With Love to Auntie Candy

It is with great sadness I report my Aunt Candy, mother of the groom featured in the Chronicles of the S&G Wedding, passed away June 25th, after a challenging two years living with cancer. Her strength and courage were an inspiration to everyone who knew her and also to those who didn't but read about her journey on her blog

Candy, you will be forever in our hearts.

Love Barbara

Part V of the Chronicles of the S&G Wedding

Good morning my wonderful daughter,

This shall truly be the final instalment of The S & G Wedding Chronicles - enjoy.

Part V - The Rest of The Remains of The Day

At 10:00 p.m. sharp, the Republic of China began it's firework display for the annual Celebration of Light competition in English Bay.  Our family had the perfect vantage point amongst the silk pillows on the stylish micro suede 'family banquette' from which to observe the sparkling explosions.  Nana Moe, however, sat upon a different banquette and was missing the fireworks altogether (or was she?) as she was engrossed in animated conversation with a rather sleek looking young fellow who was dressed with a flair for European elegance in a pair of especially well-fitting dark trousers and a slightly oversized crisp white shirt, open at the neck so as to reveal just the merest hint of the agile young muscled torso beneath.  The two seemed oblivious to the outside world as they sipped wine behind three tall vases of tiny pineapples on sticks and banana leaves.  The handsome stranger had longish swept back blonde hair and seemed almost too good-looking and was particularly attentive ... I squinted narrowly in his direction so as to better focus my inborn-loved-one-protective-radar-emergency-alert-system, inherited from a long line of vigilant matriarchs on my great-great-grandmother Hogg's side.  In my brain I heard boom-boom-boom - was it the alert system I was hearing/feeling, or was it the fireworks below which I fleetingly noted were somewhat "off" as their red, green, and white colours were not quite properly co-ordinated with the silk pillows, wedding invitations, billowing lamp post silk, bridesmaids' bouquets, groomsmen's boutonnieres, and the quadrants of the Warhol-esque canvas.  But I digress ... back to the issue at hand - I began to wonder about that petite wedding planner and her boundless imagination and resources ... was it possible?  Had we a gigolo in our midst?!  I quickly banished the thought, acknowledging that my emergency alert system might quite possibly be somewhat impaired by the freely flowing libations and by my preoccupation with mini hamburgers with mini pickles on festive picks.  However, I kept one eye on my mother as her flirtatious feminine laughter rang out and the handsome young brute tilted his elegant head and smiled.

Meanwhile, nestled in a silk pillow-festooned corner of the same long banquette upon which the mildly suspicious tête-à-tête was taking place, I espied little Anna, all innocence and sound asleep with her grandmother Cummings keeping a watchful eye at her side, and there was grandfather Cummings, sitting across from her and clanking two shot glasses together in time with the music.  Ah, you party animal, Ian Cumming, I thought, before I realized a server was making the rounds with shot glasses filled with milk and a tray of sugar cookies.  I was impressed to see that the iced surfaces of the large cookies featured edible photo reproductions of the happy bride and groom, and of course also of the S & G logo.  I collected a few cookies to send to you with Maurissa next week, my darling, and chose a shot glass of Kalua rather than one of milk from the proffered tray of the tireless server.

As I wandered outside again onto the patio, I saw GB dancing with his mother and my heart was filled with gladness.  Uncle Graham and cousin Niki watched this happy moment from the sidelines and I could feel the fullness of their hearts and see Auntie Candy's face aglow with happiness and pride. Later in the evening, as the volume of the music increased and all manner of dance styles graced the floor, I peered outside through the S & G logo-etched window toward the live band and dance floor and saw cousin Wally dancing with Auntie Candy.  I didn't at first recognize Wally's dance steps nor how they fit with the music, however, after carefully studying his twitching movements I realized he had very cleverly devised a combination of the funky chicken and the dance steps from Pulp Fiction and Saturday Night Fever, designed to add belly-laughter to the smile already upon Candy's face.  Next I espied your charming father, dancing with wild abandon with a sexy woman in a low cut knee length dress who definitely knew how to "shake her booty" - oh my goodness!  It was Katrina! and before I knew it a rather loud and unseemly "Wooooo-hoooooo!  Go Girl!" escaped from my Kalua whetted lips.

By this time Uncle Doug, Auntie Fellette, and cousin Craig (with some reluctance, I thought), cousin Jeanette and Robert had taken their leave and I was thinking it was very nearly time for your father and I to depart as well.  However, Uncle Robbie informed me I could not possibly leave until I had managed to extricate our mother from the clutches of the suspected gigolo; before I was able to ponder how best to go about launching what I expected to be a delicate extrication process, Nana Moe stood and bid her charming companion adieu.  At the very next moment your father appeared at my side and, lo and behold, he had a very thoughtful and special gift for me - yes! It was a mini hamburger with a mini pickle on top held all together with a festive pick!  The evening couldn't have ended on a more perfect note!

It was after midnight when we said our good-byes to Auntie Candy, Uncle Graham, Suzanne, GB, and others. Uncle Robbie, Nana Moe, cousin Wally, Katrina, your father and I descended the mountain in a near-empty gondola carriage, but not before we had collected our take away black S & G logo labelled and two-toned teal and chartreuse ribbon enwrapped guest boxes of mini-bar treats.  As we walked towards our respective cars in the dim light and coolness of the Grouse Mountain parking lot now devoid of sweaty hikers, the six of us breathed a collective sigh and agreed that it had been "some wedding", the likes of which we might never see again, although I must say that the joyful sense of contentment and hope for the future that is connected with a family wedding were common to us all and shall no doubt be an integral part of family weddings to come.

Have a good day at work, darling.

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Part IV of the Chronicles of the S&G Wedding

Good morning MY FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

I am pleased to hear that you have enjoyed reading my remembrances of The S & G Wedding, that they have given you cause to laugh aloud now and then, and that you have high hopes that I received a mini-hamburger before the night was over. Here is the final entry:

Part IV - The Remains of the Day

I decided that perhaps my sampling of a mini-hamburger and mini-pickle on a festive pick was not to be, so I turned my attention to the dessert area, where white clad serving staff filled mini sugar cones with sorbets of intense colours and flavours - raspberry was my favourite.  Once a mini cone was filled, it was promptly plunged point first into a long clear Plexiglas box filled with white granular sugar and brightly coloured candies that allowed the cone to stand freely on its own for passers by to pick up and sample.  On either side of the sorbet bar were tall clear buckets made of ice which tiered downward toward the cake - these buckets were filled with fresh cherries, oversized blueberries, kiwi, gooseberries, strawberries, giant blackberries and some more exotic fruits...  the colours of the fruit ... the colours of the candies in the Plexiglas cane sugar sorbet cone bins .... there was something so familiar about them ....  ah-ha! I suddenly realized, they matched the colours of the striped silk pillow supporting my back at that very moment, and they were also the very colours of the wedding invitations, silk panels hanging from lamp posts at the pier, bridesmaids' bouquets, groomsmen's boutonnieres, and the various quadrants of the Andy Warhol-esque canvas!  By gosh, I thought - that wedding planner is thorough!  

I continued my survey of the dessert area and saw that at the end of the icy fruit tiers was a table laid out with a variety of cheeses and along a nearby wall stood a table of incredibly rich looking desserts and a tall stainless steel baker's tier housing tiny cupcakes that GB informed me were samples of the wedding cake. I tasted one - coconut flavoured and absolutely delicious; Katrina's was carrot cake and apparently tasted very nice with her green apple martini.  There were many other colours and flavours of tiny wedding cake muffins that I could have sampled, however at that moment, despite the slight tightness around my middle I was by this time experiencing, I was eating a 2" grilled cheese sandwich together with mini French fries the thickness of spaghetti noodles that had been served in a tiny white paper bag that someone had, with great aforethought and manual dexterity, taken the time to fold the edges over upon itself so as to allow one's fingers to freely pluck the dainty fries from within.

A few moments later, just after I had been served tiny morsels of beef satay on a stick and another glass of red wine, the MC announced that he had a message for the bride and groom and he wanted everyone to gather round.  I looked for your father and spotted him outside once again, gesturing with a baby lamb chop as he chatted to a young woman in a low cut black dress with an especially short staggered hemline - he threw his head back and laughed and I was impressed by the number of exceedingly witty women he had been able to ferret out from amongst the guests.  I went outside and caught his attention and he cuddled close to me as I shivered in the cold mountain air and listened to the MC read your good wishes from Bangkok.  Bravo darling!  By this time the staff had been busy handing out lovely blankets to those feeling chilled - Suzanne was draped in a solid red blanket which somehow looked like a royal robe upon her spare frame, and I noted that Wendy McDonald (whom I'd seen earlier in the evening trapped in the ladies room in front of an end stall by a somewhat overbearing woman who seemed determined to explain the ills of the softwood lumber situation to her) also managed to look quite regal wrapped in a white blanket. 

