Vanessa Woznow

Canadian content

Hey beauty cats.

So I realized (aka it was pointed out to me) that I never revealed what it was I bought M for his birthday – especially after all that badgering he managed to withstand leading up to the day.

We ended up having a rocking shindig for him on Sunday night, filled with food, friends, drink, games and general merriment.

(If ever in the future you attend a party at our place I can promise you two things: 1. there will be a TON of tasty eats to be had, because we have the most fab, most culinary bad-ass friends you can imagine and 2. you will be forced to play the Name Game, because, well, that’s what we do at parties, okay?)

Earlier on in the day, I presented him with this:

The flowers, I should point out, were given to him by our brilliant friend Ms. M, whom, I am so excited to say, has just returned to the West Coast after spending a year and a half in Australia on a working holiday.

She is pretty much the best ever folks.

EVER.

Anywho, Mr. M loves Canadian history – Farley Mowatt, White Fang, North of 60, Pierre Burton – you name it.

So when I saw this hand written, hand illustrated book, I knew I needed to get it for him.

I also fell head over heels in love with his card.

It’s a mouse! Dressed in Elizabethan garb! HOLY MOLY!

Love it.

It’s funny, I don’t think I subscribe to a specific form of nationalism (goodness, I have a hard time using that word in a non-pejorative sense), but sometimes I dig being Canadian so much I feel a little funny.

(Which only serves to make me feel ever MORE Canadian because I understand this as me feeling bad for being too “into” my country. Someone get me a double-double and some timbits STAT.)

I mean, I’ve read enough literature on the invention of borders and passports, and the evolution of national languages and mythology to be wary of buying too much into these institutions and systems.

Heck, I wrote my master’s thesis on Canadian and British immigration policies post-1945.

However, I feel as though this perspective gives me enough wiggle room to take to heart some quintessential Canadiana, while still remaining critical of these norms on a larger scale.

It’s all about balance right?

When we were living in the UK, our flatmate S (we lived in an absolutely bat crap CRAZY old mansion that had been converted into nine apartments and we were living in 300 square feet of madness) asked if we could put together a slide show of some Canadian vistas, because he had always been attracted to our country’s wildnerness.

So over dinner the next night (we had a sweet system in place where one out of three couples that made up our group would cook, so all six of us could rotate cooking and washing duties) M and I shared as many photos of our travels across Canada as possible.

Here are three snaps from the original presentation:

Lunenberg, Nova Scotia.

While I may live on the West Coast (and love it here), much of my heart belongs in the East.

The Maritimes are so beautiful I do not know where to begin to describe them.

Nova Scotia’s beauty is stark, cut out of wild, tempestuous seas, multi-coloured fishing villages, fiddle-driven ceilidhs, and the effervescent, endearing (and enduring) spirit of some of the nicest people you will ever meet.

Lunenberg is situated on the province’s South Shore (seriously, GO THERE) and is located on a peninsula at the western side of Mahone Bay (again, GO THERE). The town is approximately 90 kilometres southwest of Halifax (when you go to Lunenberg, you will fly into this city. STAY THERE for a few days at the very least.)

No more caps, I promise.

North Vancouver/Pender Harbour, BC.

M and I do quite a bit of hiking.

Seriously, in the summer months, gives us our hikers, a mountain, some food and water (and also sunscreen because goodness knows if you’ve seen my skin you’ll understand that I am in fact a vampire) and we are happy.

Two gorgeous trails for views of a lifetime are Mt. Daniel on the Sunshine Coast (GO THERE NOW – sorry!) and Lighthouse park on the North Shore.

Soon, my darlings, it will also be camping weather, and you know what that means…

Onwards!

Whistler, BC.

M is a journeyman carpenter. Five years ago he worked on the Olympic ski jump in the Callaghan Valley (GO THERE) and he took this pic just as the weather began to turn, heading in the tail end of autumn.

All of the pictures he took from his time on the job site are pretty darn spectacular, however there is something about this one that just leaves me with goosebumps, all up and down my arms.

He did also manage to take a few snaps of bears.

And boy do I ever love me a pic of a black bear scouring the grass for some tasty wild flowers to munch, munch away on.

And speaking of which, I’m off to procure some grub myself.

So I ask you friends, what places would you like to share with the world from your own backyard? I’d love to know, even if it’s thousands of miles away from your actual home.

Otherwise engaged

Five years ago, on this day, on a deserted beach on Oahu’s north shore, M asked me to marry him.

Believe me when I say that I didn’t have the faintest clue that he was going to propose.

