I’ve given myself over to the fit of throwing out that seems to come with moving, and it’s feeling fairly productive and clean in my closet (and head!) space. So I’m not sure if I want everything in Kim’s shop, or if I just want a picture of everything in the shop. Either way, it’s aesthetically arresting.
Once upon a time there was a princess. This princess was mildly calm, a little neurotic and very controlling but she made lots of good food so boys sometimes liked her. She lived in a beautiful castle on the third floor of an alright castle with a very handsome music making prince who often danced to Queen with her in the living room, and knew that “Don’t Stop Me” was her favorite duet that wasn’t really a duet.
One day with a very sad face the boy told her that to be the best of the best music making princes that he would have to move very very far away to go to school, in fact, 5000km away from the perfect castle with the beautiful sunlight that she loved so very much. And even though the kingdom she lived in was so perfect and filled with things like chocolate and blue cheese covered steak, a shop full of silver slippers and the only dressmaker she ever really loved; she loved him more than all of those things and also knew that there was online shopping. So after many arguements, and many tears, and many nights of staring woefully out her window, the princess began to pack her things to move at least 6 hours closer to France. Or that’s what he told her. It worked.
This princess had among her talents an ability to chew bubblegum and kick ass, though she was frequently out of bubblegum. So she was not afraid of the task of moving her little home across many many kilometres to a place by the ocean, in fact, knowing she would be near the “warmest waters north of South Carolina” motivated her more than a little. She had many visions of trading in her city slicker gowns for warm sweaters and a golden retriever named Jack, and she began to get very excited.
Now the princess had waged many wars against evil offices of the registrar, unfeeling and sanctimonious cell phone czars, irritable tailors and foul mouthed baristas. But never had the princess waged a war of attrition against time. This act of inching forward with moving companies, letters of resignation and forwarding addresses? How could she feel efficient when the only battle she was waging was against a faulty online hotel room booking system? Unlike any other time, there was too much of this time. There was too much time to plan. It was.. calm.
There was nobody to hear her whooping war cries except a startled liquor store clerk who was reticent to give her all the boxes they had. She had nobody to command while she weilded her all powerful blackberry, instead she stood in her living room in her darted big girl pants and waved it about as though conducting a symphony, really, it was imaginary movers. The very handsome prince had expertly divided the tasks so as not to overwhelm the increasingly nervous princess who kept asking questions like ‘Do you think they have this coffee creamer there? Maybe we should take some with us. What about the Gap? Should I buy extra pairs of pants? What about this beer.. we should take a cooler full right?”. Her tasks were finished, and this made her nervous.
The princess was not ok with this.
She was afraid that she was going to forget something and was living in a world of half lost and half found lists. The prince kept finding bits of scrap papers with royal hieroglyphics stating “GRANT PARK CHICAGO DON’T FORGET ANISH KAPOOR” and “DO THEY HAVE CHIMAY BLUE CAP?” and had found multiple printed maps on how to get around Fargo, North Dakota. He was a little bit afraid that he would soon be driving across the country in a car fully loaded of miscellany and slim cut Gap Khakis with a crazy woman by his side chugging Chimay Blue Cap and bawling.
The princess was very nervous. Nervous that this was her first really big test as an adult, and that forgetting to bring a cell phone charger or book a hotel in Winnipeg would indicate that she really wasn’t ready for a golden retriever named Jack, and that she would forever bear the scrutiny of people who asked “Did you see the Cloud Gate sculpture in Grant Park?” and she would have to hang her head and say no, I’m not grown up enough to plan those things. Because, she would explain, I had too long to get ready, I made too many lists, and I was really, really afraid.
The princess was not ok.
“The Royal Art Lodge was an art collective from 1996 – 2008. The Royal Art Lodge was founded in 1996 by Micheal Dumontier, Marcel Dzama, Neil Farber, Drue Langlois, Jonathan Pylopchuk and Adrian Williams in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Hollie Dzama and Myles Langlois have also been members.“
I’m such a fan of Marcel Dzama, I was so happy to errantly stumble upon this. I’m really not sure how I did.. but that was a happy accident. xo
Darlings, really. I bought this from the incredible Lauren over at Dear Golden and I am so in love with it. So in love that after ripping open the package on Friday, I’ve worn it three times. And it is only Tuesday. It smells a little bit like Pilsner due to an unfortunate card playing/dancing/drinking combo, but I really can’t bear to part with it, even into the wash. Thank you so very much Lauren! xo
Little paniers, I’ve found a bicycle! I spent a good many (5!) hours working on her last night, and while I would show you her greasy internal gear hub or her positively attrocious braking system, instead I’ll show you what I fell in love with – her beautiful vintage crossbar with her intact logo (her badge is intact on the front too!!). She is going to be a tonne of work (I’m in the process of searching out 26 1 and 3/8th wheels.. I know..) but she will be so incredibly wonderful when I’m done. So here commences the start of the before/during and after project of restoring a vintage Schwiin, where you will learn more about single speed conversions and handlebar varieties than you will ever want or need to. I forgot until last night exactly how much I enjoyed working on bikes, stripping grease and trueing wheels. Standing in the bike shop last night the hours flew by and the grease under my nails piled up and I felt so good. I can’t wait for you all to see her, in bits and pieces and in her glorious entirety.
ps – Job and skill # 476 that you didn’t know I had? Bike mechanic.
