And all through the house

Happy Christmas eve beauty cats!

After a good twenty-eight hours of traveling, M and I finally made it to Halifax safe and sound.

We had a long wait at SeaTac, so we enjoyed some wine and dessert at one of the airport’s lounges.

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Wines from Spain, Argentina and Chile. We liked the Chilean the best.

It’s a hard life, but you know, we’re happy to take one for the team.

(It’s pretty nuts knowing that it’s cheaper for us to drive to a DIFFERENT COUNTRY and then fly back to Canada, than to just purchase tickets out of YVR, BUT! That is a post for another day – I am too relaxed, and the house smells too good, and I am wearing too sparkly of a skirt, and I have a too sleepy cat in my lap to care all that much.)

I am warm, and happy, and snuggly, and fab.

The city here is cold, but beautiful, and our house twinkles in the glow of tea lights and fire light, and the snow flurries wink as they dance past the windowpanes.

ALSO. We have big, BIG news!

My sister and her long-time partner Mel just got engaged!

This fills me with so much happiness it’s practically impossible to communicate just how truly chuffed I really am. They are a brilliant couple and I cannot wait to see them declare their love for one another in front of family and friends next summer in New York.

We’ve only been here but a day and things are rolling like rolling things.

Here are some snaps for the past twenty-four hours:

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Fireplace mantel decked to the nines.
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Snoopy skating about the place. An all-time favourite ornament for all three sisters.
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Beauty sister.
Basement cat Simon. Getting pats from Mr. M.
Basement cat Simon. Getting pats from Mr. M.
Monsieur Rufus doing his own thing, despite our pleas for him to get off the table.
Monsieur Rufus doing his own thing, despite our pleas for him to get off the table.
Cousins are doing it for themselves. In flannel.
Our tree trimmed with care.
Our tree trimmed with care.

Wishing you all the merriest of merries, and a Christmas filled with laughter and love, friends and family, peace and joy.

I toast to each and every one of you! xx

The sky’s the limit

Hey chickadees.

I cannot believe that it is already Friday. The mind boggles.

I took this snap of the sunrise yesterday morning:

I seem to have developed a rather large obsession with the sky, in all of its variations, which has manifested itself in an insatiable need to take dozens and dozens of photos of everything from mid-day cloud cover, to startlingly brilliant sunsets.

But in all honesty, my favourite will always be the sorbet coloured striations that divide up the early morning, and patch together the early evening skies.


Fry-Up Time!

Tom Hanks.

So I watched Sleepless in Seattle for the first time the other night and I have to say it wasn’t half bad.

Despite never really warming to Meg Ryan, I’ve always loved Tom Hanks – in particular 1980s/1990s Tom Hanks.

Sure, I haven’t been that a big fan of his work post-Y2K scare, but nothing will ever take away from the majesty of his early stuff.

(Except of course, for Joe vs. the Volcano. What broke acip trip was responsible for that hot mess?)

Erm, right. So what I’m trying to say here is that while I don’t go to see any of his newer stuff, I certainly do love to dip my toes in his more seasoned pool of material.

For instance, I always, always laugh my face off while watching The Burbs. Yes, I understand that this movie is completely daft and terrible, but nothing will ever stop me from falling over during the scene when the weirdo neighbours drive their garbage to the bottom of the driveway and anytime Mr. Hanks goes absolutely bonkers.

(Which is pretty much the entire film. See the below video for details.)

I will never stop laughing at pretty much every scene in Splash, I LOVE That Thing you Do (and still know every single word to that song), and A League of Their Own is, well, in a league of its own.

Remember kids: Avoid the clap.

It’s sound advice!

Anyways, I was thinking about ole’ Tom as the end credits to Sleepless were rolling, and I was trying to figure out what it is about this actor that I like so much.

M put forward the hypothesis that so many women (and dudes too) love Tom Hanks because he’s a normal human being. He’s not stereotypically “hot”; he’s not ripped, or suave, or an Adonis in human form.

He’s attainable.

Women (and men) can actually see themselves with him.

Men (and women) can see themselves being friends with him.

While I’ve never thought about Mr. Hanks this way, I can see his point.

However in my case, what really does it for me, is the fact that Tom is the absolute master of the hilarious angry yell.

Even when he’s pissed off, he’s bloody entertaining as heck. Seriously, check it out:

Ohhhhh, I die.


Elevated discourse.

So it’s no big surprise around here that I am massively in love with my cat and will pretty much do anything for her because of how nuts I am about her.

However, of late I’ve really started to notice just how barmy I sound when I talk to her.

(And just how barmy I sound even typing out those words.)

But it’s true. I’ll be walking around my house, jabbering on like a monkey in a tree, regaling Nymeria with details of my day, when I’ll just start telling her over and over again how beautiful she is.

Eventually I’ll transition to complimenting her on how good of a job she is doing of cleaning her paws, how awesome that last yawn of hers was, or how impressed I am that she jumped up on the windowsill with such grace and agility.

Sometimes I’ll just pick her up and do nothing save mutter “beauty cat” over and over and over again. (Sometimes for variation, I’ll make those words into some sort of three syllable nursery song.)

I’m seriously waiting for the day when she’ll turn, look at me and say, “Look lady, is it possible for you to stop talking to me like I’m some kind of simpleton?”

But until that day…

Ten kilometers go!

So I made the executive decision to sign up for the Fall Classic 10k race.

