The Seated View

(The model is my darling Dino Daughter, Amanda. Explanation? Sure. See, I'm her Auntosaurus, so naturally she is...)

I love the light before dusk descends on long summer evenings. Softer, yet more intense than midday, lending everything a deeper glow. About a week ago, a friend and I were walking down the street. We came upon a small park adjacent to the sidewalk. In the middle of the area was a circle of small, gnarled trees, perfect for climbing practice by children too young to attempt larger trees. I think they might have been some sort of miniature apple trees – the shape seemed right. I came closer, moving across the grass, noticing how the blossoms created a mushroom cap crowning the circle of trees in a cloud of white. The thousands of blossoms seemed to have just popped that very day and seemed apple-like, too. Sort of like this . The closer I came, the more I could see details, the cloud separating into individual flowers, delicate petals surrounding tiny filigreed stamens. I stopped just below one of the trees and looked up into the masses and masses of blossoms, the transl

Late note: in case this is scaring other people (see comments), this is a lobster trying to get out of the fish guy's tank.

Well, that was entirely satisfying... When I originally got sucked into the irresistible vortex that is American Idol , it was by accident – I was sick and needed something mindless. I didn’t watch the auditions – they were on 24 hours a day for weeks (or so it seemed) and mostly featured the Tone Deaf, the Awful and the Just Plain Weird. Not a lot of fun for me – it makes my toes curl in sympathetic embarssment and preferring my humiliation in smaller doses, I just can’t take it. I started watching when they went to Hollywood and after the three groups got the news, I remember calling my mother (we call each other in commercials. It’s like getting together for a fun time, without having to leave your respective homes) and saying “I’m going to watch because of the grey-haired guy ”. And last night, the grey-haired guy won! Now, I’ve often argued that I wish he wouldn’t win, so he wouldn’t get chewed up by the Idol machine, but still… I had a silly grin on my face for a whil

Inspired by Mamacate . Victoria Day was spent hanging out with the kidlings. We joke that they don’t really look like siblings, but more like their parents have been cloned - Liam's clearly a Biggs and there's no doubt that Morgan takes after the Andersen side of the family. Pictures will be interspersed throughout this post, as I couldn’t decide which not to include (just be thankful I narrowed it down to five). Overheard in a store last week, one woman trying on rubber clogs, second woman telling her how great they were. “They’ll last you a lifetime,” she said, continuing that she wore them every day at work, 12 hours a day and “it’s been 3 years and they’re only just now starting to fall apart”. I always thought the human life span was longer than that… I was talking to AlisonH of the comments and she mentioned Sea Silk by Handmaiden. Check the link. I’ll wait for you. G’ahead – you won’t regret it. See that picture? Was I the only one who moaned

It’s that time again. The television season is drawing to a close and I have to say goodbye to favourite companions. Herewith my take on a few. In alphabetical order, in order to not show favouritism. Wouldn’t want their feelings to get hurt, would I now? America’s Next Top Model . My guilty pleasure – you have to love a show that made the word ‘hoochy’ known (as in “tone down the sex, you’re looking a little hoochy”). This year, I hated the way the product placements changed from “integrated into show” to having Jay Manuel actually do a little commercial as he introduces the product. Jade was also awful. I wanted a finale between Danielle and Joanie and got my wish. I know Danielle was just that smidge better and I loved her a lot. But Joanie… There was something about Joanie. That show actually does the best misdirection in reality TV land. In Survivor, you can always tell who’s getting booted by the fact that they make it look like they’re safe. In ANTM,

When I was younger, Danish TV would once a year show The Last Night of the Proms from Royal Albert Hall . I was an absolute fanatic about it. There’d be great music, lots of laughing and everyone in the audience were dressed in period costume. It always seemed like the ultimate party to me and I wanted to be part of it some day, singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ with the rest of them. Well, years later, I got my wish. Sort of. Every May, St. James’ Cathedral has a Last Night of the Proms concert and it’s become a tradition to go. Parts of the program changes, parts stay the same. It's wildly monarchical, wildly British, wildly all about the Empire (to be said with very uppercrust British accent, if you please), complete with military presence in the form of the Band of the Royal Regiment of Canada . The only thing missing is the period costumes and as I’d look ridiculous in a bonnet, I can live with that. This past weekend, we made our way to St. James Cathedral

Because yesterday was Mother's Day... and because my mother loves tulips... and because this was my sister's first Mother's Day... this is for all the mothers out there... and for the rest of us, too...