Holy hot tamales folks, Monday is kicking my ass today. I wish that I had some witty story or anecdote or tale for you, but I’ve literally been running through the halls at work today trying to get things done. So, I offer these delightful dresses from Built By Wendy who is having an equally as fabulous sale. I’m debating between the black (not on sale.. but I’ll probably wear it more) and the stripes (on sale, but I could possibly fall into the horizontal hindenbergitis syndrome whereby I look like a cross between beetlejuice and a blimp, and probably not the french woman look I was going for). What do you think blogettes?
Bike Aid was an incredible success, I made a delicious sum that will let me buy a bicycle.. as soon as I can find the right now! Thank you to everyone who came out, thank you to J. for organizing, and to everyone at the Ace of Place for so graciously offering up your abode to get down in. It was lovely, and I’m so happy to have such great friends.
I’ll be back later, for now I have to beat a hasty retreat into the photocopy room where I will do what every girl with a degree truly longs to do – laminate. (No seriously. If laminating was a full time job, I’d be all over that). xo
I feel like I discovered what weekends were really supposed to be….card games and laughter and music, sleeping in, walking in the rain, sitting in open windows drinking beer, chasing ice cream trucks, bike shopping (yay!), walking about the italian district picking up bruschetta and figs, drinking espresso and eating cannoli with my brother and Jared. The days were just so filled with sunshine and good food and genuine happiness that I found myself repeating over and over “I am so happy. This is so good.” And it was.
Because it’s pretty much the best thing going on tonight, it makes the other four in the Friday Five fairly null and void. See you tomorrow when I wake up with enough funds (see: pocket lint and bottlecaps) to get me some new wheels (or cry about how I drank too much and still don’t have a bike but am learning to like the bus). Happy Friday Banditos!
ps- totally 164 street. But that was my fault.
A really bombastic holiday; picnic in the part with L. & Co. eating triple cream brie and strawberries and trompsing through gardens to take photos, catching rides on the side of the road for three dollar beers and laughter with boys in cars that play jazz and feel like summer, sitting on patios and walking through streets of revellers, snakebites in cold glasses and on warm lips, too much ice cream and vertigo on my brothers patio watching fireworks and screaming with laughter and awe like kids, curling up sunny shoulders and fists of peonies in a cab where we are hot and happy with each other and the day.
Anybody using fennel and grapefruit together is a hero in my books. A tasty, tasty hero. The food photography is amazing, and it doesn’t help that I’m stuck at my desk without anything to nosh on..
There is something so lovely about having a holiday in the middle of the week! I’m taking the day off from blogging to spend time with Elle picnicking in the park and soaking up the somewhat weak but still lovely sun. I started working on Granny Squares last night and I’ll post my progress tomorrow! I’m so excited, the end result is going to be beautiful. Happy Canada Day, may you all drink beer and make merry.
ps – When I was about 17, I was with friends driving across a big bridge here on Canada day in the back of a jeep. Some boys beside us shouted out “Are you patriotic?” to which I nodded enthusiastically. They then, boldfaced little jerks, shouted “Then show us your beaver!”. Bravo Canada, for choosing as one of your noble mascots, an undying and hysterical euphemism. I tip my hats to you young men, not a Canada Day goes by that I don’t think of you.
pss- Need to cool off? Go to flickr and search 241543903. Seriously.
{For Me, For You – Etsy Shop!}
Because gushing would seem somewhat partisan, I’ll let your fingers do the talking – bust over to For Me, For You for some very deKate bling. xo
Happy tuesday darlings. We’ve had the nicest weather here – warm in the day, cool sweater weather at night. The Jazz Festival is in full swing so I haven’t seen very much of Jared, instead I’ve been living in his shirts around the house after work. Took some snaps last night of one of my favorites, a linen work shirt from the 1940’s. It’s perfect for this weather. (The colors aren’t as bright here as on Flickr.. check them out there at the link below.} xo babies.