The speeches then commenced and the fathers of the bride and groom gave heartfelt and humorous speeches welcoming the newest members of their now expanded families.  At this time Uncle Robbie appeared in front of me bearing two tiny white plates filled with half a dozen baby lamb chops smothered in the aforementioned sauce of mint and pureed peas.  He had planned to share the tiny chops with family members inside, however, his progress was stayed by the crowd listening to the speeches - we were all packed so tightly together at the bistro entranceway that he had to keep the lamb chops aloft at eye level.  A tiny waitress ducked under his laden hands and pushed her way through the crowd to deliver a round of the latest coloured martinis and I crossed my fingers and hoped that neither the large muscular fellow with the tattooed neck on my left nor the diminutive ponytailed fellow on my right, in the cream silk suit, wearing trendy sunglasses fashioned after the type usually seen in darkened theatres whilst one is watching a 3-d movie, would sneeze and render the choice lamb morsels unappetising.

I must add here that Uncle Graham did an especially good job when it was his time to address the crowd - he said he hadn't had to actually compose a speech for this occasion - he had merely jotted down all the wonderful things Auntie Candy had said to describe Suzanne to their waiter a few nights previously.  GB and Suzanne gave their warm and witty speeches and it was at this point that Suzanne's confident demeanour flagged just a tad as she shed a tear when thanking her parents for their love and support and mentioned her grandmother's inability to attend the occasion.  Suzanne was funny, gracious, and absolutely movie-star beautiful.  If you could have seen the way she and GB looked at each other throughout the course of the afternoon and evening, you too would have no doubt that they will be very, very happy together. Next they were toasted by a maid of honour and by Niki. 

I retreated inside to warm up and tasted another endive leaf dotted with a dollop of goat cheese and a toasted pecan (still as tasty the 5th time around as the 1st), then a server came by with another tray of tiny grilled cheese sandwiches - I thought to myself, who can resist a grilled cheese sandwich when there are no mini-hamburgers in sight? and I deftly plucked the tiny toasted treat off the tray and in a manner that I hope had at least some modicum of daintiness about it, I devoured it in one quick bite. 

Looking back, I think it may have been around this point in the evening that someone proposed some sort of formal toast - was it to the bride? to the happy couple? or perhaps to the engineer who had designed the cake? for some reason my memory here is a bit fuzzy. I do recall having a glass of wine in one hand and a colourful martini in the other and the fact that they were both delicious.  As I recall, I searched amongst the exotic flower arrangements and array of wine and martini glasses and tiny white plates on the coffee table for a place to set down my glasses so as to free my hands for a champagne flute.  Unable to find a spot to set down even one glass, and with a feeling akin to desperation, I looked towards my dear family in this my time of need:  unfortunately, cousin Jeanette was of no help at all, as she shared a similar dilemma, with a blue martini in one hand and a forkful of cake in the other; I turned towards Robert, but he was sitting on the banquette with his elbows upon his knees and a baby lamb chop between his mint and pureed pea sauce covered fingers - he had a rather blissful look upon his face and I chose not to disturb him; I turned my head in search of Uncle Robbie who was busy exchanging witticisms and business cards with Wendy McDonald; Nana Moe was sipping from her glass of wine and chatting with Gerry Robb and Barb from A&A; Uncle Doug and Auntie Fellette were just outside the area in which my "inside voice" might comfortably reach; cousin Wally and Katrina were sharing a kiss behind the sorbet bar (!); Craig was nowhere in sight ... alas, no help I thought.  But then my spirits soared as I caught sight of the back of your father's head ... but my hopes were immediately dashed as I detected the head wiggle in progress and I judged by the increasing tempo of the wiggle and by and the way the object of his attention, a lovely young blond woman in a low cut knee length white cocktail dress with black polka dots and a black gross-grain ribbon belt with a rhinestone buckle was laughing and patting her amply exposed bosom, I knew I would never be able to attract his attention before the champagne flutes disappeared to handsfree guests.

Somehow I did eventually manage to hold a champagne flute aloft, but the rest of the toast is a bit unclear, possibly because cousin Craig had just then captured my attention.  He was located in front of a small easel where a caricature artist was hard at work.  I thought it strange, not that Craig was sporting the widest grin I had ever beheld upon his handsome face, but rather that he stood on his knees in front of a pretty young blonde woman - Oh my goodness, I thought to myself, has all this festivity, marital bliss, and champagne gone to Craig's head and inspired him to seek betrothal from a perfect stranger?  No! - I noticed that he was actually writing something with a black permanent marker on her hot pink T-shirt clad hip and upon closer inspection I noted that her entire T-shirt had been written upon with best wishes from party guests. 

I believe it was at this point in the evening that the wedding planner, a diminutive thirty-something-year-old woman with an in-charge personality, chic short hairstyle, dressed in black trousers, a black top, cream coloured Shantung silk jacket and with a smile of success upon her face, stopped by on her rounds and suggested that we might like to write down our best wishes for the happy couple on one of the S & G postcards displayed at a nearby table.  We were informed that the card could then be dropped into the stylised stainless steel mailbox created just for this very purpose.  I wrote a line or two of warm wishes on one of the cards, wondering when the bride and groom would have the opportunity to read it and the dozens of others that had been stuffed into the box.  I was impressed to hear from Nana Moe that GB told her the very next day at the post-wedding luncheon that Uncle Robbie had written on one of the cards a thank you to he and Suzanne for including mention of our Dad, your Grandpa Ralph, in the wedding program.  

Now dear daughter, I know I told you this would be the final entry of the S & G Wedding Chronicles, however, there is still a little more to tell and I don't want you to be late for work.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part V

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Part III of the Chronicles of the S&G Wedding

Good morning my fabulous daughter,

I hope I haven't caused you to be late for work with the lengthy epistles I've been sending you these past mornings. I'm afraid I am unable to make them any shorter as there's just so much I want to tell you about the Wedding.

Part III - The Stainless Steel Topped Multilayered Plexiglas and Mini Disco Ball-Inserted Suspended Wedding Cake

As I munched delicately on a crispy deep-fried won-ton wrapper that had been formed into a flower shape, the centre of which had been stuffed with a 1/2" x 1/2" cube of tuna sashimi and a single seaweed flake, I kept a watchful eye open for the elusive mini hamburgers I had yet to sample.  I distracted myself by studying the colourful multitiered something-or-other hanging from the ceiling in front of me.  It hung over a large white plinth like the ones I sometimes use in galleries to show my smaller sculptures.  I believe it was cousin Jeanette, who was sipping on her second blue martini containing a stir stick of skewered cherry-sized blueberries as she sampled what appeared to be chocolate cheese cake, who asked me if I thought that the something-or-other was actually the wedding cake.  A group of family members surrounded the impressive object and after cousin Wally had incorporated his formidable leadership skills by giving the blue layer a gentle poke with one of his remaining fingers, we were able to determine that yes indeed, it was a cake.  I was about to make an approving comment but was distracted by cousin Craig ...  what was that he had just popped into his mouth?  I had a slow-motion Quentin Tarantino moment as I squinted at Craig's left hand and watched it descend and the telltale festive mini hamburger pick fell from it and onto an empty tiny white plate upon which it bounced, once, twice... then came to a final rest.  Just then, Auntie Fellette asked me if I liked pickles and I turned to watch her withdraw a festive pick from her mini hamburger and hold it and it's tiny 3 centimetre long skewered pickle aloft in my direction.  "Why yes!" I exclaimed and graciously accepted this consolation prize as I surreptitiously watched the tiny burger disappear between Auntie Fellette's lips in two efficient bites.

I turned my attention back to the cake. It was truly unique and quite unforgettable - it consisted of a clear Plexiglas square box filled with mini mirrored "disco" balls, set squarely upon the white plinth; upon this sparkling box was a slightly smaller square of real cake covered in white marzipan and decorated with a vertical striped pattern of colours matching the wedding invitations, etc.;  a black gross-grain ribbon encircled the base of this layer; the layer atop was a slightly smaller square of cake covered in blue marzipan (which had only slightly been marred by cousin Wally's finger test), it's base was also wrapped with black gross-grain ribbon; above this was a layer of thin air, for the next series of layers was suspended by four thin cables from the ceiling and hung 2 1/2" above the blue layer.  This bottom layer of the suspended half of the cake consisted of a clear Plexiglas mini disco ball box, another white and striped, marzipan, gross-grain ribbon wrapped layer;  yet another Plexiglas disco ball box and finally a pink marzipan cake layer, wrapped with gross-grain ribbon. Crowning the top was a 4" tall stainless steel S & G logo "cake tiara".  Later in the evening Uncle Doug was able to capture a spectacular full-length shot of Suzanne from behind, in her beautiful backless wedding dress with it's upswept train and collar and belt of pearls, standing next to the magnificent confection before she and GB fed each other a small bite they'd cut from the cake and we could see that under the marzipan  were many thin multi-flavoured layers.

