Tuesday, April 15, 2008
La pénurie
"Pénurie" is the French word for "shortage". I find that throughout my life, there has always been a shortage of bookcases. It seems that no matter how many I have (well, I've only ever had one, if that) I always need or want another. When I watch movies where there are bookcases, or built-ins, or home libraries... I feel such a longing. Because bookcases aren't just for books. They're also for binders, decorative things, pretty storage boxes... they're incredibly functional, which I find very attractive. I wonder if it is possible to have enough bookcases. I'm not saying that i have so much crap I'll never be able to store it all, I'm just saying that they're so beautiful, could you ever get enough of them? At this point in my life, I don't think I could.
Friday, December 7, 2007
The evolution of interior decorating
As I go about my daily activities, I find that I notice and admire other people's houses and apartments. My place is nice, but I find myself wanting someplace a bit bigger so that I can have a real bed with a pretty bedspread and two bedside tables with lamps and alarm clocks and books to read before going to sleep. Maybe even a journal with a nice pen. And a front hall so I can have a little table with a runner and a vase of flowers. And a dining room that I can paint and wallpaper.
Right now, we have a lot of Ikea furniture. That's not a bad thing, but I notice it's a very young thing. And the more I see of other people's houses, the more I wonder: how do people learn how to decorate their houses? You can almost tell a person's age just by looking at their house. Do we just naturally evolve as we gain life experience? When you're very young, you put posters all over your bedroom wall. Then you get your own place and you buy very basic furniture. I know tons of people my age with Ikea houses - every room fully furnished by Ikea (well, those of us who are lucky enough to live near an Ikea) and then I know many people older than me with no Ikea furniture whatsoever.
Since I haven't reached that point yet, I ask you: at what point do you make the transition from particle board furniture you assemble yourself to solid wood and varnish? Maybe it's just something you grow into (or out of), like craving fruit as a snack (or no longer wanting chocolate bars for supper). It's just something that occurred to me and has piqued my interest. I'm looking forward to owning real furniture and a real house and having different colored rooms and pictures on the walls. I guess growing up can be fun :)
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Don't change
When I was young (grade 7-grade 12), the number one piece of advice people gave me was: "don't change". I have many memories of this… when one of my friends was moving away, she wrote down for me her new contact information, and underneath it she wrote "you're so sweet, don't ever change". My grade 7 Tech Ed teacher (I will never forget this) called me up to his desk on day while everyone else was working and told me not to change. He said that when I grew up people would get mad and be rude and mean, but that I shouldn't change for them or because of them. At the time, I was completely confused by what he was saying. I kind of still am, but I think I understand him a bit more. Over the years I have encountered difficult people and been tempted to be a nasty person just because so many people these days are, and they tend to get what they want, too. But the voices of the dozens of people who have told me not to change have been in the back of my head.
And every time I think about that advice, I question it: how can they tell me not to change? Change is inevitable, especially when you're growing up. I am a very different person now than when I was 13. Goodness, I'm a very different person now than when I was 19, or even 21! I'd like to think that I am still a kind person, but that doesn't mean I haven't changed. I'm a more efficient worker, I'm more organized, more confident, more willing to stick up for myself, more decisive, more independent, less concerned about what other people think about me, less naïve, less willing to put up with other people's crap and bullying, less inclined to accept unfair treatment… in general, I am a much stronger person, but I wouldn't say I'm ruthless. Sometimes I wonder if I would be even more different now if I hadn't had so many voices inside my head telling me not to change. Would I have become completely selfish, caring only for myself? Would I have become a mean person in reaction to all the mean people I've encountered?
I wonder about it a lot. Most of the people who told me not to change are no longer in my life (I wouldn't even know how to track them down) but I still feel like I owe them an explanation… I wonder what they really meant when they said that. I wonder if they feel I have followed their advice or not (not that I would revert to my old self if they didn't approve). They probably have no idea how profoundly their little comments affected me. I often wish I could meet them again and show them what I've become.
"Change is inevitable. Growth is optional."
No one can dispute the fact that I have changed a lot over the past 10 years, but I've always endeavored to keep the best parts of my personality. I'm happy with how I've grown as a person.