I mean, we had been together for four years, so it was inevitable that the topic would come up in conversation from time to time, and I knew that there was no one else in the world that I wanted to be with – I was just never one to think much about it.

Growing up, I never day dreamed about weddings, sketched dresses, or play acted happily ever after.

I just hoped to heck that one day I would actually have a boyfriend, and all that practice kissing the back of my hand in the shower would amount to something.

So when this beautiful, kind, brilliant man, kneeled in front of me, and told me “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” I briefly stood there shocked, a befuddled statue.

My mouth opening and closing like that of a stunned trout.

And then I burst into tears.

I cried so hard and for so long that M actually had to ask me (quite nervously at that) if my tears were a good or bad thing.

“Good…thing…” I managed to croak, before the next wave of sobs took over.

M began to laugh, and eventually I did too (although it was through my tears), and then he took my hand and placed a ring on my finger.

My engagement band has three stones – one larger diamond, framed by two smaller ones. When he gave it to me he explained that he choose this ring because the two stones on the outside are meant to signify us, and the middle stone is our life that we have built – that we continue to build – together.

You can imagine how quickly my tears dried up after hearing that.

Yeesh.

(For real, I’m pretty sure that I severely dehydrated myself standing there on the beach that night.)

But it was magical.

The sun slowly setting, melting into the rich greens and blues of the sea; giant turtles sunning themselves in the warmth of the white sand; a young fisherman walking by with his multicoloured catch of the day.

When we arrived back at the house where we were staying, we surprised all of our friends by revealing the good news.

We phoned family back in Canada (waking up every single last person) before doing the thing that every good 21^st century couple does – updated our profiles on facebook.

Good grief.

And then for the rest of the trip, we swan, sunned, explored, adventured, ate, drank, laughed, lived, and loved.

Here are some photos of our all too brief sojourn in paradise:

Lanai.

Sunrise.

Ninja surfer.

Palm-palms.

King and queen of the world.

Beach.

So we may always return.

So there you have it friends.

A memory for the month of May.

If you have stories to share, I’m all ears (and probably all tears.)

Girls on film

Hey friends,

Up here in the Great White North (GWN) it’s the Victoria day long-weekend. You see, us Canadians have never been able to fully quit the British monarchy, and as such, the Queen’s mug is plastered all over our currency, we get to compete in the Commonwealth games, and we are gifted an extra day off every year, always around this time.

I’m no fan of the English royal family by any stretch, but when it comes to statutory holidays, I’ll take it.

Tomorrow is Mr. M’s birthday and we will be up to many a shenanigan to celebrate this auspicious occasion.

I am so excited to give him his gift, I’ve been asking him almost everyday for a week if he wants to open it early.

(I’m really crap at waiting for others to open their presents. Usually I try to coerce them into doing so immediately after I have purchased the gift. Seriously I am the absolute worst. I don’t know how many times I’ve bullied M into opening things before the actual occasion. In my defense, I’m just going to state that can get really excited, okay?)

This time however, he’s fought back hard, so it will be tomorrow morning that he’ll finally get to see what I got him.

In the meantime, we’ve been out and about all day soaking up the sunshine.

This morning after we completed our compulsory tough mudder training, we glammed ourselves up and walked down to the quay for some brunch time crepes.

Here are a few snaps from the weekend so far:

Late night walks and coffee runs on Friday night.

IMG_0858 - Copy — Latte for M. London fog for me.

Trees outside our house.

IMG_0862 - Copy — One of my favourite colours in the world.

Brunch time dress.

Brunch time crepes.

Beauty tree.

GIANT marshmallows.

Our plans for the rest of the night.

Happy weekend you beauty cats!

I hope you’re smiling wherever you are.

Friday I’m in love

Friends! It’s Friday!

THANK GOODNESS.

IMG-20120518-00087 — Here comes the sun!

Phew, and what a week it has been. Thirteen hour days, volunteer gigs, tears, runs, blisters, beauty cats – and heading into next week, I’m just going to do it all over again.

Do what exactly, you may ask?

The same thing we do every night Pinky…try to take over the world!!!

Because it’s the end of the week, and I am so very excited for the (long!) weekend, I figured it was time to bring back the ol’ Friday Fry-up.

First on the docket:

Street food.

Simply put, I cannot get enough. Although I really try to bring my lunch every day to work, there is only so many days a girl can survive on nutella-almond butter sandwiches (this week was a little bleak in terms of foodstuffs available at the homestead. I am glad to report, however, that to balance this out I ate oatmeal everyday for breakfast, as well as at least two fruits over the course of the work day.)