{all on Miel et Cannelle}
Hello Bicyclettes! I’m so excited to unveil the poster that the incredible Kate from For Me, For You made for Bike Aid. I can’t really express how thrilled I am at the outpouring of support and willingness to consume booze and listen to good music all in the name of a good cause. (See: If i have to walk to work one more time I’m gonna freak out.) Thank you again to Kate for the beautiful work, and you’re all invited to get down and donate a toonie to a good cause. If you’re not going to be in town, feel free to donate here to andrea.mcquade@gmail.com.
And, in exchange, I offer you some hardcore bike porn. Literally. Doesn’t she look like she’s peering over her shoulder at you? *sigh* My centerfold indeed.
{via Vanilla Bicycles in Portland}
Phew! I may have slightly dashed off there mid – Friday, my apologies for leaving you all in the lurch with nary a farewell. We went off to Calgary with some friends to see Chris Potter and Dave Holland play at Jack Singer (what a beautiful concert hall!) and have a quick visit with J’s parents. Whirlwind yes?
Plus.. to tell the truth.. Melancholia has been going around our house as of late. We are slowly starting the process of leaving, if only mentally, our beautiful home. I’m trying to commit to memory the feel of our warm hardwood on my feet, the breeze under the door frames, the dancing of curtains across the floor. It’s a home so filled with memories and laughter and love that I can’t really imagine waking somewhere else and feeling anything but.. sad. So we’ve been sitting at the kitchen table longer, shining the windows brighter, taking more photos. Home is where the heart is.. and this place will always be in our hearts. *sigh* I know. Friggin’ lame. But I’ll miss the smell of Marlboro’s from downstairs at 3am with all my spotty lungs.
Words have failed me for the past half hour that I’ve been trying to create this post. What can you possibly say to somebody who is, by nature, nurture and divine intervention, the reason that you have the words you do? Sometimes “Happy Birthday” seems so awfully inconsiderate, so trite, when what you really should say – is thank you. Thank you for sticking around for 50 years, thank you for always offering to hit my boyfriends with the minivan, thank you for leaving marzipam penguins on my bedside table when you took late night cooking classes, thank you for giving me faith in the person that by recombinant genetics or love, I will become. Happy Birthday. I love you. xo
{Siggi Eggertsson via Booom}
Brief update on the tie die jumpsuit harem pant front: It was a no go. I shoehorned myself as best as I could into that baby, and let me tell you, almost all was lost. Including poor Elle’s lunch when she laughed at my baggy ass. But not before I pointed it out and laughed myself. STILL – I may get it anyways. It just makes me so happy. Baggy ass and all. PS – Lady, thank you for fulfilling a lifelong goal: sushi and cupcakes for dinner and drinking something delish out of a paperbag in public. Don’t worry moms, we’re stayin’ classy – it was readymade sangria from 1988. xo
(my brother has a particularily fabulous apartment with a stunning view. we recently visited all it’s glory with my parents)
Me: I have to admit Dad, sometimes I’m a little jealous of N’s apartment.
My Dad: Don’t worry hunny, you have a nice home. It’s just more..pragmatic.
*silence*
Jared: *whispering to me* Is that a decorating term?
There is a point in the summer when you’re working outdoors that taking a sandwich with meat in it becomes.. let’s say “unviable”. When I was tree planting this would happen somewhere around mid-June; you’d open your lunch bag and realise that it wasn’t really a lunch bag, it was a veritable petrie dish of things that could throw your earning potential and your stomach for a loop. This particular demi-scientific discovery prompted and necessitated some culinary..liberty.
For example, because you needed to get your protein after walking umpteen miles a morning, hummus was always a popular choice. So was peanut butter. Usually together. Topped with cheese. And pickles for variety. I attempted to dodge this combo for a week or so, but finally acquiesced to both trying, and eventually enjoying the gustatory assault. Despite presenting as just about the worst combination of foods ever, it was really.. really good.
One would think you could apply the same principle to the willy nilly mix of tie dye and harem pants. Delish.
Take a gander at these absolutely amazing vintage portraits on eBay. I’ve been looking for just the right one to kick off a collection, and I’m thinking one of these is it. Any votes? I gave them names.. Peter, Anita and Ester.
{life}
Little chapeaux, I am beyond excited that it is finally sunny and beautiful enough to be patio hat weather. More than that, I am excited to be going out with Elle tomorrow to go hat shopping for just that purpose – to find beautiful and fanciful hats under which to park our asses and drink cocktails on a patio. Oh Elle – I do heart you so.
Blogger loves! I’m back. I feel so much better after an incredible weekend filled with two (2!) wheels of brie, peonies, homemade mango salsa, new sneakers.. the list goes on. Thank you again to all of you for your kind words, encouragement and suggestions, you were just what I needed to get me back on my feet. And then spur on a shopping spree wherein those feet were clad in the damn cutest foral sneakers ever. However before we get there, I have a few things to catch up on, so lets proceed shall we?