And every time I think about that advice, I question it: how can they tell me not to change? Change is inevitable, especially when you're growing up. I am a very different person now than when I was 13. Goodness, I'm a very different person now than when I was 19, or even 21! I'd like to think that I am still a kind person, but that doesn't mean I haven't changed. I'm a more efficient worker, I'm more organized, more confident, more willing to stick up for myself, more decisive, more independent, less concerned about what other people think about me, less naïve, less willing to put up with other people's crap and bullying, less inclined to accept unfair treatment… in general, I am a much stronger person, but I wouldn't say I'm ruthless. Sometimes I wonder if I would be even more different now if I hadn't had so many voices inside my head telling me not to change. Would I have become completely selfish, caring only for myself? Would I have become a mean person in reaction to all the mean people I've encountered?
I wonder about it a lot. Most of the people who told me not to change are no longer in my life (I wouldn't even know how to track them down) but I still feel like I owe them an explanation… I wonder what they really meant when they said that. I wonder if they feel I have followed their advice or not (not that I would revert to my old self if they didn't approve). They probably have no idea how profoundly their little comments affected me. I often wish I could meet them again and show them what I've become.
"Change is inevitable. Growth is optional."
No one can dispute the fact that I have changed a lot over the past 10 years, but I've always endeavored to keep the best parts of my personality. I'm happy with how I've grown as a person.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Perfection
I've been working for the past little while on a scrapbook to document the fun times my sister and I had while she was visiting me in Montreal this summer. I bought a $1 scrapbook -the kind you used to use in grade 2 - and just started writing down my memories. Being into card-making as I am, I see all kinds of gorgeous scrapbook pages all the time. But that's not the kind of scrapbook I'm trying to create. I just wanted something pretty and fun to remember all the things we did while she was visiting. I made sketches for each page, and some neat drawings… but it's nothing too complicated.
At first, I wasn't sure how to begin or how to arrange the pages or what kind of "look" I wanted… but then I decided to just jump into it. I'm not being super particular or trying to get everything just right or starting over if I make mistakes - which is actually a big step for me. I'm not being careless, but there are still mistakes. And I'm ok with that, which makes me proud of myself. I used to be so concerned with making sure everything I did was perfect - schoolwork, social relations, you name it. Talk about stress! My grades were great because of it, but I always felt mildly panicked when I was in social situations (did I say the right thing? Did I laugh at the appropriate volume and for an appropriate length of time? Was my comment properly timed? Was my facial expression appropriate? …The pressure I put on myself was suffocating!).
This scrapbook adventure has really opened my eyes to the many disadvantages of worrying too much. I haven't been worried about the outcome, I've just been enjoying the process: remembering all the happy times, using my imagination to make it look good, enjoying getting to play with all my craft tools (or "toys", as I like to call them)… It occurred to me a few days ago that I don't often feel this way about card-making because I'm usually so concerned about making sure the card looks just right. Sometimes I think about it, and I fear it's gotten to the point where I put so much pressure on myself to make amazing cards every time that I never take time to just enjoy the paper and markers and glue and ribbon and other wonderful "toys" that I've got at my disposal. I'm often so worried that the outcome won't be perfect that I don't even start, isn't that sad? Well, this scrapbook has changed that. Perfection is no longer the goal - enjoyment is. If I make something beautiful in the process, so much the better.
My new advice to myself: don't let fear of making a few little mistakes along the way keep you from trying or even beginning.
At first, I wasn't sure how to begin or how to arrange the pages or what kind of "look" I wanted… but then I decided to just jump into it. I'm not being super particular or trying to get everything just right or starting over if I make mistakes - which is actually a big step for me. I'm not being careless, but there are still mistakes. And I'm ok with that, which makes me proud of myself. I used to be so concerned with making sure everything I did was perfect - schoolwork, social relations, you name it. Talk about stress! My grades were great because of it, but I always felt mildly panicked when I was in social situations (did I say the right thing? Did I laugh at the appropriate volume and for an appropriate length of time? Was my comment properly timed? Was my facial expression appropriate? …The pressure I put on myself was suffocating!).
This scrapbook adventure has really opened my eyes to the many disadvantages of worrying too much. I haven't been worried about the outcome, I've just been enjoying the process: remembering all the happy times, using my imagination to make it look good, enjoying getting to play with all my craft tools (or "toys", as I like to call them)… It occurred to me a few days ago that I don't often feel this way about card-making because I'm usually so concerned about making sure the card looks just right. Sometimes I think about it, and I fear it's gotten to the point where I put so much pressure on myself to make amazing cards every time that I never take time to just enjoy the paper and markers and glue and ribbon and other wonderful "toys" that I've got at my disposal. I'm often so worried that the outcome won't be perfect that I don't even start, isn't that sad? Well, this scrapbook has changed that. Perfection is no longer the goal - enjoyment is. If I make something beautiful in the process, so much the better.
