouthful of that amazing sandwich and bought an extra to eat under the covers in our hotel that night. We rode back on the top level of the double decker bus, right above the driver.  Best seat in the house.  Or should I say bus?  On our way back into the city we got our first glimpse of the Eiffel tower – just before we entered the tunnel where Princess Dianna was killed.  Sad moment.  Lexie was playing “Viva la Vida” by Coldplay on her phone and it has turned into a wonderful memory.
We made it back to our hotel in time to change and make our way via ‘the Metro’ to the Eiffel Tower.  Well we weren’t exactly under it but we were viewing it from a distant stone wall and the tower was twinkling with blue lights around a wreath of yellow stars.  It was magical.  Lexie, thought we needed music for this moment, so she dug up Viva La Vida again (our Europeon theme song), this time on my phone and while I still had my phone in my hand, it rang.  It was Mike, who was back home, calling to wish me a happy 27th anniversary. I’d almost forgotten it was our anniversary that day.   It was just the most romantic moment.  I still cannot believe that he called me when I was taking in the Eiffel Tower for the very first time.  I believe it was a God moment. I shall never forget.   We sauntered down closer to the Eiffel Tower past the carousel and close to the banks of the River Seine and just imprinted these memories in our hearts and souls. We were taking pictures to last a lifetime – to relive these moments – as a witness that we were really there.  My brother -in-law led us to a street cafe close to the tower where we sat and enjoyed a french meal while watching the lights on the Eiffel tower flicker through the trees.
We spend the next few days doing all the typical touristy things and seeing all the typical touristy landmarks even though they didn’t feel typical to us at all.   We took the Metro everywhere. We stopped at Paul’s (an every street corner bakery) and had croissants every morning.  We walked through St. Chappelle with its stained glass windows and walls and navy ceilings covered with gold fleur-de-lis.  We tip toed through the halls of Notre Dame so as to not disturb the hunchback.  I bought a candle there. It currently sits on my nightstand as a reminder  I was there.  We gazed upon Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa in the Louvre as well as the Winged Victory of Samothrace (google it, you’ll recognize it).  The Rembrants, the Raphaels, and Delacroix. Spent hours there, followed by walking through the tulleries down to the Champs Elysees.  We spotted a Starbucks and naturally had to go in and order a beverage.  Zara – right there on the Champs- we went in.  We passed Chanel and Louis Vitton and Laduree (and didn’t even know it because we had no clue what macarons were at that time). We’d seen these strange little spongy cookies, that looked like colourful hamburgers,  at all the street corner bakeries but had no idea of their popularity and prestige. We made our way to the Arch de Triumphe with its insane traffic circle at the base.  From the top of the Arch we could see the Eiffel Tower and the streets fanning out in a spoked wheel pattern.  We could see the Basilica du Sacre-Coeur in the distance.  We spend an afternoon strolling through the Latin Quarter stopping in lovely little shops looking for souvenirs to take home, eating rose shaped ice cream. We ate a late lunch at a perfect little street cafe before we made our way back to our hotel.  We dropped our jaws at the Musee D’orsay with its recognizable statues and paintings.  Its Monets and Renoirs.  Cezanne’s and Degas’.   Lexie and I split up from my sister and BIL and strolled down the River Seine and made our  way back to the Champs Elysee.  We took our time, we took pictures, we ate baguettes our of white paper bags.
One of my favorite memories was the afternoon we basked in the sun on the benches of Luxembourg Park.  We settled in by a vine enclosed pond and read. Took pictures, watched the children with their remote control sail boats on the larger pond in the middle of the park.  The park was complete with stone walls and fences, sculptures and a palace.  It was unlike any park I’ve ever been to. It’s what I expected to find in Paris.  That evening we decided to make our way to Montmartre to eat outside and watch all the local artists painting pictures of passersby.  Several artists wanted to paint Lexie’s picture and of course would charge her to take the picture home with her.  But Lexie’s uncle said, no – you will have to pay her if you want to paint her. He was very protective. After supper we walked down the cobblestone streets of this historic district and descended the stairs – where many pictures of the Eiffel tower are taken and painted  – and Lexie and my sister walked arm and arm back to our hotel.  It was an enchanted evening. Paris did not disappoint.
The following morning, my sister and her husband were leaving for home. After our sombre goodbyes and waving them off in their taxi, I booked Lexie and I a water taxi from the train station in Venice to our hotel by St. Marco Polo Square.  We were booked on the overnight train through France to Venice.  We arrived quite early at the Paris train station (I wanted to make sure we didn’t miss any connections now that we were on  our own) and Lexie played with the pigeons.  She felt sorry for their lameness, many were missing limbs and she insisted on feeding them. She reminded me of the bird lady from Mary Poppins. I explained to her that they were the rats of Europe but she still felt sorry for them. Those were our last images of Paris…the lame pigeons. It was exciting as we sped through Frances countryside.  We finally gave ourselves up to sleep after it was too dark to see anything. (Maybe I did sleep my way through France, but surely not Paris).   Next stop…Venice.