I didn’t even forget about these.. In fact, I’ve been totally attempting to come up with beautiful and interesting ways to ship these babies to… Genevieve and Moorea! I have two of each, so you can both have the same, or different. The draw was initially just for one, but since I’m such a delinquent blogger of late, I thought that two may just make up for it. Ladies, I will email you later today – congrats, may you wear with style and grace and tell everyone I made them for you, bespoke. (This draw was done in a totally legit manner, where J. butchered both of your names as he drew them out of a mason jar and shouted them like a pro wrestling announcer.)
Every single Monday Must Have and Wanted Wednesday that I’ve missed could be taken care of in this shop. I feel like I could really be THAT girl who wears awesome leather jackets and perfect jeans who always has a light but never smokes. Check out her incredible work here, and join me in feeling envious.
Almost everything I’ve been lacking in inspiration (as demonstrated by my culinary choices of late – I have eaten fish sticks twice, though once I was adventurous and suicidal all at once and ate the beer battered ones…) has been restored by the lovely Esra Roise and her summery drawings. Is it wrong to covet the jewelry and fashions of line drawings? No, I didn’t think so.
{beets from a goat cheese and beet fritter on spinach salad}
{the new kicks that make me infinately happy and ok with saying the word “kicks”}
{the sudden and incredibly beautiful summer thunderstorm that descended on Saturday}
And last but not least, a few snaps of my day to day life as of late. As a gift from my grandmother I have a beautiful new MacBook that I find just about as intringuing and confusing and wonderful as string theory. It will no doubt begin a new saga here called “How Andrea Learned To Left Click”.
xo chickies, have a lovely Monday.
Jared, though extremely flattered by all of your compliments, would like to come clean about this photo – “Tell them I am not a beefcake and I’m pretty sure I was flexing every muscle at once for the one time in my life when the camera went off”. It’s pretty true. The man is like spaghetti. But with butt cheeks. But, just to clarify, I always look this tough and fabulous in peach shorts and huaraches. xo
ps – though really.. what is up with the triangle butt?
pss – Really dude? Beefcake?
Hello persimmons! I’m so looking forward to my weekend – we orginally had plans to get away, but with my parents coming through for a quick visit and all the recent upheaval, I’m happy to just stay home and bask in a park. I’ll be back in the swing of things for Monday, and bringing you your usual dose of.. well, whatever it is I give you here at M&C. Probably epilepsy and a sugar high if we judge from the 5 pieces of inspiration I’m offering up for the Friday Five. All my love darlings. xo
{ffffound}
Hello catwalkers – In the midst of “Part 1: Andrea and Her Sad Pants Take A Walk” I completely forgot about our Summer Street Style issue coming out today! I’m really happy with the people I found and the photos that M. chose. The rockin’ electro-malibu cali-80’s font.. Maybe not. But the rest? *Mwah* Edmonton, you guys rock my socks with your style and wit. Check out the slideshow here, and peep a few pics of yours truly and J in the mix.
There is a sociolinguistic theory that assigns primacy to those emotions which have the most derrivative words, the thinking being that if we have so many words for it then it must be key to our understanding of our language and ourselves.
And then there is ‘grief’.
There is a strange language that we don’t use in everyday life that seems to be suddenly and pervasivly availible to you the moment that somebody dies, it is as though all the cliches and nightmares you’ve had of that moment are no longer spectres but real and unwakeable. The muttered “I keep thinking she’ll walk through the door” and “this feels like a dream” that you have seen so many times in bad films and worse novels is something that is suddenly so horribly true that you cannot help but apologize to an author you never liked because those really are the only words.
There are the same few words that we use time and time again for this moment, the same phrases, in books and newspapers, movies and poems that you think so old and so overused – and they become not faulty literary devices, but an indication of the sheer and utter humanity that we all share when somebody dies. That we are so human that we can’t find any other words than the ones that we have always used, to tell the people we have always known, that there is nothing but grief.
There is much sadness here friends, my heart is heavy but I am ok. I wanted to thank all of you for your words that buoyed me and moved me forward through the dream and to the end where I may not have better words, but I do better understand those that we use.
xo
{My grandma on the left}
Hello pumpkins. I’m home safe and sound. I’m not sure yet about posting, I’m still a little shaky, but wanted to let you all know that I am ok, that I am moving forward, and to share a little funny story.
When my grandma was here visiting we went to Value Village, where she demanded to know why I appeared to be collecting junk that she had in her basement. When I told her that no, grandma, you don’t have all of this in your basement (this referring to a vintage Royal typewriter and the Herman Miller chairs that I have been drooling over online) she scoffed at me and told me that she did indeed have all this “shit” in her basement.