My new advice to myself: don't let fear of making a few little mistakes along the way keep you from trying or even beginning.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Lucky or Deserving?
I was sitting in the staff room last week, eating my lunch and observing my surroundings. I was listening with interest while my colleagues chatted about all sorts of different things. Even though I don't contribute a whole lot to the discussions, I still feel like I'm very much a part of the conversation. And as I sat with my lunch and my friends, I felt myself choke up a bit: I am so thankful for where I am this year. I enjoy my job, I enjoy the people around me... sometimes I'm so happy about it all that I get a bit overwhelmed. I don't try to constantly make comparisons between this year and last, but this year is such a different experience for me that it's hard *not* to compare. Over and over I remind myself how lucky I am.
Some people might say it has nothing to do with luck. They might say that I worked hard and that I deserve to be in a better situation this year. But I'm not sure I agree. You see, that sort of thinking can go very wrong very fast. What if I work hard this year but end up at another very difficult school next year? Will I deserve that? I understand that attributing good things to luck takes away a certain sense of power over your life, but the simple fact is that there are many things in life we don't have power over. This year, I consider myself lucky. If my situation is not as good next year, I'll remember the good times I had this year, and hope that my next posting is better. The danger in feeling like you deserve good things is that sometimes you don't get good things. In those cases, do you chide yourself and say that you should have worked harder in order to deserve (and therefore get) good things? Or do you get mad at the world because you didn't get something you felt you deserved? Of course we should always try to make the best of every situation, and put our best effort into whatever we do. I can't help but think, though, that effort is not the only thing determining success. When things go right, I like to remember that at least some part of it was thanks to luck. Next time around, it may not work out... but what if that's a good thing? Good for humility, good for a reminder that we're just human, good for a basis of comparison (can you truly be happy if you've never known sadness?). All too often, we don't know what we've got till it's gone. I am lucky in this respect: I know and deeply appreciate what I've got, because I didn't have it last year.
That's my thanksgiving reflection.
Some people might say it has nothing to do with luck. They might say that I worked hard and that I deserve to be in a better situation this year. But I'm not sure I agree. You see, that sort of thinking can go very wrong very fast. What if I work hard this year but end up at another very difficult school next year? Will I deserve that? I understand that attributing good things to luck takes away a certain sense of power over your life, but the simple fact is that there are many things in life we don't have power over. This year, I consider myself lucky. If my situation is not as good next year, I'll remember the good times I had this year, and hope that my next posting is better. The danger in feeling like you deserve good things is that sometimes you don't get good things. In those cases, do you chide yourself and say that you should have worked harder in order to deserve (and therefore get) good things? Or do you get mad at the world because you didn't get something you felt you deserved? Of course we should always try to make the best of every situation, and put our best effort into whatever we do. I can't help but think, though, that effort is not the only thing determining success. When things go right, I like to remember that at least some part of it was thanks to luck. Next time around, it may not work out... but what if that's a good thing? Good for humility, good for a reminder that we're just human, good for a basis of comparison (can you truly be happy if you've never known sadness?). All too often, we don't know what we've got till it's gone. I am lucky in this respect: I know and deeply appreciate what I've got, because I didn't have it last year.
That's my thanksgiving reflection.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Oliver Jones Live In Concert
One word to describe my experience this evening: WOW. Tonight, Phil and I saw Oliver Jones (jazz pianist) live in concert, thanks to Phil's dad. From beginning to end, the performance was flawless, breathtaking, exciting, thrilling, awe-inspiring, entertaining, skillful... and so much more. There was not a single moment where I was anything less than enthralled by the playing. I didn't know all the songs he played, but I knew most of them.
Wow. I still can't believe it.
Jones was playing with a bassist and a drummer - both of whom were wonderful musicians. The bassist had an instrument that looked like a regular wooden double bass, but with both sides chopped off. It also had a sort of vase sticking out from where the soundboard would be - for his bow. All through the evening he alternated between plucking and bowing the strings. It was wonderful. The drummer was young (Jones made a joke about it) but unbelievable! In some ways, he stole the show. His playing was, to my ear, flawless. I was especially impressed with his skill with the brushes. So much energy in his playing, and his timing was dead on with everything that Jones did.