Calm – All – The – Way – Down

geriraedean1 Comment

I went for a mammogram yesterday. Not because I wanted to but because my doctor wanted me to get one and its hard to find a female doctor these days and I didn’t want to put her off and have her quit me,  so I found my requisition from last summer and made the appointment.  It was much quicker than I have ever had before….just 4 pictures and voila…done.  The technician said if you don’t hear from us by Friday you are good to go.

Next, I went and applied for a job at Pottery Barn.  Originally my last resort plan but now its starting to sound very enticing.   My EI is coming to an end and I have to find a way to earn a living so I don’t have to become an extremely thin hermit with no food or gas available.  I guess Mike could sell my car.  I’ve been seriously wondering what life without a phone would be like.    I wouldn’t need nice nails as I wouldn’t need to look professional sitting alone in my basement sewing up fabric and Cricuit cutting paper.  Forgot to mention I wouldn’t be meeting y’all at Starbucks anymore either.

I bit the bullet and went in and handed in my application.  They’ve had a sign  (and application forms) at the entrance of the store for several weeks now.  I vacillated and vacillated as to whether I should take this final step.  Was I giving up on God?  Was I giving up on myself?  It didn’t go unnoticed that this was a deviation from my regular skills and employment.   The hiring manager I talked to said that someone would call me for an interview.  So I turned up the ringer on my phone today and carried it around with me in case they called.  If my only option is to work retail, then Pottery Barn is the place.  I love that store.  My own house if full of Pottery Barn.  I can’t go to the mall without taking a stroll all the way to the back and back again.  I have all their catalogs.  I first heard about Pottery Barn on the popular sitcom, Friends, years ago.  It truly is one of my favorite places to hang out.  Once my sister and I sat across from each other on in one of their couched living room arrangements, complete with throw cushions, silk greenery, coffee table and centerpiece and had a lovely conversation for about an hour or so, as if we were sitting in a swanky hotel lobby not a furniture store.

Then a thought hit me.  What if Pottery Barn doesn’t want me either?   What if they don’t call?  I just thought for sure they would hire me if I gave them a resume. I mean why not?  Do I have a third eye in the middle of my forehead?  But…what if I don’t get an interview?  Then what? No interview – no job. I hadn’t planned on Pottery Barn not wanting me.
 Finally the phone rang.  Yay.  But it wasn’t Pottery Barn it was Canada Diagnostics and they want me back for more tests.  Say what?  Its funny how fast I could feel drops of salt water flooding my eyes.  Fear gripped me.  All of a sudden I lost interest in anything else I was supposed to do today.  I called back and they were able to get me in tomorrow….at least I wont have to wait for weeks making up all kinds of fatal scenarios.   However,  if the results were very bad that would solve the problem of finding a job and paying off my credit card.  That would solve all my problems.
 All of a sudden my problems don’t seem so bad.  I want my problems.  The problems I already have are the ones that I want to deal with. I’m rather protective and possessive of my problems.   I guess I am jumping the gun quite a bit here.  I’m planning my own funeral and writing my own eulogy and maybe the technician just didn’t do her job thoroughly.   Well that’s one way to get my attention off my unemployment dilemma.
I’m calm. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters…

My French Vacation one Sunday

geriraedean

Sometimes an experience really is the best gift.  Yesterday I almost felt as if I had been transported to France for three hours of instruction and practical cooking under the tutelage of a French Chef.  Playing really. A vacation of sorts.  It was a joy to work with top of the line ingredients as Chef Meret explained how he smokes all his own bacon and salmon for the classes.   His strong, difficult to understand French accent (much more refined than Canadian french) made the experience more authentic.  He was both engaging and humerous. Certainly not the anger and angst that comes across on Master Chef or Cake Boss.  It was more like Ratatouille.  I love that movie.  The main message of that digitally animated movie was that ‘anyone can cook’.  If a rat can cook,  I certainly can.