I got to her house late on Saturday night after she passed away, and went into the basement where she kept her computer to start the processes that inevitably need to be started after all else has stopped. And there in her basement was a chocolate brown Eames Herman Miller armshell chair. I laughed knowing she would have had a big bowl of ” I told you so” for me to eat, and sitting here in my living room with that chair across from me, I know she would have loved that I would get to sit in in it and chow down.
xo darlins, hold your loved ones a bit longer for me today.
dearest bloggers. I will be away for the next week – my grandmother, full of life in my kitchen two days ago, has passed away. We raced across the country to be with her, and had the opportunity to whisper our goodbyes, our love and our thank-yous in her ear. Grief is messy and sticky and so very quiet. I will be back when I can. xo
Happy Friday Nectarinos! I am spending the day with my mother and grandmother, so am signing off for the day. Go forth and be wild and merry. xoxo
My brother graduates from University today. Years ago when he was about seven, my parents came home to find my brothers name in muddy three foot high letters on our white house. They assumed it was me, because who would write their OWN name in mud on their own house? My brother. If there is a story that summarizes the incredible, honest and gentlemanly nature of my brother, it is that he will only ever write his own name in mud, while ensuring he helps you write yours in gold. I couldn’t want for a better, more selfless, kind man as a brother – congratulations.
However, seeing as how this is always all about me, I figured that’s a good enough segway to wrap up the story of my undergrad.
I really was all set to write out this nice recap of my journey through my undergrad and I was ready to tell you all about those moments where I realized that this was what I loved. I was going to tell you, in certainly sentimental terms that I have been carefully planning, about it. Because really, I tell you about passing out on my couch wrapped in a linen napkin. I should be able to tell you about the serious stuff.
Then I realized there was a far more important story to tell you, one that tells most of the story about my undergrad, but in far more interesting terms. I think it’s called an allegory. Or extended metaphor. Not sure. I may have missed that class.
***
Four years ago I moved back here from India with my brother. Like all good children coming from far away places to a locale with an unstable rental market accompanied by an anxious mother, we moved into residence. Keeping in mind this was essentially my first serious kick at the academic can (applying to be a paramedic/international spy/document forger notwithstanding), please note that I had not yet plumbed the depths of my burgeoning love of the bottle (just joking mom – good times..). I thought myself to be far and above the usual din and dissaray produced by 13 floors of students intent on drinking a large town dry. You know, even though I was entering school at the same time as my brother, 3 and some years my junior. Bravo.
I met Stephanie that year, whom to this day is a dear and lovely and sweet friend who knows what only Vegas should know about me. Namely (but certainly not exclusively), the time that we made an amuse bouch out of a bottle of tequila (each) before midnight. (And bars close at 3am). I remember drinking.. and drinking.. and there was a little thinking, where I thought “This is a lot of drinking”. Then there was Steph’s hand, pulling me into the crowd, dancing and whooping and climbing fire escapes (fire escapes? Who puts fire escapes in a bar!) and dancing on said fire escapes and doing shot after shot. Somewhere after midnight when we picked the last of the limes from our teeth and the lint from our pockets we realized we didn’t have any money, any money at all, with which to get our sorry selves home. So we stumbled down two flights of stairs (stairs? Who puts two flights of stairs in a bar?) and ran into a man.
Who looked like Colonel Sanders.
Steph grabbed my hand, looked dead into this man’s eyes, and with what I can only hope was a true lust and dedication to designated driving, told him that we’d make out for 20$ for a cab. To which he responded “I will give you 500$ to come home with me.”
We ran. I assume home.
I never really went back to that bar, never discovered where the huge rectangle shaped bruise on my side came from (fire escape?), and I never drank tequila again. I am to this day, however, friends with Stephanie. Lest I ever run for political office, she needs to be on my side.
Four years later. I was slated to present my thesis project in front of a panel of professors at 4pm. At 3:30 a much respected proffessor (and much of a friend I think) saw me litterally turn green with nerves. So he bought me a coffee. We smoked a cigarette. And then, bouyed along by another proffessor and friend we walked to his office where he unceremoniously presented me with a bottle of “liquid courage”.
Tequila. You siren.
“There are no glasses,” he explained, “Hopefully you don’t mind sharing with me and Dr. X.” He cracked the top of the bottle. “And Andrea,” he said, “You know about fashion. Don’t you think Dr. X looks a bit like Colonel Sanders today?”