At the risk of sounding just a teensy bit obsessed, I must admit to you that after applauding the sampling of the wedding cake, I then cast about, looking for your father hoping he with his especially long arms and tall stature might be better equipped to secure a mini hamburger for me. Ah there he was - I spotted him outside through an S & G etched window, his familiar head was clearly framed by the S & G giant illuminated faux full moon balloon ball - he had just popped something into his mouth and was nodding his head and listening intently to a young woman with a very large bosom wearing a fetching black low cut knee length dress and long dangling rhinestone earrings and very, very red lipstick.  She must have been very witty, for just then your father threw back his head, laughed, and began talking and gesturing with something in his hand.  I knew your father must have found this charming woman to be particularly diverting because he began to employ the characteristic head wiggle he incorporates when he puts on his bon vivant persona and believes himself to be saying something especially witty - but this was not what attracted my attention most, it was the object in his hand that he brandished with short stabbing motions - yes!  it was a festive mini-hamburger pick!

As I clearly would not be able to attract your father's attention at this point, I accepted another smoked salmon mini pinwheel on 1" rye bread from a server and sat down on what I had by this time dubbed 'the family banquette'. I gazed out the large windows into the night at the twinkling lights of our fair city, the twin string of lights leading to darkness that where the Lions Gate Bridge and Stanley Park, the lights of a cruise ship and several freighters in the harbour, and in the far distance, beyond the UBC tower lights, I could see the paler lights of Vancouver Island.  What a sight!  However, a more endearing sight was much closer - it was cousin Niki's handsome husband, Chris, ever attentive to his wee princess Anna further down along the banquette.  Anna was enjoying some tiny snacks and looked to be very content to be visiting with her father in the midst of all the adult laughter, chatter, and music around her.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part IV

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
  

Part II of the Chronicles of the S&G Wedding

Good morning, my fabulous daughter,

As promised, here is the next instalment of my chronicles of The
S & G Wedding:

Part ll - The Mountaintop Reception

Uncle Robbie, Nana Moe, your charning father and I arrived together at the foot of Grouse mountain and were whisked by gondola to the festivities atop - the view from the ascending carriage was nothing short of spectacular! Cleveland Dam, the reservoir, our beautiful city and areas beyond lay beneath us shimmering in the late afternoon sun. As we neared the end of our brief journey to the mountaintop a full moon shone brightly and strangely near - but no! It was not the moon at all, but a humongous white balloon, lit internally and bearing the regal Suzanne & Graham wedding logo: S & G. Beyond the balloon, on the lofty bistro balcony, were many white canopies and beneath them were numerous white clad cooks in their tall chef's hats serving up delicacies we had yet to imagine. Several of the glass panels beneath the Bistro railing surrounding this sea of canopies appeared to have been etched with the S & G logo and as I surveyed the scene, I noted a red breasted robin sitting on the railing directly over an S & G logo. Was this a trained bird the ever attentive boundless-thinking wedding planner had hired and timed for the very moment my mother, born Mary Maureen ROBINS, disembarked from the gondola?! or was it a supernatural visitation of some sort? Before Uncle Robbie could snap a photo of the feathered visitor, it gave a parting chirp and flew away, giving us all pause to wonder.

As we left our carriage behind and walked the rampart towards the party, we were greeted by a photographer snapping close-ups of each visitor. I thought it strange that there was no flash, and no audible click as he took his shot a mere inches from my face, and worried about whether or not I had remembered to trim that particularly long nostril hair I'd spotted the day before - but before I could contemplate this further I was distracted by two secret service agents clearly identified as such by their dark suits, impassive faces, dark glasses and ear pieces. Was there a visiting dignitary or a fear of party crashers? But again I could contemplate no further as I was distracted by a Joan Rivers look-alike dressed in faux fur and a long evening gown and wielding a microphone as she interviewed guests and announced she was from Entertainment Tomorrow. A cameraman filmed the scene. As your father and I approached Joan she cooed, "Oh! It's Hillary and Bill Clinton! Are you going to run for President, Hillary?" and she thrust the microphone towards me, "Absolutely," I replied. "Now Hillary," she added in a conspiratorial tone, "Bill really put you through quite a bit when you were first lady, what have you in store for Bill when you are President?" "Oh how I was made to suffer," I exclaimed, "It shall be Bill's turn to suffer when I become President!" Before I could explain the specifics of the suffering I intended to inflict upon my ex-President husband, Joan spotted George Clooney just behind us and left to interview him.

As we entered the bistro area, to our left was a table filled with red coloured drinks in martini glasses, each bearing a skewered strawberry - delicious! To our right were large floral arrangements of giant shiny tropical leaves and exotic blooms and a large Andy Warhol-esque canvas featuring the faces of the blissfully wedded couple in various colour combinations in each quadrant of the canvas. Just ahead of us a team of chefs were carving a large and colourful seafood terrine; the adjoining chef team stir-fried vegetables in a sizzling wok and scooped them into tiny Chinese food take out boxes. I gathered up a pair of chop sticks and a little box of veggies and continued on my journey around the balcony perimeter. To my right was a large platter of fresh oysters, an ice sculpture bearing dozens of small, rounded shot glasses filled with shredded lettuce and shrimp, followed by a cook pan-searing sea scallops in butter, and a team preparing seaweed cones filled with crab, avacado, lettuce, Japanese mayonnaise, rice, and teeny-weeny red fish eggs. After nibbling the tiny shrimps and lettuce from a shot glass with a tiny spoon, I set down my now empty take-out box, balanced my red martini on a nearby window ledge and took a crab cone from the gloved hand of a server - it too was delicious. Another server walked by carrying a tray of hamburgers - each only 1 1/2" across, topped with a mini pickle and speared with a festive pick - these were very popular and disappeared before I was able to rebalance my martini on the ledge and push the last delicious bite of seaweed cone between my teeth. Just ahead of me, standing beneath one of the propane heaters that dotted the patio, I saw cousin Wally and his lovely wife Katrina who was dressed in a low cut filmy knee length black, aqua, magenta, and sage green flowered dress that showed off her tanned and delightful bosom to its best advantage. I balanced my now empty martini glass on a planter just in time to accept a glass of red wine from a passing server and a tiny, shrimp and noodle salad roll in hot Thai chili sauce on a white tiny square plate from mmy galant brother, your Uncle Robbie. I spotted Robert nearby, sitting on a ledge, dressed dapperly in a dark pin-striped suit, white shirt and red tie, and eating from a tiny square plate bearing three baby lamb chops covered in a pastel green sauce made from mint leaves and pureed peas. Jeanette, lovely in pink, stood at a table awaiting a square inch of beef tenderloin topped with a sweet red onion salsa in an over-sized 1 1/2" bun. Just then a server walked by with another platter of tiny hamburgers, however, by the time I set my wine glass on the planter and set down my now empty tiny square white plate, the jolly and handsome group of surfer-types behind us had finished off the entire platter of burgers. Meanwhile your father was standing in line for baby lamb chops, chatting with a lovely looking young woman with a long pony-tail and a low cut white knee-length, poof-hemmed cocktail dress. Your father threw his head back and laughed several times - he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely and I supposed she must have been quite a witty woman.

By this time cousin Craig had found us and my he looked handsome (Nana Moe had earlier exclaimed how very handsome Craig was as he escorted her at the pier, and she was absolutely right!) in his dark jacket, dark trousers, white shirt and elegant tie and natty beard and moustache. Just then, there was an announcement that the bride and groom and wedding party had arrived. There was much applause as the handsome party entered the patio area. Auntie Candy was seated beneath the central canopy which housed a wooden dance floor and the accoutrements for a live band. I soon spotted Uncle Graham, dressed in a beautiful black suit and wearing a large magnificent large boutonniere of three large purple and white large orchids. GB and Suzanne were glowing with happiness and mingled, hand-shook and kissed their way through the crowd of 200 guests and 50 + wedding facilitators (servers, cooks, chefs, bartenders, photographers, assistants, actors, the wedding planner, magician, and a caricature artist).

Nana Moe, Uncle Doug, and Auntie Fellette were seated inside the bistro on one of the long couches in front of the windows that framed the incredible view of the city below. I sought them out, partaking of an endive leaf filled with a dollop of goat cheese and topped with a toasted pecan on my way inside. Before I sat down with the family elders, a server offerred me a pinwheel of smoked salmon on an inch square of dark rye bread and I was unable to resist. Uncle Doug, dapper as usual, was dressed in keeping with the tropical floral theme, wearing a cream coloured dinner jacket, light trousers, and a pale green/yellow tropical leaf shirt. Auntie Fellette was a vision of good taste and understated elegance in a long georgette dress of batik-like pale yellow and sage green banana leaves (had someone given her a heads up about the banana leaf floral theme?) She also had a pale ochre coloured pashmina to guard against the evening chill. Nana Moe was chatting with some of the numerous A&A attendees, and looked particularly au courant in her swishy black slacks, black camisole and lime green tailored shirt-waist top. The coffee table before us was long and low and had a cutout section in the middle which was filled with a vase bearing exotic blooms and greeneries. The coffee table across from us was similar, with three cutouts in the middle, each bearing a tall vase identical to those we'd seen earlier in the day at the pier, however these each held one long waxy banana leaf and a 3" fully formed mini pineapple atop a long slender stick - no goldfish in sight. As I took stock of the elegant furnishings around me, I couldn't overcome a feeling that these unusual coffee tables and long creamy coloured microsuede banquettes and chairs, festooned with silk pillows that matched the aforementioned bridesmaids' bouquets, groomsmen's boutonnieres, and the colours of the wedding invitations, booklets, waterbottles, Warhol-esque canvas, etc. may not actually belong to the ski hill bistro, but rather had been brought in for this specific and joyous occasion. Before I could contemplate this further, a server came by offering me a 1" square of luscious red watermelon that had been penetrated to it's centre with a drop of balsamic vinegar reduction - delicious - and another server came by offering green martinis with floating apple slices on the top. By this time, two and ten had begun to add up and I realized with a start that the martinis were colour coordinated with the silk pillows, wedding invitations, booklets, waterbottles, Warhol-esque canvas, bridesmaids' bouquets and groomsmen's boutonnieres!