And then the pianist himself. Before he came on, there was an opening group that had won some award from the festival. I wasn't very impressed with them and after their first (and only) song, Phil leaned over and whispered "boring" in my ear and I wholeheartedly agreed! Then the bassist and drummer for Oliver Jones came out and started playing... and after a few seconds, Oliver Jones himself walked out on stage to huge applause. Then the concert really began and was impressive from the very first note. I know I'm sensationalizing this right now, but I really did enjoy it that much! They played fast songs, they played ballads, they each had solos, they all played together, they played a song with some 20th century idioms, they played a Caribbean influenced song. It was just all so good. Like a massage for my ears.
Then Oliver Jones announced he had a special treat for the audience, and a lady (don't remember her name) came out on stage... AND THEY SHARED THE PIANO! They played Autumn Leaves - one of my favorite jazz tunes. First of all, they took turns. He then she then he then she. Then the bass and drums came in and he comped and she improvised (very well). After a verse or two, she got up and switched seats with him: she comped and he improvised! Then they went back and forth: she improvised half a verse, he finished the verse... to someone who couldn't see what was going on at the piano, I'm not sure you could tell there were two separate people playing. They didn't have drastically different styles, and they complemented each other so well. No one tried to outdo the other. It was so much fun to watch and listen to!
The whole concert... wow.
...And then I got home and stood on my porch to watch the last little bit of the fireworks competition - also quite fabulous :)
Two fantastic nights in a row... what a nice change from grumpy incompetence!
Wow. I still can't believe it.
Jones was playing with a bassist and a drummer - both of whom were wonderful musicians. The bassist had an instrument that looked like a regular wooden double bass, but with both sides chopped off. It also had a sort of vase sticking out from where the soundboard would be - for his bow. All through the evening he alternated between plucking and bowing the strings. It was wonderful. The drummer was young (Jones made a joke about it) but unbelievable! In some ways, he stole the show. His playing was, to my ear, flawless. I was especially impressed with his skill with the brushes. So much energy in his playing, and his timing was dead on with everything that Jones did.
And then the pianist himself. Before he came on, there was an opening group that had won some award from the festival. I wasn't very impressed with them and after their first (and only) song, Phil leaned over and whispered "boring" in my ear and I wholeheartedly agreed! Then the bassist and drummer for Oliver Jones came out and started playing... and after a few seconds, Oliver Jones himself walked out on stage to huge applause. Then the concert really began and was impressive from the very first note. I know I'm sensationalizing this right now, but I really did enjoy it that much! They played fast songs, they played ballads, they each had solos, they all played together, they played a song with some 20th century idioms, they played a Caribbean influenced song. It was just all so good. Like a massage for my ears.
Then Oliver Jones announced he had a special treat for the audience, and a lady (don't remember her name) came out on stage... AND THEY SHARED THE PIANO! They played Autumn Leaves - one of my favorite jazz tunes. First of all, they took turns. He then she then he then she. Then the bass and drums came in and he comped and she improvised (very well). After a verse or two, she got up and switched seats with him: she comped and he improvised! Then they went back and forth: she improvised half a verse, he finished the verse... to someone who couldn't see what was going on at the piano, I'm not sure you could tell there were two separate people playing. They didn't have drastically different styles, and they complemented each other so well. No one tried to outdo the other. It was so much fun to watch and listen to!
The whole concert... wow.
...And then I got home and stood on my porch to watch the last little bit of the fireworks competition - also quite fabulous :)
Two fantastic nights in a row... what a nice change from grumpy incompetence!
Friday, July 6, 2007
One Year
One year ago today, Phil and I got married. Then I moved to Montreal away from all my family and friends and started a job. This year has been full of frustration and disappointment, but none of that has been caused by my relationship with my husband. In fact, I'm sure that without him, I would not have been able to deal with everything life threw at me this year.
Tonight we went out to dinner to celebrate this special occasion. We went for supper at the Hilton and it was a flawless evening. We're still in shock. After a year of struggling with the incompetence of other people, it was amazing to have an evening where nothing went wrong, there were no misunderstandings, and we didn't have to deal with any rude people.
We started off by leaving the house almost an hour before our reservations. I wanted to enjoy the lounge or public area that all hotels have - especially nice ones. We ran into traffic, but it didn't matter because we knew we had loads of time to get to the hotel. After parking, we sat in the bar area and a waiter came up and took our drink order. The waiter was extremely polite, and when the drinks came, he served them with incredible flair. It was our own little show - we loved it! We calmly sipped our drinks while listening to some live jazz, care of the Montreal Jazz Festival. A little after 6pm, we sauntered into the restaurant - the only guests there. We were seated at the nicest table in the place: right next to the window, looking out onto the terrace with the garden and decorative pool. The terrace was closed because of impending rain, so there were no people to block our view of the beautiful garden. Both of our waiters were incredibly polite, respectful, calm, helpful... We knew we were in for a good evening.