I took a swig, and nodded. It was the first time in four years I had been able to take a drink of tequila without vomitting into my lap. I passed the thesis with style and grace, and a burn in my stomach that seemed appropriate and cautionary:
“You only get to be here once,” it seemed to say. “So learn to drink tequila, love your friends ferociously and stupidly, learn hard and fast and with love and lust, devour books and time with the same respect. Do what makes you the most nervous and the most afraid and what touches you in your soul. In the end, when you do it right, there will still be mysteries to solve. Like those seven herbs and spices.”
***
So there you go. Bounded on both sides by tequila and Colonel Sanders. A degree. xoxo
{Ancient Future - Currently on Vacation.. so I’m waiting…}
So today is all about delayed satisfaction and displacement, as I have been reading way too much Freud on my sickbed. Delayed satisfaction – This shop is currently in vacation, hence I have to wait. Displacement – all I really want is to wear a feather headdress. Preferably one of light brown, white and aqua colored feathers. Too much? I will settle for this beauty.
{w}
This is one of my favorite picture taking spots in the house. It is so warm, and my chair so soft and comfortable that sometimes I forget what I’m doing and drift off a little. I think that was definately happening in this picture.
Monday struck me down with the fury of a million hipsters denied cigarettes and Stella Artois and with just about as much panache. I had to leave work around 1, begging a ride from my bro as I shook and whined and shuddered in the passenger seat. There is something about a guy saying “Shh, it’s ok, let’s get you upstairs” and “Ok, it’s going to be ok sweetie” that sends me into sick kid overload. I crawled onto the couch and downed Buckley’s Cold and Flu, Neo Citron and a litre of Pedialyte and promptly either passed out or o.d.’d I’m not sure.
My mother and grandmother arrive Wednesday for 5 days chez nous, and if the flu medication isn’t enough to make me go all batshit, then combining it with Comet and Mr. Clean sure will. Why is your house never clean enough when you look at it through mom eyes? Either way, I’m back at work in such a fog of medication that I’m going to sign off for the rest of the afternoon. xo pumpkins, may your Tuesday be bright and merry.
Sweet Lauren tagged me on Dear Golden for a little meme – posting your Etsy favorites! I figured since I haven’t posted a Monday Must Have yet (mostly because I’ve been laying on the couch begging for a reprieve from this flu) that this would be perfect. So voila, my Monday Must Haves.
{mixko}
{This is my “Draw near. I have news” face.}
Cornichons. Sorry this is a bit late, last week was a jam packed week. I hope my top five explain a little better than the photo up there of me looking like I sat on a toadstool of enlightenment and hurt my sciatica.
1.
We had our summer street style shoot last week for the paper. In the end, it will be beautiful. In the beginning, it could have been planned better, but at 10am the morning of there wasn’t much I could do, and we played as it layed so to speak. It will be.. fantastic. As I sat at lunch surrounded by photographers and art directors and people of immeasurable talent and style and capacity I felt so incredibly thankful to be a part of it. So incredibly thankful that I almost questioned….
2.
….that we are moving. I am terrified and thrilled and mostly yeah, just terrified. We are packing up all of our earthly belongings into a u-haul and leaving my beloved city of 1,081,300 people and driving clean across the world country to Nova Scotia and a town of 4,236 total strangers to go back to school. I am so thankful that in our teeny tiny household that we follow our guts, we hold hands, and we jump. Even if we’re jumping into the icy waters of the Atlantic ocean. Up side for you? Travel vlogs. It is going to be effing epic yo. (ie – I’m pretty sure I will be teaching j. how to drive in a u-haul.) I am so afraid, and so excited at the same time. It’s sort of the way I feel about organic fruit, but times a thousand.
3.
Despite having my lovely and beautiful bike stolen last week, something kind of incredile happened because it was stolen. I walked home and twittered that my bike was gone.. and it was rapidly retweeted all over the place.. and then I started getting emails.. and phone calls.. and text messages.. From dear friends, far friends, close friends, old friends, from the bike courriers downtown, from the peace officers at the hospitals mobilized by my brother, from people driving through town, from people in surrounding towns. It was mind blowing. A friend of mine made a comment about “the power of social networking platforms” and all I could think was what I’d seen was the real power of community. It was shocking and incredible and I felt so lucky to know it was there. Even if I had to lose something to find it.
4.
In addition to that awesomness, J and his buddies are throwing Bike Aid ‘09 to help raise little old me some funds for a new bike! How lovely. More details to come – it’s going to rock my socks. And hopefully some spokes.
5.
I spent another whole weekend with J! I have 4 weekends off in a row (which hasn’t happened in the past year) and I’ve been using up every last minute of them. We headed to Saskatchewan this weekend with J’s band, I got to be band roadie and slurpee wrangler. *smile* Mostly I just slept in Jared’s lap in the back of the Volvo and tried to fend off drunken german cowboys. It was a riot. I feel so lucky that I get to curl up next to such a talented individual every night.
hullo all – we’re back from our road trip. I didn’t post a Friday Five – I was a little sad due to le bike theft. But, I do have news, so I will post later. As for now, I realized in all the ‘excitement’ that I forgot to draw for the necklace, which I’ll also do tomorrow. xo lovelies, hope you’ve had a wonderful weekend.