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part III

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Part I of the Chronicles of the S&G Wedding

In honour of my cousin's first wedding anniversary I am posting the first of a series of letters written to my fabulous daughter last year; I've also added a video clip from the wedding ceremony at the bottom of this post. If you would like to read Part II, please leave a comment and I'll post it.

Hello MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER 

I trust you're having sweet dreams and will be well rested when you awaken and read the details of Suzanne and cousin Graham’s magnificent wedding. I’ve tried to remember every detail and to leave nothing out so that you may come as close as possible in your imagination to attending the gala event.

Please read the following with a slight English accent and a fashionista’s enthusiasum for reporting important fashionable events ...

Part I -The Ceremony:

After parking at Lonsdale Quay, your dear father and I walked to the foot of Lonsdale and proceeded past the busy valets toward a white canopy where we collected the wedding program, an elegant black booklet measuring 4“ high x 11“ wide and adorned with a hot pink ribbon (I've kept it for you).  Next we continued on our way towards the base of a very long pier.  We met Uncle Doug, Auntie Fellette, cousin Craig, cousin Jeanette & Robert near a delightful 4 piece ensemble that was playig classical music on a little boardwalk niche just to the side of the pier and we all together began our journey down the length of the pier towards a very distant cluster of white canopies.  As we neared the canopies we noted long pieces of silk in colours matching the elaborate wedding invitations hanging from lamp posts and blowing in the wind. We arrived at a tidy arrangement of white chairs under the canopies and noted there was a black Japanese fan on every other chair, and also that the aisle in the middle had a black cloth on the ground with banana leaves on either edge and white orchid branches, white rose petals and small pebbles lying on the leaves.  Silk screened in white ink on the black cloth was a large S & G with numbers beneath indicating the date - this we later realized was the official logo of the wedding.  There was a large white ribbon tied across the aisle, so that no one would walk on the black fabric and logo and leave footprints.  On either side of the centre aisle, every 3rd row or so of chairs, stood a tall narrow white plinth upon each of which stood a 2 ft tall rectangular vase that became slightly wider at the top and these were filled to within an inch of the lip with water and submerged in the water where beautiful white orchids.  

We were the first wedding guests to arrive and were instructed by the wedding organizers, who were talking into cell phones and walky-talkies, to walk along the outer sides of the arrangement of chairs and take our places near the front.  It wasn't until we were seated that we realized that on either side of the small stage in front of us was another, larger rectangular vase, again, filled with water and white orchids and a bit of greenery, but also with 10 or so large live goldfish.  The view from this seated area was of the beautiful Vancouver skyline, ships in the harbour, sea planes landing across the water, and the sea bus and other vessels cruising the harbour.  There were boughs of white orchids and greenery hanging from the white canopies overhead.  On each aisle seat there was not only a black fan but also a banana leaf cone filled with white rose petals which I supposed were to be tossed over the bride and groom once the ceremony was over. 

Before the ceremony began, a helicopter appeared and first circled the area and then hovered nearby - it was the CTV news helicopter and we wondered if it was filming the first wedding to be held on this new pier for the 6:00 evening news, or if GB and/or Suzanne would be emerging from the helicopter as it landed at the end of the pier, or possibly via parachute or swinging from a trapeze under the helicopter for a grand entrance. Cousin Niki’s husband Chris later told us the helicopter and videographer had been hired to film the wedding.

Our attention was directed away from the helicopter when the classical music stopped and was replaced by base thumping dance club music (!) and we all turned and squinted to the beginning of the pier and saw Candy & Graham and Suzanne's parents marching towards us.  The men were dressed in black, and the women in black & white; Candy wore a white hat and Suzanne's mom wore a black hat.  They arrived at the white canopies and were seated in the very back row.  

Then a new tune of base thumping dance club music began and the 7 groomsmen began walking towards us, single file, and about 50 feet apart.  Each was a handsome fella wearing a black tux, white shirt, no tie, and a different coloured boutenniere that coordinated with the aforementioned silk hanging from the lamposts and the stripes on the wedding invitations.  The last groomsman was Chris and he held hands with Miller, also dressed in a tux and a green Hawaiian lei - the most adorable ring bearer I have ever seen!  Again the music stopped and was replaced by more base thumping dance club music. We squinted down the long pier and saw a single black clad figure beginning his 650 foot walk towards us - yes!  It was the handsome groom!  Black tux, white shirt, white tie.  He arrived and we all clapped as his parents stood and walked with him to the front of the stage - I blew him a kiss as he caught my eye when he walked past - then he took his place on the stage with his groomsmen.  He looked tall and handsome, his blue eyes clear and filled with merriment and perhaps just a touch of nervousness; his cheeks held the palest hint of a blush.

After a brief pause, the dance music "we love girls" began and one at a time the 7 maids of honour began their long march towards us.  They were dressed identically in black low-cut knee length dresses, matching chandelier rhinestone earings, matching chic ponytail hairdos, and matching black rhinestone-embellished shoes. Each lovely lass carried a different brightly coloured bouquet that matched not only the boutenniere of a groomsman, but also of the afore-mentioned silk panels hanging from the lamp posts and the stripes on the wedding invitations.  Last in line was cousin Niki, the very vision of grace and beauty, following the petite flowergirl, her own daughter Anna, who was dressed in a pink cotton dress, pink sandals, wearing a wreath of green hawaiian orchids on her head and carrying a bananaleaf basket filled with white rose petals that she flung down in short angry motions as she glared at the crowd of well-wishers (we all giggled in delight - she was extremely serious and oh so very cute!)

The music stopped and we once again squinted down towards the base of the pier and there stood Suzanne, thin as a rail and beautiful as a goddess.  Another dance club tune began and she marched forward on her long solitary walk towards GB - with her veil blowing in the wind behind her.  Her parents joined her as she reached the back row of chairs and we all stood and applauded - her parents led her to the front where she joined Graham.  The bridal party was the most visually beautiful I have ever seen.  Suzanne's dress was a rich creamy coloured satin that contained the merest hint of dusty rose.  There was a wide collar of pearls around Suzanne’s neck, holding the dress up, and a wide belt of pearls around her hips, and the back was completely bare and plunged to a deep V that ended just within an inch or two of, pardon my vulgarity, but I know not how other to describe it - butt crack.  The front had a slit up the right front side that nearly reached her torso, and I caught myself holding my breathe when the slit parted as Suzanne began to sit down to sign the marriage certificate and I wasn't sure what I'd see next!  But all was well - there were no wardrobe malfunctions (although there was a near miss by a particularly voluptuous woman in an extremely low cut black dress sitting in a row across the aisle from us, whom Uncle Robbie and Dad kept a close eye upon and poor Uncle Robbie just about peed his pants when he turned and didn't realize he was actually looking at the elbow the women had momentarily crossed over her abundant chest.

The justice of the peace, a severe looking woman in a beige skirt and jacket, beige crepe soled nursing shoes, and blue aviator glasses, presided over the ceremony.  Auntie Candy and then Suzanne's Mom were asked to recite from a card as first GB and then Suzanne held the other's hands face up towards the sky - this was a lovely idea, that was only slightly diminished by the “whoop-whoop-whoop” of the helicopter that had veered towards our handsomely assembled group and hovered close for a tight shot of the ceremony.  Uncle Graham and Suzanne's father then each read a lovely list of “I do’s” from their cards, again these were somewhat drowned out by the helicopter, however I’m sure the video images captured will be lovely and the “whoop-whoop-whoop” will be dubbed over with something more appropriate.

Suzanne and GB exchanged their self-written vows from cards, and included GB saying he would kiss Suzanne every morning, let her sleep-in, and would try to make her a fruit smoothie for her breakfast every day.  I don't remember what Suzanne said, something about Smarties, but it was equally as amusing.  GB was just a tad emotional - Suzanne was clear voiced, witty, and in calmly matter of fact at all times.

The handsome bridal couple kissed, then headed back down the long pier and we tossed rose petals from our banana leaf cones over them.  A singer sang something fun and jazzy as we walked down the pier behind the wedding party - half way down the pier we were treated to fizzy designer fruit drinks and bottled water (bearing the official S & G wedding logo on hot pink labels) from ice-filled classically styled silver urns.  At the foot of the pier, we lined up to shake hands and kiss Suzanne's parents, the newlyweds, and Graham & Candy.  The bridesmaids and groomsmen sat in a tent partaking of light refreshments and waiting for the receiving line to be over - a stretch black limousine bus waited for them - a stretch limousine waited for Graham & Suzanne.

