Catching up, once again

I hate to just state the facts but that's all I seem capable of at the moment. On Wednesday evening, I will be back in Vancouver... and hopefully soon after, I'll be able to write something more reflective.

LEAVING

This time in Montmiral - two weeks today - has been much to quick but I have done what I came to do and happy about that - if it weren't for these damn butterflies in my stomach. Sometimes I think I am to much of a coward for this world. I take everything to heart. I found it difficult to complain to the builder about the small imperfections because he has done so much more than we expected and the house truly is magnificent. And he also did thoughtful things - like set up the beds so we would have a place to sleep when we arrived... And he is proud of his work. How can I squash him with complaints or so my reasoning goes?

And our house in Canada... why haven't we had at least one offer? Oh there are a hundred reasonable answers but I don't want reason, I want someone to love it and pay our price. Rob told me this weekend that he will bury a statue of Saint Joseph in the backyard. This will insure that our house sells. (What happened to my sensible man? It is strange that he is embracing superstition.)

And I'm feeling a little bad - oh I just stood and looked out on the terrace - two pigeons are kissing each other on the next roof - I'm feeling a little bad about love - not keeping up with my correspondence - because there are friends out there who I love and who I haven't written. And I know that actions speak louder than words.

I know I worry too much... my thoughts are drifting here. I recall a coincidence - a news letter I received from "Carrie and Danielle" on Friday. (That's another story.) And in it, they spoke of butterflies. I shall quote them:

"Embrace the jitters. Butterflies are a sign that you’re alive and expanding. If you’re not feeling the flutters it’s just not that important to you.

Every time you feel the adrenaline whirl, imagine that you have wings and breathe that rush into your spreading wingspan. Think of it this way: your nerves are reminding you that you have what it takes"

I like their positive spin. Oh if life could only be that easy.

Anyway, must pack and do the hundred little things that must be done before I leave.

A Little Aside

Yes, I'm in France. Yes, I will write Part 111 of my last 2 1/2 weeks that soon stretches to three, but I just spoke to Rob...

He tells me that the birds of paradise still survive from my birthday bouquet he gave me (that I failed to mention.) Nor did I mention the bottle of Mexican brandy he gave me that I requested. We have been so careful with money the last few months that the little extravagant extras - like a snifter of brandy in the evening - like a spray of exquisite French perfume - like beautiful bouquets of flowers - were put on hold. Thus these gifts on my birthday were extra special.

I'm finding myself a little lonely these days. This is strange because I like being alone, setting my own pace, listening only to myself...

KATE SENT AN EMAIL,

reminding me that I had not blogged for 2 1/2 weeks, shaking me out of my lethargy and misery - I am heavy with a cold. So much has been happening that I decided to tell with pictures. Part 11 will be added hopefully sometime today.

Tis my Birthday


Gutsy Old Me

Yes, I have danced on tables. This picture was taken in France on a white-clothed table in the new hotel restaurant, one summer day, during a writing workshop.

I am astonished at how brave I am. And I love that though I am no spring chicken, I am not above being crazy. I love that this is not above my dignity. (What dignity? some may ask.) Dancing on tables has always been a symbol to me - that though I feel a fool, I believe that every table I climb on brings me closer to a certain freedom - the freedom to do and not worry about what others think. This reminds me of a letter my friend Susan in France gave me a long time ago and which I keep by my desk. I shall quote her:

O YVONNE
LETS LIVE IN A FOOLS PARADISE
LETS PRAISE FOLLY
AND PRACTICE IT
AT LEAST YOU HAVE FORCED ME
TO THINK ABOUT - BY YOUR COMPLAINTS -
WHAT A BIG THING BEING A FOOL IS -
THE BIGGEST THING
IN THE WORLD,
THE BIGGEST WE CAN ACHIEVE.

I WISH I HAD THE COURAGE
TO BE A FOOL.
AT LEAST YOU HAVE
TAUGHT ME WITH ALL THIS
CLAMOUR TO SEE CLEARLY
THAT THIS IS WHAT I WANT.
IT'S ALSO WHAT I RESPECT IN
OTHER PEOPLE,
REALLY RESPECT.

BEING HAPPY AND HAVING
THE COURAGE TO BE FOOLS
IS VERY MUCH THE SAME THING.
LETS BE HAPPY.

Susan has given me a lot of courage over the years. Happiness is no easy thing. But how
I love it. I want more and more of it and if it means climbing on more damn tables, so be it.

I feel so loved today...

