Keeping it Real

Flippy and Mandy don't go to the cottage on weekends with the migrating masses of city folk jetting up the 400. They live at the cottage. They have managed to do what so many people spend their lives working toward - keeping it simple. Before their son was born Flippy and Mandy made it their weekend warrior mission to turn a once tired little cottage into the lakefront oasis they happily now call home. No matter how cold it is outside, you can always bet that inside you could parade around in shorts thanks to a stoked fire and a busy oven (the contents of which are always mouthwatering!) Soon enough, Mandy and Flippy will be moving up in the world as my dear friend completes her PhD and takes a fancy job in a faraway fancy town. So, in the spirit of remembering a simpler time I thought it was a good idea to record a few memories of life in their wee cottage, with their wee son, when they were successfully perfecting the art of Keeping it Real.

xo

 

 

my way or the camino

With the release of Emilio Estevez's new film The Way, about a man's journey along the Camino de Santiago, I began to reminisce about my own experience along the ancient route. The photos I had taken, now caged in an external storage device, were worth sharing, I thought, even if they can only skim the surface of what the 800km trek has to offer. Indeed, it would be senseless to recite to you the lessons I learned along 'the way' for the Camino would have other lessons to teach you were you to go yourself. This was my way.   

The Camino came to me in a peculiar way. In the winter of 2008 I met a Bulgarian man traveling on a bus in Morocco who had just come off the medieval Camino. He was careful not to tell me too much but after our meeting I couldn't stop thinking about how a month of walking would alter my life. I returned home to Quebec City, packed up my life and with only a 9kg pack I made my way back to the French side of the Pyrenees where European Camino routes converge and begin to head west toward Santiago de Compostela.

40 days and 1050kms later, I had made my way west along the North of Spain, reached Santiago, and pivoted South, walking backward along the Camino Portguese to Porto. This was my camino through a lens.

  

I Scott take you, Blue

Casually walking hand in hand, Scott recounted first meeting Melissa and the moment he fell in love with her eyes. Good thing, I said, because eyes are one of  the few things we have from birth that don't change - no matter how old. 'No really', he said, shy about his profession of weakness for this blue-eyed beauty. He wanted to make it clear. Melissa blushed.

It's a heart-warming afternoon spent with Scott and Melissa. They are smitten. They are giddy. They are beautiful together.

In the same creek where Melissa hunted crayfish as a child, she held hands with her love and they talked the day away about the amber season, a green wedding and blue-eyed babies.

Being this much in love infuses one with a stoicism that nothing can shake.

Long glances remind onlookers of the conversations between souls that need no words. 

There's not much you can hide in the eyes.

Although we suspect Melissa might be stashing some jewels in hers... ;) 

Congratulations Scott and Melissa. Snuggle up for winter - your spring vows are around the corner!

Angela & Laci

verb : to passion

There's a reason why the word passion requires the preface "to be" when activated as a verb - because passion is not something we do, it is something we are. Jeffrey and Jamie should indeed be considered gurus of passion. They live in the triumvirate artist-teacher-student and have inspired others to do the same.

In this house, there are no labels for artists. Anyone can be anything and their home is a museum of their philosophy. Their paintings adorn the walls, instruments lay poised for the picking, craft supplies collect on the window sill (as we speak an impressive collection of bag fasteners are awaiting their creative fate at Jamie's hand), a new soundtrack plays in the background of every visit, a Lego city sprawls across the garage - the house is teeming with creative passion. And the girls are bustling bees that even mom and dad have trouble keeping up with.  

                  

With the announcement of pajama time two sets of little feet skip up the stairs and passion of a different kind unveils itself. 

Without a doubt, love is itself an art. 

an interactive art of sharing, finding and generating passion

 that requires you to know your subject if you are to improve. So many of us forget that to be good at what we do we have to practice. If we try hard enough we become what we practice.

 

If that eye could talk - I think that's what it would say.

   

Mia means "mine"

My younger sister is getting married. My childhood bathtub buddy, my teenage partner in crime, my adult confidant is tying the proverbial knot. 

My parents named her Anna Maria, which, for a two-year-old is a torturous tongue twister, so Anna Maria simply became 'Mia', which has stuck. In Italian 'mia' also happens to mean 'mine' which as a two-year-old I likely took as hard fact.

The truth is that Mia was never 'mine' - she wasn't one of those little sisters that would get you stuff, take a dare or share the blame for something gone wrong. Mia has always been her own person. 

Then along came Sean - The ying to Mia's yang. 

They laugh together...                   

They play together...

And they do it all with style.

Mia and Sean stand up straight because they're both leaning on one another. And as all couples come to know - balance is everything.

P.S. Sean - You might be super-duper and we might love you like your one of ours, but I reserve the right as the forever older sister to be silly, giggle incessantly and share 30 years worth of inside jokes with my Mia without explanation and for no apparent reason. Some things are still mine ;)

The wild side of one Bride

Meet Teresa. I've known her all my life. We grew up together as cousins, played out barbie dramas, danced to Michael Jackson, played hide-and-seek (correction: I hid, but Teresa never sought... and now I have a deep-seeded fear of dark closets), but I digress.

Teresa is good at many things, but one thing Teresa is exceptional at is living between the two poles of seriousness and shenanigans. Those who know her have seen her proficient professional side getting the job done in her bustling metropolis work life. But by night Teresa is on the prowl for a good laugh and her required fix of silliness.     

Teresa recently tied the knot with her hunka-hunka burnin' love, Paulo, and as any bride knows, a long engagement spent wedding planning can drive you to the drink. So Teresa set out to plan and executed the perfect party that only a hostess extraordinaire like her could.

Everything looked normal. 

A vision in her gown, romantic kisses by the lake...

Then darkness fell and the party started. Out came the costumes. The groom went into hiding.

 Some of the guests were able to elbow their way onto the stage while Teresa tended to her duties as bride and hostess. You can see how they honoured the wild side of our lovely bride in the photo booth guestbook here.

Congratulations Teresa!.... and Paulo, as we customarily say in toasts to the incoming inlaws, "welcome to the circus"!
xo your family and friends

resume of a bored senior

censorship and the weewee

I'm not the first and I certainly will not be the last. Something about babies in the bathtub brings the camera flying out of the drawer and before you know it - !snap! - Your little one lays victim to the ultimate of adult bribery tools for future spiteful siblings. Too many of us have these photos of ourselves and where are they now? Hidden somewhere deep in family closets awaiting their moment of humiliation glory. So what's the verdict? Do we throw out the baby with the bathwater and cease the repetition of this naked baby tradition or do we let it all hang out?

apples and trees

...enough said ;)

The silent hairdresser

I have many jobs. None of them pay, of course, but they are jobs nonetheless. They are things that I have to do that no one else will do because for whatever reason they have better things to learn to do. This is my gift. I'm a Jackie of all trades. One of those jobs is hairdresser extraordinare to my grandparents. They obviously have very flexible expectations because I really have no business cutting hair. But, once a month I pull out the gear and pretend that I have a clue. I remember overhearing my grandmother tell someone once that I had taken a course on how to cut hair - perhaps that gave her solace, but it wasn't a lick of truth. In preparation, she pulls out the Nova Scotian flag hanging proudly in the garage and it assumes it's secondary role as hair cutting cape. Yes, my Nova Scotian friends, I allowed this to happen. She said it's the perfect hair cutting cape and that no one needs to know because it's going right back in it's place hanging in the garage and that I should shut up about it and cut her hair. Yes, she said all that. And she threatened me with no pasta lunch that day. I was starving.