Then we left for the mountain.

Click here to see a video clip from the wedding.


Stay tuned tomorrow for Part II

Wigged Out

April 2007

MY DEAR DARLING DAUGHTER,

I am enjoying the sights and sounds of Bangkok very much and the food here is fantastic - every morsel has been utterly delicious. The Thai people are very kindly, friendly, and helpful to the extreme. The only slight drawback I’ve encountered has been the heat (I have belatedly learned that April is the hottest month here) and as the humidity is rather hard on my hairdo I spend the mornings looking like Medusa and the afternoons looking like I’ve slicked my hair back with grease. However I must confess, it would be wrong of me to blame all of my tress trouble on the humidity.

Before leaving to visit your fabulous sister, I decided to perk up my “do” with a few lighter-toned streaks. I have done this before and knew that although the box states to leave the product on one’s hair for 20 minutes, 10 minutes is the perfect timing to give my hair to sublte, natural-looking streaks. I hurriedly painted in the streaks with the usual product, but as I was leaving for Bangkok later in the day, I was a little less mindful and particular than usual in their application and began busying myself on my laptop while the required 10 minutes elapsed. When next I noticed the clock on the computer, I noted with an air of despair that I’d had the solution in my hair for over 30 minutes. I quickly washed it out, applied conditioner, etc. and then finished up with the hair dryer.

Oh good Lord, I thought as I inspecting the brassy blonde smears in my dark hair. As my hair dried, the hideous streaks became even lighter and the slap-dash job I’d done became apparent - oh dear, much more apparent - yes, I sadly confirmed to myself, there definitely was a seahorse-shaped streak on the left side of my head, a tornado-shaped one on the other, and numerous brassy slashes all around. Egad and woe is me, I realized there was no time to fix the “do” before my flight departed.

I bravely forced a smile upon my face and unsuccessfully attempted to deceive myslelf into believing no one would really notice. This theory was overturned when your dear father gave a bit of a surprised snort when he saw me, followed by his fumbled attempt at a half-hearted compliment, telling me how ‘summery’ I looked.

When I arrived in Bangkok, your dear sister gave me one good, hard stare, and said, oh you’ve done something to your hair, do you like it? I quickly changed the subject.

A few days later, after long hours of sight-seeing and shopping, your sister, her lovely roommate, and I discovered some wigsin a shopping mall and spent over an hour there trying on unlikely hairstyles. All of the wigs we have encountered in Bangkok are in only four shades: orange (yes ORANGE), yellow (I mean YELLOW), dark-dark brown, and deepest-darkest-black. Still somewhat jet-lagged (I must blame it on something) and throwing caution to the wind I bought an extremely dark brown wig in a Cleopatra style. When we returned to our lodgings the two girls and I took turns parading around in the wig, striking vogue-ish poses, and laughing ourselves silly at my foolishness in purchasing such a preposterous accessory.

One late afternoon the following week, after a particularly exhausting day of sight-seeing in the oppresive 38-40 degree Celsius heat, we were in the elevator and I was plucking at my perspiration-drenched denim capri pants as they stuck to my legs, and wiping my perspiration-slicked hair our of my eyes, your dear sister realized that she’d made arrangements to have dinner with the head teacher of the school where she’d been working, and we were expected at the restaurant in 20 minutes...!!!!!

There was a great flurry and a few unrepeatable words as we burst into our apartment and leapt about trying to look presentable in the short time we had. In and out of the shower; slapping on baby powder, earrings, a change of clothes and shoes. There was nothing to be done with my brassy and hopelessly dishevelled head of hair ... until I remembered the wig!

To your sister’s horror, I donned the wig, and headed for the door. Mom! she tried to halt me in my tracks, This is an important dinner! I whipped off the wig and asked which was the lesser of the two evils. She concurred that the wig was more presentable but admonished that I shouldn’t adjust it or fiddle with in while we were dining with ‘Head Teacher ‘. As if! I harrumphed.

As we travelled by tuk-tuk to the restaurant, I tried to convince myself that the restaurant lighting would be dim; that in a sea of dark heads, I’d be just an unnoticable other. As we alighted from our vehicle I did a final adjustment to the Cleopatra hair, smiled a smile of feigned normalcy toward your sister, and into the restaurant we went. There was Head Teacher and her assistant waiting for us at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. As we passed table after table of diners, I thought a few quizzical glances fell upon my face/head region, but ignored them and smiled all the more widely.

We shook hands with Head Teacher and her lovely assistant and said our hellos and sawadee kas. I realized immediately by the brief but extreme widening of her eyes and the slight twitch of her nose that the lovely Japanese assistant wasn’t fooled by my wig. Head Teacher, however, didn’t seem to notice and chatted pleasantly with your sister and I as we placed our dinner orders. Over the course of our delicious meal, I became aware that each time I raised my eyebrows, as I am prone to do from time to time when engaged in animated conversation, the wig crept a milimeter or so up my forehead. Indeed, now half-way through the meal, my fringe was a good three-quarters of an inch shorter than it had been at the start of the meal. The more I concentrated on not raising my eyebrows, the more I did so, and the wig crept back even more. I turned toward your sister and feigned a cough as I stealthily readjusted the wig - she looked at me aghast, then squinted at me with a serious and somewhat threatening frown. I looked across the table at Head Teacher who was in the midst of a good story; her intelligent face was void of any indication that something might be amiss, however, her assistant’s eyes twinkled with merriment and our eye contact let me know she knew I knew she knew...

Your sister, continued giving me sharp glances that were unmistakably aimed to curb any mischeviousness I might be tempted to act upon, however by the end of the meal I had ascertained that Head Teacher had a delightful sense of humour, and I was confident she would see the humour if I was to not so subtly ‘out’ the wig. I began casually tugging first on the left side of the wig, until it slipped down and inch or two, then repeated the tug on the right side, as I recounted the events that had led me to the purchase and wearing of said wig. My tuition was proved right as Head Teacher, her assistant, and even your sister burst into loud laughter (perhaps your sister’s laughter would better be described as ‘a laugh of great relief’).

Thereafter the wig became known as “The Wig of Disapproval”, and I don it only in jest to chastise your sister and her roommate for real and imagined infractions against our shared living conditions.

Hugs and kisses to you and Dad. See you in May!

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Feng Shui Follow-Up #2 - More Chi-Freeing Strategies

HELLO MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, so here's a picture to convey my latest strategy for divesting your dear father of Chi-stagnating articles of old, stained, and/or ripped clothing. As you can see from the photo, your father has taken a defiant stance (both literally and figuratively) on this issue and is wearing the T-shirt today while he is not, and has no intention of, mowing the lawn or digging a hole. I do believe he is deriving some sort of perverse pleasure in wearing this offensive article of clothing around the house, however, I venture to say he won't actually wear it out in public ... will he?

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

The Courier

My dear fabulous daughter,

Last week in the midst of preparing for this month’s exhibition of my latest series, Villages of the South of France, the doorbell rang. I was totally engrossed in completing one of the last paintings for the show, so it was with great reluctance that I tore myself away from my easel and headed for the front door. After a look through the peephole and seeing a courier holding a package from an art supply company, I opened the door. On the periphery of my over-burdened brain I fleetingly noted a startled look upon the courier’s face, his raised eyebrow as I signed the sheet upon his clipboard, and his surreptitious backwards glances as he hastily retreated towards his vehicle. However, in a nanosecond all thought of the courier was gone; I hurried back to the easel, and there I worked for a number of hours before taking a break for a cup of tea and a nibble of chocolate.

It was then, as I passed the hallway mirror, the look upon the courier’s face resurfaced from the “whatever” file in back of my brain and hurtled to the “Oh dear Lord!” file pressing in an alarming fashion at the front of said brain.

When I am working in the studio for numerous days or weeks on end under pressure to meet an impending deadline, it is my custom to awaken in the morning, hastily dress into paint clothes and head to the studio to examine the works I’ve laboured upon the previous evening. I often do a little correcting, colour mixing, and readjustment to my palette, then have a shower and a bite of breakfast before resuming work in the studio. This particular morning, as fate would have it, I was feeling rather stressed about the work still to be finished before Friday’s opening at a local gallery, so the breakfast and shower part of my daily ritual had been abandoned . As you and numerous other family members and friends are aware, my hair takes on a life of its own during the night or after wearing a hat, and each morning I am awarded with an amazing heretofore unimaginable “do”. (As you may recall, after a day of skiing, I once was awarded a pair of Vuarnet sunglasses for winning the Worst Hat Head Hairdo in All of Whistler Village Contest at an apres ski bar.) But the demented rooster comb hairdo I was sporting this studio day was the least of my cause for alarm ...