And since it's my birth day, I'm allowed to be self-indulgent (I do this every year) and say nice things about myself. And my daughter has also done it for me: Gillian's website

The other day, I had my hair cut and streaked. I like it. And in an hour or so, I am going out with my mother and Helen to have a manicure and pedicure. And later in the day, I am going out with my longest friend Penelope and her love and her parents. And, and... tomorrow my family are having a party for me. I love birthdays (even my 59th.)

A Breath of Fresh Air

I've come up for a breath of air. The two major projects I've been working on for months have been made public.

our house

and

Marlene Schiwy Website


And though I consister myself an excellent cleaning woman/house painter, I am less sure of my website abilities (though I did have help from both my sons) as Marlene's website is the first one, I have attempted.

And, in the end, although my writing has been put aside, I see that I loved the work. If anyone asks me how I feel about what I have accomplished, I will most likely say that I am pleased but both projects are far from perfect. (Oh, that old addiction to perfection is hard to lose.) But in my heart of hearts, I feel that I have outdone myself. Both shine with the care and attention I've paid to detail. (Of course, I am speaking of appearances, especially in regards to the website as it was Marlene who provided the content and images.)

The first public Open House of our home was on Sunday, Easter Sunday, and though the real estate agent said that it was well attended and that there were three couples who were interested, there were very few cars on the street and even the mall down the road - except for several stores - was closed so we will have two more Opens this weeks (meanly I will have to be especially clean and tidy) and hopefully get some offers. I know I expect miracles - a quick sell - but I do so want to get to France and get back to my writing...

On Saturday, I will turn 59 years - my last year in my fifties. I hope it is a good one. I really really hope this...

Happy St. Patrick's Day

I'm hoping and praying that this is the year that dreams come true.

Today a photographer will come into our home and take pictures of the house we have lived in for 25 years. Later in the day a sign will go up on our lawn. I'm hoping that the luck of the Irish will be with us and it'll be a quick sell. I'm hoping that a young couple, like we once were, enters and falls in love with it, as we once did, and wants to raise their family in it. (Before us, another couple lived in this cottage for 25 years and raised two children.) It is humble house without pretension and even though we have borrowed furniture and rugs to jazz it up, it is what it is. For three months, Rob and I have been working at clearing and cleaning and I like the result. There is no clutter, nothing or little superfluous in it, and I see that this is the way I want to live from now on.

And far away, across the ocean, our other home (oh, we are so lucky) is almost ready for us. Here's a picture of the roof terrace (without the beams removed.) As the town sits atop a hill and we have one of the highest houses in the village, we will look out over luscious vineyards and glorious sunflower fields. Rob dreams of barbecuing here. I dream of sipping wine and reading poetry under the stars.



Speaking of poetry, I thought of an especially lovely one - one I once quoted for another friend - when I was looking at Facebook and checked out some pictures of a sister - the sister who was locked out of her house by a man. On Friday, the court ordered that he let her in to get her "stuff" and half the stuff that they bought together. And though he gets the house (unfair), she is glad to be rid of him.

This sister has blossomed over the months, since she was locked out. She's become a sassy, sexy force... and I love her spirit.



Here's a part of the poem for her (by Olga Broumas, called "Rumpelstiltskin"):

Did anyone
ever encourage you, you ask
me, casual
in afternoon light. You blaze
fierce with protective anger as I shake
my head, puzzled, remembering, no
no. You blaze

a beauty you won't claim. To name
yourself beautiful makes you as vulnerable
as feeling
pleasure and claiming it
makes me. I call you lovely. Over

and over, cradling
your ugly memories as they burst
their banks, tears and tears, I call
you lovely. Your face
will come to trust that judgment, to bask
in its own clarity like sun.

Yeah, Maggie.

I must run and set the scene for the photographer. I imagine it will be an emotional week - one in which strangers will enter our space and examine all we have with critical eyes... but all we need is one who has the same aesthetic that we have...

I can't believe...

that two weeks have flown by since the first garden party. We did have a second "gardening" party to clean up the front yard and a number of good souls, who were free and able, returned. We had forgotten the little stone steps that lead up to the higher end of the garden and the cottage-y stone wall that runs along one side.... we had to pay for another load of debris to be hauled away.

We're piglets - no doubt about that but do I regret all the time that I spent doing other things - like writing? Not one little bit. But I do like everything spic and span. Reminds me of the poem "Woman Enough" by Erica Jong:

I wish there were not a choice;
I wish I could be two women.
I wish the days could be longer.
But they are short.
So I write while
the dust piles up.