Dudes and dudettes. I’m so sad – somebody stole my bike. Flat out broke the lock and peddled away on my sweet little ride. If you happen to be in or around downtown Edmonton, keep your eyes peeled for my vintage CCM, she’s got Sea Breeze written on the side in white script. She’s really nice, very smooth, and answers to Claire. Never bites. I hope that if I don’t find her, that whomever stole her gave her to somebody they love very very much. xo
You know. In case you don’t already have a night of kick ass jazz planned. Not your thing? Then come out on the 10th to New City for some face melting fusion jazz. I heard there is a Dr. Dre medley. But better. For serious. Face melting. And I will be there. DANCING.
ps – Jared gets mail addressed to Jared Farmer all the time. Sometimes, it’s the best part of my day. Other than the part where I sit on the couch sans pantaloons avec beer and croon with Frampton’s “I’m in You” album. So.. Tuesdays.
Hello cherry blossoms – there are a few things I wanted to share today, and rather than bombard you with many posts with semi witty titles I thought I’d group them all together. It’s a sunny day here and I’m going to bask while the basking is good. See: before 1:15 when I have to be at work. xo
If there was to be a final word in crystal necklaces, Laura Lombardi might be it. How incredible are these? Check out her Etsy shop here.
Perhaps real jewels aren’t your thing. Then you might be interested in Nite Jewel (aka Ramona Gonzalez), who has singlehandedly convinced me that my lone goal in life is to own a wind machine and never be more than 5 feet from it. Until that time, I’ve enlisted Jared to follow me around and blow on me for a dollar a day.
For the two of you left that aren’t into Jewellery and Big Hair by themselves, we have the most perfect combo ever. Chanel’s f/w 09 Accessories preview. Which almost makes me trade in my goal of a wind machine for simply wearing a headdress 24/7. Almost.
{makr}
One of the most exciting movements in design of late (for me) is the progression/regression to simple, honest and handcrafted work. There is a connection missing in the mass produced product, a connection from me to what I purchase, and from the producer to me. (I’m sure being a political philosophy grad with an interest in Marx has nothing to do with that sentiment.)
Flipping through Makr’s website, looking at their beautifully curated collection of photos, products and words, you can’t help but feel interested in the people behind the label and invested in what they’re making. Which in the end, makes an investment in one of these stunners all the more satisfying. Check them out, and pop over to Pacing the Panic Room for a chance to win one for father’s day.
Because we don’t have enough mugs in our home, I’d like one of these from this lovely gal, sold here. Preferably the mug with the bling.
{J.Press via A Continuous Lean}
Happy Monday chums. We’re back from C-Ville, dragging our feet just a little. We had a nice time eating our way through the city, picking up antiques, vintage and bicycles all along the way. We managed to amass a considerable number of records, including but not limited to Stan Getz, Peter Frampton and Gordon Lightfoot.
FARM was every bit as enjoyable as I wanted it to be. It was incredibly well styled with a strong attention to detail. (Because you all know I was there to check out the tables and chairs..) The fixtures all seemed to be indivifually sourced, and I couldn’t imagine how long it took them to find it all; beautiful worn cabinetry, brass bar rails, vintage crates all made it very warm but stayed this side of cute. The waitstaff were helpful but not cloying (minus the gentleman who kept saying charcuterie “chair -coot-erY” .. just call it the deli bud) and seemed genuinely engaged with their jobs and with the clientele. I had the goat cheese fritter and then the incredible mac and cheese, Jared had the grilled cheese sandwhich, and D+ J both had the shortribs in onion jus with mashed potatoes. I managed to get a bite of everything, and everything from the beef to the 3 cheese grilled cheese was seasoned to perfection. The meat was incredible, and my mac and cheese.. well, it was no contest for one of the best dishes I’ve had. We all shared a plate of pate, cheese and meat and it was well paired (via suggestion) with our drinks as well. Dessert was a white chocolate creme brulee that was one of the creamiest I’ve ever had. It was truly a fantastic meal, and I realized I’m so lucky that Jared enjoys good food in the way he does, I do love me a gentleman who chuckles with pleasure while eatting proscuitto. He woke up the next morning and asked if we could go back for lunch.. so if you’re looking for two sides of a reviews, I suppose that would neatly sum up his! We loved it.
Coincedentally, I also love a man in a loosely tied bow-tie. I’m trying to convince Jared of this, but he appears to have dug in his heels after the loafers with no socks transition had been made, and is doubting going further. I am thinking I will show him this video to convince him.