It’s on November 19th, so it’s bound to be raining, and freezing – but I think I have managed to coerce a number of my amazing pals to also run, so I am really looking forward to a massive post-race hang-out fest.

(Hopefully somewhere warm, and dry, where people won’t be turned off by our non-stop laughter.)

When I signed up to race, I had to enter my estimated finish time, as the two individuals with the closest guesses will win a New Balance prize pack.

I submitted a conservative forty-two minutes, but I’m hoping to run it faster than that. However, I don’t know how the rain or cold will affect my race, so I figured I would rather be safe than sorry.

My comedic genius of a friend Alannah just entered: I’m done when I’m done.


Also, I think she may have made herself an automatic shoe-in for the prize!

Humour and brains, folks.

Humour and brains.

(If I was a zombie, this is what I would put as my “ideal match” in the zombie classified ads.

So that’s all she wrote folks.

A very merry weekend to all of you fab chaps!

I hope it’s absolutely smashing.

Fish and chips and vinegar

Pepper, pepper, pepper, salt.

Anyone remember that old ditty from the late, great Canadian trio Sharon, Lois, and Bram?


Just me?


Here is what’s been kicking about our neck of the woods this weekend:

Dresser cat.

Flower bike.

Awkward t-shirts.

Shakespeare in the park.

Dream house.

Dream garden.

Bearded dog.

Otherwise it’s just another manic Monday.

And by manic I mean abso-fricken-fabulous.

What’s been knocking about your neighbourhood?

I am so smart. S-M-R-T.

Hey you beauty cats.

Today the sky is filled with sunshine, and it is glorious.

I have been a bit knackered as of late, as for most of the week I have been staying up way past my bedtime and knocking about the place like a social butterfly with vertigo.

On Monday Mr. M and I kicked some serious general knowledge butt with our friend A’s pub quiz team (otherwise known as Taking Care of Quizness. And hey! Don’t hate. With a team jam packed full of physics PhD’s, literature masters, classics keeners, and poli-sci pros, our nerd quota was so high that Steve Urkel actually showed up and put in an application to join the group.)

We ended up winning the top prize (and fifty bucks!), much to the chagrin of the Philoso-rapters, and the Sandy Vaginas.

(What a name. Doesn’t really make you want to head to the beach anytime soon, does it?)

Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if every time the former team answered a question correctly they would look at each other and say, “Clever giiiiiiiirl.”

(Before, you know, ripping that person apart, and eating their dismembered corpse.)

Erm, just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, please see exhibit A:


Today I had an amazing lunch – a calamari sub from the absolutely dee-lish travelling wagon of culinary delights know as “Slingers.” It’s a food truck that specializes in gourmet sandwiches, and this offering near but knocked my socks off.

If any of you folks are kicking about Vancity in the next little bit (Ms. Audrey I am looking at you my darling) do yourselves a favour and tickle those tastes buds of yours at this here joint.

I promise that you won’t regret it.

Speaking of which, I was skulking around the hallowed halls of H&M yesterday, trying on far too many sundresses for my own good, when I came across a little blue and white number, with a fitted bodice and a hem line that wasn’t completely scandalous.

I tried it on, but wasn’t feeling it one hundred percent, so I ended up leaving the store empty handed.

Well, I woke up this morning unable to get it out of my mind. So as I threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed I exclaimed (just like General MacArthur before me), “I SHALL RETURN!”

Okay. So that didn’t happen at all. (Wouldn’t that have scared the crap-ola out of poor, unassuming Mr. M.)

But I did return, and I did buy the dress.

I plan on wearing it all weekend long, paired with this fabulous grey cardigan I picked up at Zara earlier in the week.

It has elbow patches guys. ELBOW PATHCES!


The only ever fly in the ointment about going away (for any length of time really) is that I always hate saying goodbye to our little gal.

This is how I found her this morning before heading out to work:

Good grief, she is so adorable, I actually sometimes feel as though I grow drunk on her cuteness.

It’s a liability man! She could rule the world if only she could 1.) speak and 2.) sleep less than fifteen hours a day.

Cor. What a life.

I gave her as many chin scratches and belly rubs as I possibly could, before my elaborate love-in made me late for the train.

There will be extra snuggles when we arrive home on Sunday night.

What are you fabulous folks up to for the weekend?

I wish you nothing but love and laughter, always.

On a hot tin roof

Hello humans.

This is Nymeria writing to you today. My servant, or “Ethel” as she asks you to call her, is otherwise indisposed this afternoon, and as such is unable to write her usual Monday post.

Are any of you familiar with the term brain melt?

Symptoms associated with this affliction often include stress, loss of sleep, fits of unstoppable laughter, and a much hindered ability to just roll with life’s little punches. I’m sure she is exhibiting a myriad of other signs, but my vocabulary is limited, and my aggressive cuddling regime has already calmed many of them.

So don’t fret too much.

I’ve seen her like get like this many times before in the time that we’ve shared a home together, and I’m happy to report that she has always managed to recover – and quickly at that.

(Also, let’s hope that she remembers to feed me on time tonight. Last night she was late by at least six minutes! It if hadn’t been for my continuous, obnoxious mewling at the food cupboard door, I’m not sure if it would have ever happened.)

Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.

Things should be back to their regularly scheduled program soon enough.

Now if you excuse me, there is a chair I need fur up.

The sight of hair-free upholstery unnerves me.