I wrote earlier about all the great new joints popping up around the downtown core, and it’s nice to try out a different one every now and then.

But there are some days where the only thing I can think about is getting my little mitts on a tofu hotdog, slathered in fried onions, bbq sauce, ketchup, and mustard.

And today, my darlings, was one of those exact days.

I needed to get out of the office, stretch my legs, and spend some time in the sunshine, all alone – on my own.

I walked over to the law courts, purchased my dog, and sat down in my own little sun-soaked spot.

Bliss.

Also, it is weird that as much as I love the hotdog itself, my favourite part of this meal is the two last bites – bites that are nothing save for the bun, the onions, and the condiments (that have all mixed together to form a orangey-yellow super sauce?)

Or is that just me?

Either way, it was fab. And amazingly enough, I didn’t spill a drop on my dress.

Look ma! No dry cleaning bill!

Second on the docket:

These ads from Aldo.

First, let me preface this by saying that I pretty much despise Aldo and never shop there. Their shoes are totally overpriced, and the quality absolute shite.

Plus there is nothing remarkable about the styles they offer. Everything is boring and bland.

So when I see something like this, well, don’t colour me surprised:

Colour me bored and scornful.

Aren’t we over this trope already, or what?

I mean, if we’re going to keep pumping out ridiculous and sexist advertising campaigns, can’t we get something a little original?

For heaven’s sake, just have a vagina wearing the shoes (hell, have a vagina eating a popsicle wearing the shoes, for all I care) and get it over with.

Because the whole banana/iced treat as phallic symbol is old as dirt and twice as stupid.

(Or, you know, if you want to be totally off the charts risqué, just rely on quality products to increase sales, and have your marketing campaign revolve around your merchandise – a radical thought, I know.)

In the meantime, I won’t hold my breath.

Third on the docket:

I CANNOT stop buying clothes.

Okay, that’s a big of an overstatement. I’m not exactly out on a bender, slinking about outlet malls and breaking open my bank account.

However, over the last month I’ve purchased two dresses!

TWO!

Good grief. That’s one less than I purchased all of last year.

Just typing these words, I feel as though I need qualify and explain how cheap the items were, but then another part of me starts shouting WHO CARES STOP IT YOU WORK HARD ENJOY IT LOVE IT.

Today at lunch I ventured to H&M (holy crappola, this place is like my fricken Brokeback Mountain – for serious, WHY CAN’T I QUIT YOU!?) and tried on a couple of dresses.

I feel as though these past few days I’ve been oscillating wildly back and forth between über feminine and über masculine looks. For instance, yesterday I work skinny-legged men’s dress pants, a man’s sweater, collared shirt and tie, and today I wore this:

And then I tried on this:

Which actually has a ridiculously cute bow on the right shoulder:

And then I tried on this:

IMG-20120518-00096 — Love me some spots.

Dudes. It’s a lady-bug dress!!

(Okay, not really. But that’s what it makes me feel like.)

In the end, I wound up purchasing both, but got the first one in black.

(For a very, very low – combined – price.)

STOP IT ETHEL! MOVE ON.

So there you have it folks: Food, fashion, and fallacies (otherwise known as the world of advertising.)

What are your favourite street foods? Have you bought yourself anything nice of late?

Put your feet up, pour yourself a cold drink, and tell me all about it.

A neighbourly day in this beautywood

I cried when I arrived home from work yesterday.

I felt so completely knackered – both emotionally and physically, and I just couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

And honestly, when you’re at that point, why even bother trying to keep them in?

You always feel a heck of a lot better after a good cry. (Or at least I do.)

I have this really bad habit of wanting to do so many things, and do them all perfectly, that I drive myself to exhaustion. And instead of working on keeping this in check, I blithely bop along, operating at warp speed, until I find myself weeping over my chesterfield (or my ottoman.)

Mr. M was pretty darn concerned and suggested we go for a walk around our neighbourhood as a means of getting out of our heads, of letting go of the day.

I was more than happy at the thought of scampering about in the late afternoon sunshine.

Especially because we live in an absolutely stunning area of New West.

Ch-ch-check it:

Garden gate.

Lamp post.

Ducks.

Legs.

Cat.

Tree.

Duck, redux.

And wouldn’t you know, the tears stopped.

Seriously, there is nothing better than the sun and a spring breeze to help you see the forest for the trees.

(The Importance of Being Earnest available on Netflix may have also had something to do with this. And NYT crossword books. And Japanese candy that the beautiful Alissa gifted me from her recent rip to Tokyo.)

How do unwind after a particularly trying day?

Let’s go for a walk and you can tell me all about it.