How was your weekend? For the first time in a long long time I have a series of weekends off, mostly to eat and drive about the country as a roadie and sleep in cars and be with the band. I believe it may be verging on tragic that my excitement stems from only having to work 5 days a week for a month. Truth be told I only work 4 days this week – I’ve taken one to work on the Summer Street Style issue at SEE. This is the life folks. xoxo
Happy Friday lovelies. This week took the piss out of me (mind the french there) and I’m thrilled it’s over. I went out last night to see Clues, but sadly, after a stellar opener (Yes, Nice) we were left with way too much down time and 20 minutes of warm up on Clues part – and that’s the point where I left. (But honestly – Yes, Nice – very nice. Nothing like 3 kids you aren’t sure are old enough to be in the bar making everyone in the bar feel like they’re not cool enough to be there. Sometimes the local talent here kills me, it’s incredible.) I’m not so sure what it takes to tune a saw my friends, but at 11pm I wasn’t about to stay and find out. Also, I apparently had to take out my dentures and make sure I didn’t miss Matlock. I am old.
Hope you all have a lovely weekend, we’re headed to Calgary for the weekend to eat, drink and sleep. Here are some other things I’m looking forward to this weekend, aside from being a gluttonous little monster. xo
{I’m kind of really excited about seeing Mia Rushton’s work at the +15 Window space. She’s a textile/printmaking all round mega multi-medium artist, and everything seems to walk that incredibly fine balance between outrageously cute and technically awesome.}
{FARM}
{Apart from getting to see J’s family, which is a treat, we’re going out to Farm for dinner on Saturday. I can’t wait.. I’ve already poured over the menu and barring an earth shattering gustatory stroke, I’m getting the goat cheese fritter with young spinach, shaved fennel and local roasted beets. You can’t see me, but my eyes rolled back in my head when I typed that.}
![2m8BXUfrikqqiug6xSvpZZWso1_500[1].jpg](http://mieletcannelle.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/2m8bxufrikqqiug6xsvpzzwso1_5001-jpg.jpeg?w=400&h=266 "2m8BXUfrikqqiug6xSvpZZWso1_500[1].jpg")
{jjjjound)
{Sometimes it is simply the act of being somewhere else. To let the dirty laundry lay where it may, to leave the bed unmade and the dishes in the sink and just.. go. To somewhere else. I am looking forward to just being elsewhere.}
{le love}
{Because he regularily does, I’m looking forward to spending the weekend with my outrageously talented and fairly hilarious boyfriend (and his family!). There isn’t a moment goes by that I don’t look forward to the next with him. gag. I know. }
{Men in Cities – Robert Lungo}
Damn yo. It’s been a rough one.
I was once standing in the frozen food aisle when I saw a child, about three years old, pitch himself down onto the ground. He lay there, kicking and yelling and screaming and wailing. And his beautiful, well put together mother put down her basket, lay down beside him, and began doing the exact same thing. Flailing her arms, kicking her legs, losing a shoe, gurgling and whooping. The child stood up and watched her. Then she stood up, and they walked away.
Some part of my psyche has thrown itself on that frozen food aisle floor and proceeded to throw a wretched, dry heaving, screeching, inconsolable fit that no amount of yoga, mindfullness or alcohol can take out of my system. I have been screaming and railing against everyone and everything, resentful and hurtful and hellz bellz babes, I’ve been mean.
Worst yet, I felt like I’ve been watching myself pitch a hissy like that resourceful mom in the grocery store, waiting to throw my other half down, nails dragging on windows to lay disconsolate and pathetic on the floor.
Ladies and gents. If we’re so grown up – what the hell is with this? Why can I write reams on historical materialsm, sew bedcovers, do basic math, feed a small army, hold down a good job and then turn into a wailing, thrashing, inconsolable banshee-bitch when I find there is no food in the fridge (again) ?
Why, dear readers, can I not walk myself to the grocery store and act like a grown ass woman in the frozen food aisle?
{United Bamboo at Opening Ceremony}
I, like every other daughter of a nurse, got a detailed and uncensored version of the facts of life. Not in a crude manner, but in a “this is the what what, and this is the how how.” I, like every other daughter of a mother, had some inkling of the mysteries of life prior to aforementioned discussion. Like when my uncle gave me a beautiful, soft grey mickey mouse sweatshirt at about age 5 and I was so excited I jumped up and down and kicked him in the crotch. You know when your usually handsome and genial uncle turns into a snarling swearing madman they hey, there is something special goin’ on down there.
That pretty much sums up why I like this sweater.
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{some shots of vintage clothing/fabric from our trip this weekend. 