The moment we arrived we were handed our own souvenir apron and a mimosa which, in this case, was sparkling wine, mandarin juice and triple sec. We arrived just in time to observe Chef Meret demonstrating how to pipe meringues onto parchment for the pavlova’s we would be enjoying later in the class.  Naturally, he made it look like a kindergarten project.  I’ve made macarons and meringues before, I know its not quite that simple.  Next he showed off his pastry making skills with tips for making individual savory pastry shells for the Onion and Bacon tart we would soon be tasting.   He showed us exactly how he had prepared anything he had  made ahead of time, due to time constraints in the class.   Next he walked us through each process, by actually doing it, for each menu item we would be making.  Onion & bacon tart served underneath an endive & sweet pea (not the flower) salad drizzled with Asparagus vinaigrette.  Followed by a Duo of Salmon benedict.  The duo was fresh salmon and smoked salmon combined.  This was served over a Pomme Paillasson (Paillasson means ‘mat’, as in mat for your shoes) smothered in white Tarragon Butter sauce. Dessert was Macerated berries (basically cooked black berries with black pepper) who knew? served with Lemon thyme ice-cream (which he also demonstrated and made in the class) on a cookie size meringue (all this translates to mini pavlova).  Finished off with Peach Clafouti.  They looked tiny souffle’s when we took them out of the oven. Did I mention the wine pairings? This added a certain… what do the french call it?….je-ne-sais-quoi to the entire experience.
I collaborated with my daughter, Lexie, in the class.  She made the Pomme Paillasson while I made the Onion and Bacon tart.  I made the Endive and Sweet Pea salad while she made the duo of Salmon benedict.  I did all the chopping as is evidenced by the two fingernails that I chopped off trying to imitate Chef Meret’s professional knife skills.  He showed us how to chop fast and fine with your eyes closed and never a nick to the fingers.  I’ll have to work on that.  Lexie and I are currently on the lookout for a wire egg basket with a handle (just like Chef Meret’s) since we found out that eggs are not to be refrigerated. Frees up more space in the fridge for items that do.  We gleaned many food preparation tips that will aid us in all of our kitchen encounters not just the recipes we made in class.  Chef Meret was a wealth of information and skill.  I imagined he was a tour guide.  I pretended I was in France.  We also pretended we on the cooking channel.  It was all so much fun.
I was once again reminded, how much I adore working in the kitchen.  I love taking fresh, quality food and creatively working in into something that is heaven to the palate.  In past years, as I shopped for groceries, I tended to purchase whatever was on sale.  Canned, frozen,  boxed, prepared…whatever made life easy and was tradition and affordable.  Now that the littles are bigs and I have more time and have been blessed with an amazing new kitchen and island, not to mention outfitting my kitchen with top of the line Pampered Chef kitchen products, cooking and baking is such a delight.  Its cathartic.  Cooking and baking appeals to my creative sensibilities. Making food and serving it to those I love, be it family or friends, is my happy place.  Truly.  Cooking is a practiced skill, no doubt, but if you can read and listen, you can cook.  The final product has everything to do with what you start out with. It is not hard work. It’s a joy!
I love the the idea of not just stuffing any old crap down my throat for instant gratification and subsequent regret. I’d far rather enjoy the preparation process and anticipation of savouring every morsel of a joyfully and meticulously prepared feast. For the French, eating is an event to take time for. They don’t just scarf down a hamburger and fries in the car at a red light.
Apparently, this establishment started out as a  company that provided all-inclusive, luxury culinary tours to southwestern France and they still offer tours. Hello?  I’m on that plane.  I just have to secure a job to pay for the tour and then try to talk my new employer into letting me have a month off to engage in this gastronomical tour of France.  Actually its only for a week but if I’m over there I may as well stay and revisit Paris.   Bucket list.

Best Laid Plans

geriraedean

What a laugh! Sit by the fire and listen to music and read while sipping on a Chai Latte……right. When I got home from work the men folk were circling the kitchen with their fangs out. They had kind of a ‘feed or be eaten’ look in their eyes…. For some odd reason those words from Proverbs 31 started screaming in my head “she gets up while its still dark and provides food for her family”…seriously??? so I was compelled to scour the freezer looking for something to appease their ravenous appetites. I cooked things no woman trying to lose weight should ever have to cook – let alone inhale…perogies smothered in butter and onions, green beans sautéed in butter and sea salt, sweet and sour meatballs….Oy! Now I find myself cleaning the stove top, the kitchen and doing the dishes – who knew you had to use that many pots and pans to make a simple meal and I am stuck in the kitchen with the leftovers…quick into the outside fridge. “She watches over her household and does not eat the bread of idleness”….well she doesn’t eat bread at all if she knows what’s good for her…seriously do you think sitting by the fire, reading and listening to music sounds like idleness??? Why is it haunting me? Lucky for me, Mike did go out to Okotoks to meet a friend for coffee and the kids are bailing to go to a movie so I will have the house to myself….so I WILL take that bath even though my hands are already pruned from doing the dishes. I’ll use the water when I am done to scrub the tub that way it won’t be considered idleness. Best laid plans and all that.

Repost from March 2014