When one reaches a certain age one’s eyesight is not as keen as it was in bygone youthful days. As I have reached and am actually now well beyond that certain age, I am having some difficulty in obtaining multi-purpose glasses that will accommodate me when I am working at various distances from my canvas, so I have taken to wearing my usual progressive lens glasses together with one of my numerous pair of cheater reading glasses - upon this particular day, overtop my regular glasses, I was sporting a damaged pair of cheaters that held only one lens within it’s heavy manly frame - this works very well for me as far as my work goes, however aesthetically it leaves much to be desired. Also, in winter when the outside temperatures are cold and the inside temperatures are warm and dry, my lips chap easily - this may also be caused by the way I tend to stick my tongue out a bit when I’m concentrating very hard (thank you for that inheritted mannerism, Grandma Wilda). In order to be economical (thank you again Grandma Wilda) about my abundant use of lipstick in winter, I wear lipstick of unfortunate shades that I have misguidedly purchased in hopes of creating a ‘new look’. After a wear or two, when I realize the ‘new look’ I have created can be described as nothing other than garish, I relegate these tubes of lip colour to the “to be worn only on those days when housebound and no one is coming to visit” pile. This particular housebound day I was wearing a charming shade appropriately named Fire Engine.

Now, you may be imagining that the sight of me at the front door, unwashed, unkempt, and wearing an unfortunate shade of lipstick may well have raised the courier’s eyebrow, but “so what?” Ah, my dearling daughter, I have yet to complete the description of my appearance - I’ve saved the very best for last...

I had worn a newish bra that morning - one of those modern types with the molded cups that have a definite shape whether one is wearing it or not. I had not adjusted the straps properly, so the bra was annoyingly me by tugging upward and disturbing my concentration as I slavishly worked before my easel. In an effort to hastily relieve the pressure and so as to least disrupt my work, I unfastened the bra at the back and kept on painting. When the back clasp was released, the over stretched elastic shoulder straps were able to contract, causing the molded cups of the bra to leap upward toward my neck, I need not describe in detail to you what happens to one’s breasts when one reaches a certain age as you already know of the laws of gravity.

So now imagine me, hours after the courier had left, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror: the nasty hairdo; a boldly framed pair of one-eyed glasses stacked upon another pair, and me, head tilted down peering over both sets; the frightening shade of lipstick; and, last but by no measure least, four clearly defined breasts fighting for attention beneath my sweater.

I think I shall change courier companies and reconsider my opinion of Emily Carr in that hairnet.

Have a lovely day,

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Body Improvement Advice from Someone Clearly in the Know

MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

You will be pleased to hear that your dear sister's powers of observation are as keen as ever. We were watching Oprah today on television and the show's enlightening and inspiring topic was which brand of jeans to buy to make one's "butt" look better. We were standing at the kitchen island listening to celebrities giving knowledgeable advice about this very important topic when your sister took a step backward to examine my own jean-enwrapped bottom. "Well mom, actually your butt's looking pretty good," she said as she patted me on said butt, "but it could do with some tightening up. I think you should watch some scary movies because I notice that when I'm watching scary movies, all my muscles tighten up, especially my butt." "Oh is that so?" I replied in a rather sardonic tone. "It's true Mom," she responded, "I watch a lot of scary movies and that's probably why I have such a good butt."

I would write more, but I'm dashing off to the video store before all the scary movies are gone ...

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Hey mister, wake up!

MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

Your father had a very busy week and hasn't been sleeping particularly well lately, so it wasn't surprising that after a beer and a few glasses of wine last night in the comfort of our friends' home and in the warmth of their gracious hospitality he began to look a little unsteady on his feet. I reminded him early on and again several times during the course of the evening that he was our designated driver; I had left my glasses behind and wouldn't be able to see well enough to drive home. Your dear father, however, ignored my not so subtle hints and continued enjoying more wine as he sat laughing and joking with our friends and their guests. Eventually he came upon the realization himself that perhaps he had overdone it somewhat and he left the dining room table to rest on a couch in family room where three darling little girls were watching a movie and playing with toys. The adults continued their various and boisterous conversations until we were hushed by one of our number redirecting our attention to the high pitched squealing and laughter of the little girls. We all listened and yes, indeed, they did seem to be enjoying a very good laugh about something. One of us sought out the source of the girls' delight and reported that your father had fallen asleep on the couch and the little girls were putting barettes in his hair. Of course we all had to have a look and there he was, slumped in a semi-upright position with a wee giggling girl sitting on either side of him. He wore pink barrettes in his hair, pillows stacked upon the top of his head, and a magic fairy wand lay across his lap. Soon a camera appeared and the girls were directed as to clever ways in which they might continue their fun with your hapless father. The next time I checked on your father he was sporting a long curling felt pen mustache, extraordinarily bushy eyebrows, and there emblazoned on the tip of his nose was the Star of Bethlehem. (Actually, darling, here I must confess that the curling moustache was my own contribution to the facial art.) More picture-taking ensued amidst hearty laughter, and through it all your father never so much as twitched or stirred a finger. The adults soon returned to their conversations and it wasn't until another half hour had passed that your father was finally awakened by the the little girls patting his face and repeatedly chanting, Hey mister, hey mister, wake up and look at your face!

Your father had the most bewildered look upon his black-felt-pen-festooned face when he rejoined the adults. He had a look in the mirror and loudly accused us all of taking advantage of a poor man wanting only to rest his eyes for a moment or two; we all joined him for another good laugh before I took him firmly by the arm and steered him toward the front door. We bundled up in our scarves and warm jackets, thanked our hosts for another entertaining evening, then, despite your father's protestations, we set out on our 20 minute walk home in the chilly air - I was exceedingly thankful I'd worn flat shoes, a thick scarf and a warm jacket.

As we travelled along the main street, we passed a bus that had broken down and I noticed several quizzical looks and smirks upon the faces of the disgorging passengers when they saw your father's charming face. I smirked a bit myself, thinking that your father's forgetting to remove the felt pen before heading home was a well-suited punishment for his crime of over indulgence. When at last we reached home I puttered around the kitchen for several minutes and your father headed straight to our bedroom. He was fast asleep in a lifeless heap when I climbed into bed. (Oh, I do believe I feel a limerick coming on...)

The next morning when I awakened I was more than a little amused to see your father's sleeping face still sported the curly-cued mustache, bushy eyebrows and starry nose. When at last he opened his bleary eyes and squinted at me I couldn't resist chastising him for failing to wash his face before collapsing into bed. He said, I did wash my face - this stuff won't come off. Egads I thought as I realized it was permanent marker with which I'd taken such delight in creating the swooping moustache!

The poor man spent an inordinately long time in the shower this morning scrubbing his face; there's just a hint of grayish decoration remaining and I'm quite sure it'll be gone before he leaves for work tomorrow...

Only two weeks left until we'll see your smiling face at Christmas!

LOVE AND KISSES FROM YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Feng Shui Follow-Up

HELLO MY FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

As you will recall, I recently embarked upon a chi-freeing mission on your father's side of the bedroom closet. I had utilized my skills as a creative seamstress to "fix" articles of deteriorated clothing, and when necessary I took scissors to offending items or poked my fingers through holes to enlarge them so that your dear father would better be able to recognize and acknowledge the item was at the end of it's usefulness. The result has been that upon occasion I have been awakened in the morning by your father's gentle chuckling, the odd cry of surprise and on more than one occasion by a sock ball bouncing off my head. However, clearly the most amusing discovery was when your father found the jeans I had so cleverly repaired for him. They had lain for some time neatly folded amongst his other jeans and were not discovered until I fell far behind on my laundry chores due to a vast array of preferable activities I chose to enjoy instead. Your father was hastily getting dressed in our large walk-in closet while your sister sat on the edge of our bed chatting with me about the forthcoming activities of the day. Our conversation was interrupted by a loud, "HEY!" coming from behind the closet doors which suddenly flew open. Your father stood before us in his repaired jeans ... your sister and I laughed heartily at the sight before us. I had repaired the holes in the knees of the jeans in such a way as to make the legs bend opposite that of a natural knee bend and as a result when your father put the jeans on they were extremely tight and bunched above each knee in the front and were pulled and bunched in a myriad of horizontal pleats above the knees in the back. This pleating shortened the jeans severely so that their hem fell just below your dear father's calves. He sported a look of annoyance on his face as he stood before us with his arms crossed over his chest, complaining loudly that I had ruined a perfectly good pair of jeans. Your sister was laughing so hard she fell off the edge of the bed and your father was soon laughing too when the fit of the jeans caused him to very nearly fall when he attempted to bend over to help your sister back to her feet.

Today when I was emptying the dryer, I was startled to discover a pair of your father's underwear, the backside of which I had recently and enthusiastically ripped from side seam to side seam. Do you suppose that early one morning this past week, when winter darkness helped to hide my "fixes" that the dear man actually wore this article of clothing to work ... ? I've neatly folded them once again and placed them in his drawer.

Looking forward to seeing you home for Christmas.

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

A Dishwashing Memory

MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

This is nothing new but is rather a memory that just popped into my head as memories tend to do for some reason when Christmas is fast approaching.

Your sister was about 7 years old and was in the habit of avoiding household chores. One night after dinner, however, when your father and I were watching a movie we had rented, your sister took it upon herself to push our little footstool up to the sink and wash the oily spaghetti pots and pans that lay within its confines. When our movie ended your dad and I walked up the stairs from the TV room and were very surprised to see there were freshly washed pots and pans in the dishrack. Your sister, who had been waiting nearby for us to make this delightful discovery, proudly stepped before us and announced that she had done all this washing herself. We of course congratulated her on a job well done and told her how very grown up she was to take the initiative to pitch in where help was needed. She beamed with pride and her little body seemed to actually swell with her growing self-esteem. It was a proud and happy moment for all of us.

