Things I am looking forward to doing on my two weeks of forced holiday:
- laying in bed all day reading
- mid week strolls on the seawall
- eating, cooking, baking, drinking
- photo walks
- impromptu mid week brunches, lunches and coffee dates
- breathing, sleeping, plotting
London at dusk. I can still remember this day so clearly. I miss this view.
Sometimes, a picture really does say it all.
My father was a wanderer, taking off in his early 20s to New York, and later, following the American dream to the film sets of Hollywood. Eventually settling in Florida with his new wife, I know little of those days apart from what those old photos of my handsome father and tanned mother in impossibly tight cigarette trousers can tell of a couple very much in love.
I often wonder if there is my transient nature stems from. Being born to immigrant parents has given me a much broader view of the world where I can be a hybrid of both my parents’ country and the country they now call home. If anything, it reminds you on a daily basis that the world is indeed there to be discovered.
Found a post-it note in the ladies room at work, which is all part of Operation Beautiful.
The mission is simple and its message powerful. All you need is a pen and a piece of paper. Post your positive message somewhere, on a mirror in a washroom, at the gym, anywhere where someone will see it. Write a note and drop it into a friend’s bag, on their windshield.
I’ve just put some Post-Its and a Sharpie in my bag. Vancouver may never be the same.
/
Unless you’ve been here, under the gun, with your blood racing and your skin on fire, you can’t possibly know what an incredible high this really is.
It is a Monday morning and the light is brushing the tops of the mountains. It is cold, December is reminding us that her appearance is near. From my office, I can see the mountains glistening in the noon day sun, snow glittering from their peaks.
Winter is almost upon us and with it, steaming hot chocolate, waffles with pistachio and caramel, chilled noses and flushed cheeks.
The year is dying. I come across this phrase through The Subtle Rudder and I am once again reminded of the brevity of each passing day.
The year really is dying, thankfully I think, so that like the phoenix it can be reborn. I cannot remember a year so painful, yet at the same time so beautiful and inspiring.
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