After the most delicious bread I have ever had (it was sliced super thin and I think it had been coated with a garlic oil and then lightly baked), our appetizers came. The presentation was, again, amazing. And they tasted great. Phil and I both had the pheasant as our main course and I thought I was in heaven. The pheasant had a sort of soy sauce, but it wasn't the only attraction. There was also a shrimp and asparagus portion, in a cream sauce. I may have enjoyed that even more than the pheasant! The shrimp and asparagus together in the cream sauce was the perfect taste combination. There were also mini squash and a white fibrous vegetable I couldn't identify - also fabulous. To accompany our dinner we had an exquisite Bordeaux. It was a very fine wine! I savored every single morsel of that meal.
For dessert, I had chocolate mousse with raspberry sauce - and two strawberries (juiciest ever) and some raspberries on the side. Phil had a strawberry and cream cheese dessert, with a Brazilian coffee. This was no ordinary coffee - it was also presented beautifully. The waiter came up with a cart and a burner. He sugared the glass, poured in some cognac and set it on fire, then used it to caramelize the sugar on the rim of the glass. More burning, then the coffee was added, and then what I believe was clotted cream. It was another exciting show, and it smelled amazing. As we were eating our dessert, the maitre'd brought a little tray of chocolates and shortbreads to our table. We were too full to enjoy them fully, but they were deluxe. After the cheque was paid, our main waiter asked us if we were celebrating anything special and then had a nice little conversation with us.
Fabulous service, impressive showmanship, polite and pleasant people, delightful company... It was the perfect evening. Phil and I felt like royalty. What a wonderful first anniversary - I will remember this forever.
Tonight we went out to dinner to celebrate this special occasion. We went for supper at the Hilton and it was a flawless evening. We're still in shock. After a year of struggling with the incompetence of other people, it was amazing to have an evening where nothing went wrong, there were no misunderstandings, and we didn't have to deal with any rude people.
We started off by leaving the house almost an hour before our reservations. I wanted to enjoy the lounge or public area that all hotels have - especially nice ones. We ran into traffic, but it didn't matter because we knew we had loads of time to get to the hotel. After parking, we sat in the bar area and a waiter came up and took our drink order. The waiter was extremely polite, and when the drinks came, he served them with incredible flair. It was our own little show - we loved it! We calmly sipped our drinks while listening to some live jazz, care of the Montreal Jazz Festival. A little after 6pm, we sauntered into the restaurant - the only guests there. We were seated at the nicest table in the place: right next to the window, looking out onto the terrace with the garden and decorative pool. The terrace was closed because of impending rain, so there were no people to block our view of the beautiful garden. Both of our waiters were incredibly polite, respectful, calm, helpful... We knew we were in for a good evening.
After the most delicious bread I have ever had (it was sliced super thin and I think it had been coated with a garlic oil and then lightly baked), our appetizers came. The presentation was, again, amazing. And they tasted great. Phil and I both had the pheasant as our main course and I thought I was in heaven. The pheasant had a sort of soy sauce, but it wasn't the only attraction. There was also a shrimp and asparagus portion, in a cream sauce. I may have enjoyed that even more than the pheasant! The shrimp and asparagus together in the cream sauce was the perfect taste combination. There were also mini squash and a white fibrous vegetable I couldn't identify - also fabulous. To accompany our dinner we had an exquisite Bordeaux. It was a very fine wine! I savored every single morsel of that meal.
For dessert, I had chocolate mousse with raspberry sauce - and two strawberries (juiciest ever) and some raspberries on the side. Phil had a strawberry and cream cheese dessert, with a Brazilian coffee. This was no ordinary coffee - it was also presented beautifully. The waiter came up with a cart and a burner. He sugared the glass, poured in some cognac and set it on fire, then used it to caramelize the sugar on the rim of the glass. More burning, then the coffee was added, and then what I believe was clotted cream. It was another exciting show, and it smelled amazing. As we were eating our dessert, the maitre'd brought a little tray of chocolates and shortbreads to our table. We were too full to enjoy them fully, but they were deluxe. After the cheque was paid, our main waiter asked us if we were celebrating anything special and then had a nice little conversation with us.
Fabulous service, impressive showmanship, polite and pleasant people, delightful company... It was the perfect evening. Phil and I felt like royalty. What a wonderful first anniversary - I will remember this forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)