And in these two weeks the interior of our house has come under scrutiny. I have painted the entrance hall, the stair banister that Java uses as a scratching post, the interior of my little house in the garden (now virginal white), and laid a floor in the downstairs washroom. I took off one afternoon to be with my father and woke at 5:30 the next morning to take him to the airport. (And whose bag was searched because he was carrying 100 silver half-dollars of mine to sell.)



I had a discussion with my accountant who wanted us to pay 40,000 (yes I have the zeros right) right away. And I was on the verge of tears and my stomach was doing somersaults when I spoke to my father and then a friend accountant, who told me a way to waylay that ghastly amount. (And I wonder why our new accountant didn't think of this way herself. And I am sick to almost death of accountants. I was not impressed when I received her first bill the next day for 2,900 with no explanation, just that grand figure. And I find myself fuming that this profession does not account for their billing. Why can they/he/she/whoever just ask for a sum without an explanation. Rob notes his hours. I have always noted my hours. Our builder notes his hours... )

And beyond, repairs and money, there have been a few precious moments. Rob came to me, wrapped his arms around me and said that he could not go through this without me. My eldest son rescued me one night and took me out for a fancy dinner. It felt so good sitting across from him, talking, eating a perfect filet, lyonnaise potatoes, and asparagus, drinking a superior red wine in a crystal goblet, in an elegant restaurant. Those few hours took me away from the drudgery of house work... but that's not really what's important - what is, is that this son wished to be with me, treat me, and tell me of his life. Of course, not all is perfect - whose life is? - but he is happy work-wise. He has found his self-respect in his job.

And my other son, the younger, will turn 26 tomorrow. (The elder turns 30 this year.) The birthday boy is the little one in my lap.



He was such a joyous, loving, mischievous, talkative little boy. He engaged everyone in conversation. This picture was taken in Mexico when Rob was working on Rambo, and everyone in the hotel would smile and greet Michael by name, even the guards with their rifles who stood outside the hotel's gates...

Yet underneath his joyful clatter was a serious scared little soul who was always questioning his place in the world. I have a poem that he wrote when he was nine or ten on my office wall:

I am special
I wonder about life
I hear music..
I pretend that life is normal
I feel alone
I touch the stars...
I hope that I am loved
I am special

And I wondered at the time, as I wonder now, how he could question being loved... for he is so lovable and kind and sensitive... and creative and intelligent and thoughtful. He really is. He has begun re-organizing his life lately, is taking more university courses, is working towards a new future... and he sounds happy.

And so this coming year, my son, I send you much love and gold dust (my friend, Kate knows how potent this can be) so you will be happier, even more successful than your wildest dreams.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MICHAEL

It's the Wee Wee Hours

of the morning and I cannot sleep so I unload the dishwasher, clean the candlesticks, insert new candles and place them on the table in ready for tomorrow's festivities. We're having a garden party where people will actually garden and since I've delayed it several weeks, I have no idea who will remember, who will show up though two people have called and said they'll be late. A good sign. And I know Marlene is preparing a curry feast with spices she brought from India. And my mother has baked Irish bread and is preparing a large salad with oranges and poppy seed dressing.

The days have disappeared and I am accomplishing a lot in way of clearing and cleaning the house (I have taken my mother to the dump twice) and we did have a garage sale last weekend. The stuff that didn't sell, I placed at the top of the driveway and hung a sign saying "absolutely free" and miraculously all was taken. I have been doing publicity and registration for a April 7th workshop and Marlene and I have been working on one for France this summer so I am feeling more than a house wife/ garbage disposer but I go around with lists in my head with tons more to accomplish before we put the house on the market - most likely three weeks down the road.

I am always in a state of disquiet. There's often butterflies bouncing around in my stomach and I rarely write - even emails - that leaves me even less at peace with myself. If you're a friend who I haven't responded to - please forgive me. I can't seem to alight and hold a conversation let alone sort through my growing unanswered correspondence.

I think in a week or two, when all the chores are finished, I'll be more my self. Better still, I'll be able to sleep. I shall go and try again.

Night. Night (though it's almost five in the morning.)

January Blues

I just read my daughter's blog. She's blue. I don't know how I feel at the moment. There is just too much going on... Rob and I keep sorting and clearing. At the moment, I am doing the company books - a job I hate because I only do it once a year. Bad. I swear each year that this year will be different but I'm not going to lie to myself this time, though given the lack of work in the film industry - what with the fickle American dollar and the writer's strike - there will be few figures to add up. Rob finished his last film at the end of September last year. I've made just over 400 dollars on design work. There ain't a lot of money in our coffer. In fact, there's none.

We've been trying to sell stuff but people don't want to buy in January. Probably because they spent too much during the holidays. I've been counting our pennies. Truly. Last week I went to the bank with a plastic bag full of rolled coins. I had 27 dollars worth though then I went out and bought 30 dollars worth of chicken. (We still have some in the freezer.) And Rob's been cooking up some good meals. Gill gave him a personalized cook book for Christmas - one she made with recipes from family and friends. Rob's loving it - has been trying all kinds of different recipes. We've been eating well. I can tell by my nicely rounded belly.

And so life goes on... It's rather humbling being without money. Rob laughed the other day when I suggested we splurge and go out for breakfast. "That's not really a big splurge, Yvonne."

I feel a little foolish saying we're poor because we live well. This week we've lived very well indeed. On Thursday evening, a good dear generous friend took Rob and I to Le Gavroche, an elegant French restaurant in the West End. We hadn't experienced fine dining for ages. I can't remember the last time, I dressed up and feasted in a white-clothed, candle-lit restaurant. To celebrate the occasion, I did something that I haven't done in a long time. I curled my hair...



and felt kind of silly... and when Rob took a picture of me and showed it to me, all I thought was "do I ever look old." Sigh. I try not to worry about looking older but sometimes it sneaks up on me - especially when I look at photographs... but enough of this nonsense. The dinner was a delight, an indulgence - organic greens with hazelnuts, goat cheese, and baby beets, followed by braised lamb shank with garlic mashed potatoes, and completed with an ice wine creme caramel. And with each course, we were given a small goblet of BC wine to peak our taste buds.

My thought was that I could live on the memory of that glorious meal for a long time but, lo and behold, we were invited out a second time this week by my sister's in-laws (one who just arrived in town with her spouse for a few days.) So while the baby of my nuclear family skied at Whistler, Rob and I enjoyed her extended family.



We walked down the hill to the Beach House on Dundarave pier as Lee and Tim wanted to taste some North Shore cuisine. Again the tables were decked in white with candles. Again, the food was excellent though not as fancy as the French one. And again we were treated. I doubt anyone would know that we are counting pennies.

Because we are about to put the house on the market and it must shine inside and out, I've been worrying about our garden... it's a pig sty and what with all the work I'm doing - counting and clearing, organizing and designing, I don't have the time or the cash for a major gardening project. So on the advice from a friend, I've organized a garden party for next weekend. I'm pleased that those invited have enthusiastically responded.



And so it goes in my little world. I'm worried about a hundred things and my attention is here, there, everywhere but I will survive. And I will write...

It's About Time

the Young women wrote a blog. Sometimes life is just too crazy, too full of emotion and action to alight for a minute and pick up a pen. I don't know where Gill's head is at the moment but mine is full of angst. I don't know what the future holds or what I want it to hold. "There's not a peaceful bone in your body," my mother used to say. She's right. I hop from one job to another.

The house feels as if it's in chaos although, in reality, it is becoming clearer and sparser. A week ago, a couple came and took the old filing cabinet from the basement. Several days ago, a book store owner went through out books and took a dozen or so boxes away. (We still have a room full.) Yesterday, a man picked up a dresser. Today a young woman is coming to pick up another dresser and book shelf. Another is coming to look at our son's filing cabinet. But we still have too much "stuff."

When we put the house up for sale in the next month or so, I want it to be free of clutter - even the closets. For my peace of mind, I want it to appear a calm oasis. I want to be able to find something without searching high and low. And once I accomplish this, I want to continue to live with just the essential. It feels good though getting there can be gut retching.

A few nights ago, I had around a hour discussion with my middle son. I was going through boxes of his stuff, asking "do you want this? that? No. Nothing from your school years? No." After our conversation, I started wading through his school years from kindergarten up through high school. I had already been through it once and so only the cream was left - his art work (cartoons mostly) and dozens of sketch books.) All were so rich, so full of imagination, so technically good - even in his early years - that I caught the development of a very talented artist, one with a unique vision. And I thought of Hillman's book that I've put aside for the moment, that speaks of each individual's gift, talent, that which he or she should be pursuing, that can often be seen most clearly in childhood, before other stuff gets in the way.

This son was different from my other two children - a little wilder, less settled, more frustrated with himself. He often complained that he couldn't do what his older brother did - with his hands, his body. I told him that his brother was four years older... and so he grew.

When Gill was home, she went through her stuff and threw all of it away. She didn't even want her first baby doll. My eldest son, the most ascetic of my children, doesn't want anything either.

I have kept a little - not much - though I worry that in later years, all my children will regret having little from their childhood. I worry also that they won't, as I am doing, be able to go through their stuff, and see their own essence. Is this necessary? I don't know. For myself, I would like to be able to do this now - if only for an affirmation of self.

Still this letting go is exciting and, in a sense, liberating. I can create a new life without the old baggage - or so I hope. But I think getting rid of the physical evidence is a good first step. Could my children be right?

Farewell 2007

Merry Christmas

Christmas Eve

Over the past few days, beyond enjoying my daughter's company and doing odds and ends for Christmas, I have not forgotten to drop off food in a food bank and money in Salvation Army clear bowls to the tune of ringing bells every day. Today I will go to Save-On Foods and buy some diapers and formula for Basics-for-Babies.

I would not have been so charitable if it weren't for my friend Kate. Please read
Kate's website in which she challenged a large number of friends to write about their favourite charities. After reading their blogs, Kate herself contributed to many of the charities (and Kate is far from wealthy.) Personally I feel humbled by the writing and generosity of my friend and her other friends - a number of whom I know are younger than me. On another level, I feel happy, pleased, even excited that the generations below mine are more aware and caring and giving to those less fortunate all around the world. What happened to my generation? We speak of the world's atrocities but we do little to help. I'm sorry. I should speak personally. I have no idea what friends my age do and do not do. Again, please read Kate's website


My Aunt Alice and cousins in South Africa


Last January, my Aunt Alice, my father's eldest sister turned 93. She died yesterday morning. I am sorry that I didn't go to South Africa to meet this feisty woman who I know had, at least, three husbands and who moved to South Africa from Northern Ireland when she was a young woman. She was the last female in my father's nuclear family and I so wanted to speak to her about her mother, my grandmother who died soon after my birth and who, I am told, I look very much like.

Dancing with my Dad



Today is my father's 85th birthday. Happy Birthday dear Dad. I love you.

Gill Arrives Tomorrow

I haven't been thinking a lot about Christmas though our house is in a flurry. Rob and I have done the first weed down - sorting and tossing with trips to the Salvation Army and the paper recycling depot. It'll probably take three or four or more sorting- throughs before we're ready to leave this old house. (This could take months, even years depending on the housing market.)

I did meet up with my plum group on Sunday through one was missing (sadly.) It would have been good to have been all together. Both W and S looked wonderful. And we ate and laughed and read...

I haven't felt a lot like writing lately. Too much is going on and I've pushed myself to complete a lot of work so that when Gill arrives, we can have some fun together.

The Next Day

I stopped writing at this point because Helen dropped in with a bottle of sparkling red wine. It tasted like Welch's grape juice. Delicious. Too easy to drink and so my writing got left once more. I notice that other bloggers aren't writing much these days - perhaps it is the season to sit and laugh and drink with good friends.

Gill arrives in hours and I have a lot to do before we head for the airport.

One things that I've been thinking about is Christmas giving. Kate sent me and others an email about this subject. In it, she said:

On your own blog, write a new post about your favorite charity, social cause or helpful organization. While I may have a bias toward causes that address maternal health and children’s well-being, I do believe that all people on this planet have the right to freedom, food, shelter, safety and health care. Domestic, international, global and local interests are equally important. Tell me, and our readers, why you believe your special organizations are helping to make the world a better place. Tell us why you support them and why we should too.

This message has been haunting me. Kate has the biggest heart of anyone I know. Unlike me, she thinks on a grand scale. She worries about the world - writes about it and pushes others to do something too. I feel an embarrassment as a friend. I heard a show once that said that everyone - no matter their income - should allocate a percentage of their money to charity. I thought "yes" that is what I should do. But I have not gone about it in an organized way. I give when anyone knocks at my door though I don't like these door-to-door invasions. I give a lot of good stuff to Salvation Army because I believe that they make the world a better place. I give to Gospel Mission every Christmas because I believe that all should have a good meal on Christmas day (though as I write this, I think should they not have good food every day?)

Because of Kate, I will try to be more generous. Every day till Christmas, I will do something for strangers - I will give to the food bank and the basics-for-babies drive - and I will look around for other worthy places. If you read this, would you do something too? I will record what I do so I do it.

I'll be back here before Christmas. I promise.

IT FEELS AS IF IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME

since I wrote a thoughtful blog entry. So much has been happening in the past few weeks - since Rob's return - that my mind swims. Rob came home with video cuts of the renovation happening in our French home. We both think it will be the most beautiful house in the village, especially when the roof is opened up and we can sit on top of the world and sip wine, break bread, and devour cheese under the stars. Oh la la.

While he was living in the village, he kept thinking about living there full time. "Can I do this," he wondered as he wandered the streets, drove to Toulouse, studied French with a native speaker. Towards the end of his stay, he realized that he could and wanted to be there all the time as soon as is humanly possible. He is tired of the long hours in the film business. He is tired of the money it costs to live in Vancouver. He spoke to some neighbours who retired there three years ago. The most extraordinary thing has happened to them. The man and woman have grown younger, more easy going, happier in their adopted country. Rob wants to feel this way too. He doesn't want to wait until he is too old, less spry, unmotivated.

How do I feel about this? I am always happier in France. When I go there - especially when I am driving through the countryside, admiring fields of sunflowers and grape vines - I sigh with relief. I breathe easier. I love the open markets, the small wineries, the friendliness of the people. I love the friends that I have made, the long evenings with them moaning and groaning with pleasure over the taste of the produce, the cheese, the meat while listening to one friend or another play his cello
and her violin. I love lying in bed and listening to voices speaking French on the street. I yearn to learn the language well. I love the challenge of being there, forcing myself to be more aggressive to get what I want.

On Monday of this week, Rob and I went to see a financial planner. She thought it amusing albeit wonderful that we want to retire at our ages and skip the country. She thought it especially wonderful and rare that we, as a couple, share the same dream. We left all our money papers in her hands and will return next week for her verdict. We are back-paddling a little. There is no work most likely for Rob until May and he is the one who makes the big bucks. I shall try to find work here and there. I just received a cheque for $300 for some design work I did. I am proud of this. But it won't go far. I have to become more aggressive in the making money field.

Rob and I have been looking around us and thinking about what we want to take and what we can live without when we leave the country. More importantly, we have been assessing what we have of value that we can let go of that will provide funds for the next few months - especially since we will borrowing around 70 grand to pay for our renovations in France. Our most valuable art is native prints by Bill Reid and Robert Davidson - two of the best Haida artists on the West Coast. We have put these prints up for sale on Craigs list as a beginning, as a trial. There have been a few requests for information but no buyers yet (though it has only been two days.)

We have also started a major rampage through the house, throwing away stuff that has gathered over the last 24 years since we moved in with two small children. Add another child and a lot of art work and our house is full. I discovered that I have kept every birthday card all three ever received, every baby tooth, every report and progress report, every award, every activity achieved - like swimming classes, guides and cubs, and on and on... I have asked my children to think hard on what they would like. We can no longer be custodians of their memories. (And yet I will keep a little, a tiny bit of memorabilia because it is difficult to part with... )

I have begun to realize that I/we must become creative about selling our stuff if we want a fair price. (A gallery owner offered me half price or a 60/40 split if he sold one of our Reids in his gallery on consignment. First of all, we will try to find a way to sell ourselves.)

I know a lot has to do with getting the word out. And though I don't consider my blog site, a commercial venue, I am going to create a section at the bottom of my blog, naming names and items that we want to sell in hopes that Google will pick up names such as BILL REID and ROBERT DAVIDSON and lead someone who would like their art to me. So if you don't think such an idea creative and call it something crass and unsavoury, please stop reading at the end of this paragraph. What shall I call it? Letting go of valuables? Looking for a buyer? Stuff for sale? Soft sell? I think I'll use the last unless you, my friends, can think of a better name. And if anyone has a better idea of how we can sell this stuff, please let me know.

Only one final happening. We have spoken to real estate agents and we will probably put our house up for sale in the spring. It's our only pension plan and we must catch the market when it's hot.

SOFT SELL - all on Craigs List

1. Three custom-made pine shelves - especially created to hold DVDs and VHSs
2. A number of antique microphones
3. A crew jacket and video from the movie "The Fly".
4. A selection of Native Indian art (see pictures below.)

It's Snowing in Vancouver

According to Rob, this is going to be a cold cold winter. Yesterday, it snowed and I love the look. It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.



I have so much to tell that I'm tongue-tied. Think I'll leave for it another day but I would like to wish my niece Ayah Young a happy birthday. She's an extraordinarily talented young woman. See for yourself at: Ayah's blog.