I used to be a rabid Stephen King fan. Absolutely rabid. Which, considering the author’s genre, is really sort of appropriate, don’t you think (cue foaming at the mouth)? I’d read anything by him, eagerly await a new release, buy it the minute the hardcover hit the stores (this being back in the days where I had money) and disappear for a couple of days, doing nothing but reading. Until Tommyknockers . I hated Tommyknockers. That was the book that made me stop reading Stephen King for several years (until I got Bag of Bones from the library, which made me read him again, although less fanatically). As an aside, when I read On Writing , I found out he was crashing on an addiction to alcohol and cocaine when writing Tommyknockers and then it all made so much more sense. A few weeks ago, when I was feeling particularly homicidal, I started reading Cell . Nothing better than a bit of apocalyptic reading to brighten your day when people piss you off. The book is good –

“what am I doing with a blog? - me, 1 year ago In the midst of the insanity that was last week, I remembered that it was getting towards my blogiversary and made a mental note to start thinking about what to write for the day. Just thinking, mind you – I knew the day was sometime in the third week of May, so I had lots of time. Lots! A few days later, it occurred to me to check the date – I believe in planning ahead. Gulp. May 6. Right, then. Yes, I know it’s May 8 today. I was abducted by aliens. Really. Anyway… it’s a year later. 170 posts later. I may have figured out what to do with a blog. This has been a place to share my words and photographs. It’s been a place to share opinions, reactions, growth and laughs. The little and the big in my life. One biggie was a new love – or rather, two. When you find a new love, you want to shout it from the rooftops, but I’ve discovered that a blog is even better. Not only

I borrowed a blanket from my mother last week. It was my father’s, bought when he was young and working all over the British Isles. The blanket he bought in Scotland and I am pretty sure it’s the Royal Stewart tartan . It’s wool and large, larger than any other blanket we’ve ever had and there’s a rip in one end that’s been there for as long as I can remember, never advancing deeper into the reds and greens and blues. My father used to nap with this blanket, never with anything else. He napped on a single bed that used to be mine when I was a child, covered up, cocooning in the blanket. I remember waking him up a little before dinner was ready, allowing enough time for him to wake up fully – I get my post-sleep stupor from him – and wash his hands. I’d quietly say “far? It’s 6 o’clock”, wait a beat and then repeat it a little louder. I get my ability to sleep through World War III from him, as well. He’d jerk awake, mutter something sleep-drunk and barely recogni

For the Tink Freaks™ (we so need t-shirts) out there: TinkPapa will be volunteering this Sunday (May 7) as part of the CHTV telethon to raise money for the McMaster Children’s Hospital . TinkMama and the Tinks will be making an appearance, as well, so the whole family can tell their story. John’s on air between 5-7pm and the Tinks should be making their television debut probably 5ish. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure CHTV only covers Southern Ontario, so any Tink Freaks outside that area are… well, we’ll tell you all about it. And to file under ‘Sometimes, Good Things Happen’: A new friend was having surgery this week and all signs indicated the Big Bad, but it was nothing but good. An appointment I’d dreaded wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I did manage to injure my knee and the new chair is… let’s just say it’s earning its moniker of Torture Device. However! The old chair’s fixed, it was a simple thing, only cost $95 and it’s coming home to mama tomorrow and

So, Friday. It had been a bit of a week, but I had paid my bills, finally finished some work (before the deadline! Ok, just before. Almost as ‘just’ as you can get – nervewracking, that was) and was so ready for the weekend. I started things out by getting my hair cut (was resembling an Old English Sheepdog ) and getting tickets to Last Night of the Proms at St. James' . Double yay! Went home for my Friday morning breakfast (or in this case lunch) gab session with a friend on the west coast. She’d had a bit of a week too and we talked about how it was starting to look like a good end to a not-terrific week. That’s when she got me. Nemesis. The bitch. After I got off the phone, Mojo promptly had bad GI issue, requiring – urgh – clean-up and cuddling to comfort the wee thing. Around 2pm, I decide to follow up with health insurance company re: replacement cheque for a claim. Turns out they have done the exact opposite of what I asked them to do. Looks lik