I later noticed the pots and pans didn’t actually look clean at all and the rubber dishwashing gloves were not only wet inside, but the fingertips were filled with water. When I asked your sister to describe her dishwashing method, she proudly declared that she had filled the gloves with warm water so as to better keep her hands warm while she washed the pots and pans in icy cold water.

You've got to have a great appreciation for those who think outside the box.

Have a good day at work - I trust your two- and three-year-old students are mastering their dance steps for the forthcoming Christmas concert. I will look forward to photographs.

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Oh Daddy!

MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

You have asked me if anything especially interesting or amusing happened during my trip to the south of France with your dear father and our lovely friends Bev and Rob.  Aside from fun in the sun (and the rain and the tornado), good food, good wine, beautiful scenery, and incredible UNESCO World Heritage sites, there were many interesting and amusing moments, however, one in particular immediately jumps to mind.

It was the end of another a long, languid day of boat travel; and we were just about to enter the final loch before dinner.  This loch was different than any other we'd passed through over the previous 10 days, as rather than being situated along the canal and operated from outside an old house, this one was situated just off the side of a river we'd travelled and was operated from outside an unlikely looking bar/restaurant in a forest.  We had lined up with other boats to await our turn in the loch and Rob had scampered off the boat up the embankment with a rope in hand so that he could guide our penichette to its spot in the loch.  As the gates of the loch opened Captain Garth manoeuvred us forward with two other penichettes and we took our place inside.  The usual air of calm efficiency that had marked our progress through numerous other lochs was interrupted by a loud hoot that came from the bar/restaurant at the edge of the loch.  All eyes leapt to the fence at the very edge of the loch, behind which stood a person, beer can in hand and an arm and bejewelled hand outstretched over the fence.  At first I wasn't sure of the gender of this person, but after he/she let loose another loud hoot and raucous laughter, and I'd taken a good hard look, I realized it was a transgendered person.  She had short flaming red hair, wore a large beaded choker style necklace around her thick neck that rested just below her Adam's apple, she wore matching earrings, and a bright green satin blouse that was the complimentary colour to her flaming hair.  Laughter erupted from the other boaters in the loch and I looked at Bev who was manning the rope at the bow of the boat and watched her mouth drop open and an expression of dawning horror cross her lovely face.  Puzzled, I looked back at our flaming haired friend, who now had both hands outstretched over the fence and was howling in a gravely voice, "Oh Daddy!"  I craned my neck to get a look at the object of her attention - and realized with a start that it was our own dear Rob!  

Now I must tell you, that Rob did look rather universally appealing in a Ralph Lauren/Village People sort of way, wearing a well-fitting black t-shirt upon his muscular frame that complimented his short cropped silver hair and tidy moustache rather nicely.  He wore a pair of shorts that exposed his athletic legs to their best advantage, and his ever handsome face was sporting it's usual expression of good nature.  He smiled and offered the woman a shy wave as he carried on with the normal business of winding the ropes around the moorings and tossing them back onboard - all the while the woman was shouting that we should throw him into the loch so she could drag him out and ravish him on the spot.  I looked again at Bev - her face was still frozen in a gape-mouthed expression of horror.  But the horror of it all was still to come ... our transgendered friend had suddenly disappeared - an instant later there she was at the side of our boat, teetering precariously near the edge of the loch on her platform sandals.  She was clearly inebriated and we held our collective breath as she stumbled over something and nearly fell into the loch.  She did, however, regain her balance and let loose a loud belly laugh and as her hands flew to her blouse buttons, I knew without a doubt that next we'd see the perky hormonally enhanced breasts she was bralessly sporting beneath the blouse - sure enough ... I heard a terrible gasp come from Bev's constricted throat (the ill effect of having one's mouth agape for a protracted period of time) and your charming father exclaimed, "We're definitely going into that bar!"

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha!" the woman laughed and growled as she presented us with her hounds tooth-checkered backside and bent forward while making a motion with her hands as though she was about to drop her drawers and present us with the 'whole package' ... however the bounds of decency, to some extent, prevailed, and instead of baring her all, she smacked her bottom several times, wished us "bon journee", blew kisses and staggered toward an awaiting car, where she turned and gave us a final flash of breast before she was driven away.

I must say that I was most impressed by the calm, nonchalant way in which Rob handled himself through the entire incident.  He merely shook his head and sighed at the end of it all and these spare gestures have lead me to believe that such occurrences must be a part of his every day experience and that, handsome devil that he his, he is quite used to being accosted by people of all genders and persuasions and to being the centre of their diverse fantasies.

We referred to Rob as "Daddy" for the duration of the trip.

Have a good day at work darling,

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Feng Shui

My dear fabulous daughter,

I have been reading a book about the ancient Chinese philosophy of Feng Shui, and after the first few chapters I found myself nodding my head as a dawning understanding grew and continued to expand in my brain as I learned about the important influence of chi in one's home. As you may know, chi is the circulating life force in Chinese philosophy and medicine, and as such it is essential that it be allowed to flow freely about one's home in order to ensure the proper well-being and prosperity of the inhabitants of the household. I read with particular interest the paragraphs decrying the ills of storing worn out and unused items within the house as this results in the stagnation of chi and I was galvanized into immediate action to inspect the far reaches of our lovely home on a campaign to free chi!

I was very quickly able to determine that your dear father has unwittingly been responsible for a great deal of chi stagnation in our house, especially in the area of our bedroom closet. As you know, he has a particular reluctance to relinquish possession of any part of his collection of single socks, his mountain of stretched, shrunken and stained 20+ year old T-shirts, or his innumerable ill-fitting baseball style hats, stained with who-knows-what, in charming colours like bright orange, Tweety-Bird yellow, and sick dog dropping brown, and bearing the names of sewer cleaning equipment and garbage truck companies. You will also recall one of our oft debated but never changed household rules: only your father has the authority to determine when an article of his clothing is worn beyond practical function or the bounds of decency. Only after much soul searching is he able to set aside the beloved article of clothing and buy a new one to replace it - however, he will not actually throw worn items away, but rather delegates these detestable items as "fishing and lawn-mowing clothes" and keeps them in various locations around the house and garage. Spurred on by my newly found knowledge of Feng Shui, I have come to the undeniable conclusion that your father's lousy luck on his various and numerous fishing sorties in recent years is the direct result of the stagnated chi related to his unfortunate attire. In an effort to restore harmony to the home and to assist your father in re-establishing himself as the successful hunter/gatherer of his younger years, and as a better dressed one I might add, I have now seriously committed myself to the daunting challenge of divesting him of numerous chi stagnating articles of clothing.

My usual tradition of dealing with your father's threadbare hole-riddled sock pairs is to tenderly roll them up, wrap one cuff over the rest of the neat little bundle they form and to place said bundle in his designated sock pile after I have cut their holes into neat square and diamond shapes so as to allow him to clearly see and freely acknowledge they haven't a redeeming thread crossing their geometric designs when next he comes across them as he prepares for work. At this point he is better able to permanently dispose of them with only a hint of reluctance in his Steve Nash wannabe toss towards the trash basket. I have decided to expand upon this method of gentle persuasion, but because of the negative and destructive implications connected with taking scissors to clothing articles, I have instead adopted a method of "fixing" your father's fishing and lawn-mowing wardrobe.

Your father was only too pleased to see me busy at work at my sewing machine last week with a pile of his jeans and shorts. The first item I repaired was the pair of swim shorts purchased many years ago when the very first Costco opened in Vancouver. These shorts are a shade of green similar to that of a peeled avocado that has been left too long unattended, and they have white, grey and purple cheetah spotted side stripes and were hardly attractive when they were brand new, however their exceedingly low price in 1980-something enticed your father to possess them and now with their rips and tears and the sadly deteriorated inner swim lining ... well, I need not say more. My first course of action was to cut away the majority of the shreds of inner lining and sew straight across the remaining scraps so that the interior of the shorts was now lovely and taught with very narrow openings through which to put one's legs; second, I sewed closed the rip in the right rear side under the pocket by incorporating a large puckering dart; third, I sewed closed the large rip in the left rear side by creating a new seam, from waistband to hem, that rendered the left side of the shorts a full 4 inches narrower than the now puckered right side. Next I moved onto a pair of severely grease-stained and ripped blue jeans. Both knees were torn and the rips were ragged and several inches wide and high due to decades of hard wear and washing, so I turned the jeans inside out and sewed the edges of each hole together, incorporating wide swooping curves to encompass all of the offending tattered material. The result was that once the jeans were turned right side out they bent at the knees in the opposite direction of a natural knee bend. I busied myself for over an hour in my hasty and creative repairs to the remaining pile of worn out clothes, then neatly folded all articles and interspersed them amongst the rest of the clothes in your father's side of the closet.

It was my thinking that when next your father embarked upon a fishing or lawn mowing expedition he would notice the vigorous repairs to his clothing, glower, perhaps snort out a brief oath, then have a laugh and throw the item away. So you may imagine my shock this past weekend when I returned home from the grocery store to see your father in the front yard mowing the lawn and wearing the aforementioned green swim shorts with white, grey, and purple cheetah spotted side stripes for the entire neighbourhood to see. They hung unusually low around his hips with a large pucker in the right rear and the back centre seam was pulled over to the far right rear because of the new seam I had made. I squinted at him over my bag of groceries to determine if he was sporting a defiant look of triumph upon his face, however, there was nothing there but his good nature as he stopped the mower to say hello to a passing neighbour who was out walking his dog. Your father chatted away, seemingly oblivious to the atrocious and somewhat indecent fit of his shorts. I said a brief hello to the neighbour then hastily charged towards the front door, holding in a belly-laugh, but not before I saw the quizzical look on Mr. Holland's face as your father turned away from him and bent over to retrieve the dog's ball.

When your father had finished with the lawn he came inside and I poured him a tall cold beer and watched him give an absent-minded tug at the hem of his shorts before he sat down on a kitchen chair. I remarked upon what a good job he had done on the lawn and he told me about all the neighbours with whom he'd chatted and expressed how delightful it was to live in such a friendly neighbourhood where all the neighbours had such ready smiles. I watched his face closely as I remarked upon what excellent physical condition he had maintained all these years since he had first purchased his shorts and I couldn't resist asking him if they still fit him as well 20 years later. He gave a slight frown and said that actually, no, the shorts didn't feel quite the same as they had even a few weeks ago when last he'd mown the lawn - that he hadn't been able to pull them up very well and they seemed a little tight - he must have seen something in my face at that moment as I was struggling to maintain a wide eyed innocent expression of deep interest, for he leapt out of his chair and tugging at the hem of his shorts demanded to know if I'd done something to them. Gales of laughter ensued from both he and me and the offending shorts have not been seen since.

Now I await his discovery of the recently repaired jeans...

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Call Me Ruby

HELLO MY FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

Everyone here at home is well and looking forward to seeing you at Christmas. Nothing too terribly exciting has transpired over the past week, however, I did have a good laugh today as I was sorting through old photographs (freeing chi, as you know is one of my new missions in life) and found one from our house boating adventures on Shushwap Lake.

We were houseboating with the Smiths, Roaches, and Woods. We had two houseboats between the four families; we shared a boat with the Smiths and the other boat was shared by the Roaches and Woods. Between the two boats there were 9 children, all under 10 years of age, and we were having a jolly time in inclement weather, playing card games and I Spy while the radio crackled as Red Beard (your dear father in the days when the grey had not yet assimilated the majority of his hair follicles) and Beer Belly (Dave Roach) radioed back and forth to one another as they searched for a suitable beach upon which to camp the boats for the night. It was the third day of drizzing rain and although we'd shared many laughs and excellent meals, we were feeling rather unamused by the weather as we were untanned (not an actual word, but I like it and am going to use it), and largely unwashed (the head on our boat had a few problems and was emitting an unfavourable odour). Captains Red Beard and Beer Belly agreed that for a diversion we should visit the floating store in the middle of the lake and stock up on beer and marshmallows for the ridiculously large campfire they intended to build that evening, so our houseboat was soon chugging forward in the direction of the busy floating store. As we drew alongside the store, I heard your father exclaim, Hey, I know that guy on the dock - he's a customer of mine. I peered over your father's shoulder and saw a man passing a bag of groceries from the dock to his houseboat. Your father decided he was going to moor our houseboat near his customer's, but first looked at me and said, Quick, go put on some lipstick.

Put on some lipstick?! I nearly fell over - I had been camping in a damp houseboat for days, sharing a single tiny barely functioning marine toilet with 7 other people, assisting with the feeding, caring and entertaining of 9 young children during three days of spitting, spiteful rain and your father had the nerve to tell me to put on some lipstick! I looked up at him, smiled sweetly and said, I'll be right back. I searched our "stateroom" for my purse, pulled out a tube of lipstick and headed for the mirror in the head. Now I must admit that my reflected self was not the most glamourous image I had seen reflected back at me, however, given the circumstance, I thought I looked OK, even better than OK without artificial colour - however, clearly my darling husband had found my appearance to be lacking, and as you know, I live to please him, so I hastily applied the lipstick and headed back to the captain's station.

I shall forever remember the wide-eyed expression on your father's face when he saw me smiling up at him, me with with my natural smile enhanced from ear to ear with ruby red lipstick.

I never did have the pleasure of meeting his customer that day.

Have a good day at work.

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER

Mr. DW

MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,

The leak in the roof is finally fixed (remember the drips from the ceiling onto the dinner plates last Christmas Eve?). Many attempts by roofers from various companies failed again and again, but we're certain after all the recent storms and rains that the leak is finally fixed (touch wood). Repairs to the gaping 4' x 10' hole in the ceiling were finally begun yesterday. Oh happy day, thought I, the house will look so much fresher with that nasty spider-and-woodbug-dropping-11-month-old hole gone forever (touch wood again). However, my momentary feelings of joy were quickly dashed when the dry wall fellow (hereafter referred to as Mr. DW) replaced our 60 watt lightbulb with a 300 watt flaw-seeking bulb of his own.

Now the good news is that this incredibly bright light assisted Mr. DW in seeing the two unsprung rat traps the pest control people had put in the ceiling many long months ago in search of a culprit responsible for the leak. The bad news was that a very angry Mr. DW stood upon a ladder, glaring ferociously at me (as did his trusty assistant at the bottom of the ladder) and his voice became very loud. He demanded to know who had put those traps up there and did I realize he had to reach around up there to rearrange insulation and could have lost a few fingers and been out of a job! Oh no, oh my, oh dear, oh how awful! I exclaimed, truly horrified; as you know, I think in pictures and immediately into my head popped the image of Mr. DW dancing around the house in agony, splattering blood from his once deft but now fingerless hand over walls, artwork, and the ceiling (still not repaired due to this terrible incident). I apologized profusely, and in a desperate search for some way to redirect away from me the incredibly bad chi in the room, I dragged your dear father's name into it. I told Mr. DW that both your father and I had completely forgotten about the traps as they'd been set by someone else 8 long months previous. He harrumphed and muttered about law suits and how people were going to hear about this, then he resumed work on the nasty hole.

I hung my head in something akin to shame, crept into the kitchen and closed the double doors behind me. In silence I heated a bowl of store-bought vegetable soup from a tiny Tetrapak and as I stood over the stove and stirred I decided that there was a silver lining to this cloud: the fact that the traps had sat unsprung for nearly three quarters of a year could only mean there were no vermin in the ceiling. Oh happy day, thought I as I sat at the table to enjoy my soup. My momentary feelings of consolation were once again dashed and I froze with spoon held to lips in the silent kitchen when the sound of Mr. DW's still angry voice crawled under the doors. Now I suppose he may not have realized that sound carries rather well along our lovely slate floors, however, given the circumstances it's more than possible he wanted me to hear him say, My God, this woman has to wake up to the fact that her house is full of dust bunnies and spider webs. Apparently Mr. DW's flaw-seeking 300 watt bulb had uncovered the flaws in my housekeeping talents.

I decided not to let Mr. DW's negative chi-inducing attitude affect me, instead I finished my little bowl of soup and opened the kitchen door. Would either of you like a cup of tea? I asked, in a conciliatory gesture. No thank you was the reply from both Mr. DW and his assistant. Not only didn't they want tea, but they weren't yet ready for my placating kindness - Mr. DW asked, That vegetable soup you was cookin'? Ah-ha-ha-ha I replied feeling unreasonably guilty for not serving the two men lunch, yes it was. Vegetable's my favourite, said Mr. DW with much emphasis on the word 'favourite'. Mine too, said his assistant, especially when it's home made. The good news was that I explained to them that it was store bought and from a tiny little single-serving package; this was also the bad news because it sounded pitiful - like a weak excuse for gluttony even to my own ears.

The two fellows soon finished their work for the day and will return tomorrow to finish preparations for painting. The good news is that the nasty hole and the angry Mr. DW will soon be a distant memory. More good news is that as I swept away cobwebs all over the house this morning with a broom handle wrapped with an old T-shirt encased in pantyhose (as my Grandmother Wilda had taught me) I was proud of myself for not allowing Mr. DW to get to me. Yes siree I thought, as I moved heavy furniture and the washer and dryer to better sweep up dust bunnies and spiders living and dead, the best way to deal with negativity is to ignore it. As I scoured toilets, tubs & sinks throughout the house I assured myself that I would never accept harsh criticism from someone with a 300 watt flaw-seeking lightbulb and bad attitude. Even as I used Q-Tips and toothpicks to scrub around the cracks between faucets and counter tops, I was secure in the knowledge that, truly, negative comments have little or no effect on me. I was feeling extremely good about my unflinching strength of character, and after this spontaneous bout of housecleaning I couldn't help but smile at all the gleaming surfaces surrounding me.

Mr. DW is going to sand the newly mudded ceiling tomorrow - I wonder if that will produce much dust.

Have a good day at work darling.

LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER