Chances are if you have to tell people it is funny....

Chances are if you have to tell people it is funny, it probably isn't funny.

We are knee deep in outdoor projects this weekend, so my eco-Saturday is not too green this weekend. See, we rented a concrete saw that was powered by the most ancient of fossil fuels. And when *Steve* flooded it, he had to drive across to Rona again to find out how to start it. Then he proceeded to cut the driveway with it. Don't ask me why. I don't ask dumb questions anymore. I just put up with it. Welcome to Suburbia.

Oh, and let's not forget that when we had our wood delivered, for our lower level deck, to the wrong house. So, that would mean the driver was now driving around aimlessly looking for our lost wood. Then picking up the lost wood and re-delivering it to our house, the correct house.

So, yes. Our outdoor project has been hard on the ecosystem. I'm sorry environment. We walked 10 km on Thursday to run our errands. I promise I'll make it up to you. As *Steve* is now gasping for air.

signed, the willow

$1.01 for a Bag of Groceries

My family had a grocery store back "in the day". Here is a little memorabilia that my mom found in the old Fort Knox safe and decoupaged it onto a block of wood. We didn't own the store at the time. Although, I do know that my grandfather would have been there working.

I love the fact that the customer's name is on there and look at the date: Jan 1, 1937. And the company motto at the time was of course "High Class Meats and Groceries". Too cute.

signed, the willow

This is the 200th time I've signed as the willow

This is my 200th post today and I'm pretty darn proud a-boot that.

See Dooce. I was so brave yesterday that I actually commented on her blog. As I typed my comment, there were 67 comments about her blog posting. By the time I posted it (which felt like a rushed 15 seconds of fame!) I was comment #104. I feel famous now. Honestly, I can't even describe it. But, does anyone really read ALL the comments on her blog? ....I'm not feeling so secure anymore.

signed, the willow

My Heart Wanders for a Reason

Today was not the most perfect of days, that is for sure. However, I did have a highlight and this is it. My dear friend, Lady of the Lake, and I have been lamenting over whether our photography and ideas are good enough to submit to this blog for consideration in a book. I know. Most people would leap at the chance to do such a thing. But instead, the Lady of the Lake and I hold ourselves back. We prefer to whisper our secrets in the night under the cloaks of this blog. For me, letting go of my heart and baring it all has never really successfully made me feel good. My modesty gets in the way or I hear things wrong and take insult from the pleasure of someones giggle. Quite often, I am too serious and too sensitive. Now, I am 37 and I am trying to teach myself to let go and close one eye grimacing the whole entire time. And yes, I am teaching the Lady of the Lake this too. She's working on it. And together, we can perhaps get *Mila* on the road to not being afraid of her own shadow.

So, here is the scoop. I went to PoppyTalk a few days back and discovered a wonderful link about Pia Jane Bijkerk and her compilation of "subtle hearts in special places". At first I thought I know exactly what Lady of the Lake should submit. Without question, I sent her the link and told her to start snapping her camera. In the meantime, I thought about the heart shaped sea urchin-like rock that I found placed in the backyard garden that resembled a heart. It was by mere accident that its form took on that of a heart. Only one problem, that garden was not special to me. I didn't plant those flowers or make that flowerbed and to me this house is still just a house. Today it happened. *Mila* was hunting for special clip on plastic earrings to wear around while I dressed before she went to art class. I asked her to look through her jewellery box. To her, this meant a new one that she had received for Christmas. To me, it meant MY old jewellery box with the broken off ballerina that spun around to the tune of "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head".

"No, Mom! That is my treasure box. I only keep treasures in there."

She had it shoved under her bed in a secretive spot. I opened the box to find this:

In it she had $50 worth of Monopoly money, a broken crystal bunny, two white feathers from a feather boa and there it was - the heart I had been looking for. She had crafted it from Sculpey and painted it red all by herself a very long time ago. It was so small and so insignificant to anyone who saw it that they would probably throw it out in the rubbish. To her it is her treasure. Just like the $50 Monopoly bill (Remember, this is the Electronic age and we have the Electronic Monopoly game which has no money). This little special box that plays a tune I can still her my mother sing to me inside of my head, is now her little special box. It doesn't matter to her that it is broken and is thirty-some years old. To her it is special and to me it makes me proud to be her mother.

signed, the willow

One Day She'll Be All 'Growed' Up

Over dinner tonight, *Mila* pulled out a coffee table book and said "I want to read this book Mom. Will you read it with me?" So there we sat looking over the works of Pablo Picasso. All the while pouring out conversations that were intelligent, curious and understanding. She asked all the right questions and didn't get all silly when we looked at some of the abstract nude models he portrayed. Then she pointed to a painting in the book and said "You know what this one's called, Mom? It's called Woman in a Red Armchair." GULP. "And this one is the Pipes of Pan". Um, okay. Did she really pay attention to me 2 months ago when we sat there at the dinner table with that same book while I painstakingly read out the names of each work of art by Picasso. I thought she was being playful with me and trying to drive me insane. You mean to tell me she was actually paying attention? Is this an experiment? Am I like on the Truman Show or something? She's got an aptitude for art history and she's four. I'm loving it. We then had to proceed with the history of Picasso himself. "How many wives did he have, Mom?" She told me that she's going to tell the art teacher that she wants to read a Picasso story, because he's her favourite artist. Do you think she'll be telling the teacher how many wives he had and how Pablo liked to paint boobies? Oh, please no!

One more *Mila*'ism before I am summoned out to measure for a deck: While riding in the car on Sunday night *Mila* burst out with this thought. "You must have had a hard time sleeping while I was in your tummy, didn't you, Mom?"

signed, the willow

Rainbow Balloon

I am pretty sure after I hung this up outside, I was wondering how many gay ballooners would be stopping by for a ride. *Mila* picked it up at Canadian Tire this weekend. She thought it would brighten things up outside. She was right. It does. I've also noticed that new neighbour, Jim, out washing his car in his hot pants for *Steve's* benefit, not mine. Ah, another man crush on *Steve*. What a hunk of Croatian man he is.

signed, the willow

On the Table Tonight

Since it is usually just *Mila* and I for dinner, I have to come up with different vegetarian meals that we both will eat. Usually it turns into "Can I have coloured noodles?" or "Can I have Kraft Dinner?" or "Can I have shell noodles?". I'm going out on a limb tonight and we'll see if she will eat this. We are going ovenless tonight as it is about +32 degrees Celsius with the humidex. I'm sure I can start that pot of Kraft Dinner soon.

Couscous for Girls on a Hot Hot Night

1 cup cooked organic couscous (2/3 cup dry couscous, 1 cup water - follow the pkg directions)

1/2 tsp sea salt

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1/4 cup chopped fresh mint, cilantro or parsley

4 green onions minced

1 red (or orange or yellow) bell pepper, finely chopped

1 English Cuke finely diced

1 pint of cherry tomatoes - halved

1/4 cup sun dried tomatoes diced

Cook the couscous and set aside. I like to add a bit of veggie broth here or a tsp of butter to it while it sets. Let it cool.

Chop up veggies and combine with lemon juice, olive oil and spices. Mix together and call it a meal. You can also add cooked chickpeas for some protein punch!

signed, the willow

Need I say more?

I spent a lot of time coordinating the layout of that block configuration and then along came her foot!

signed, the willow

The Best Way to Show Your Kids Nature in an Urban Jungle

When I take my daughter, *Mila*, out places to explore I expect her to get valuable lessons from each adventure. Yesterday we visited Bronte Park. It's such a nice Provincial Park and there is a lot for kids to do there. *Mila* has been begging me to take her to the Play Barn there for weeks. With the weather this Spring not cooperating, we dared it yesterday and took our chances. It was perfect in the end, other than putting our sweatshirts on and off.

It amazes me how the same 2 blonde haired, blue eyed kids with their thick European accents show up there every time we are there and manage to find the exact same spot as us for our duration at the park. They manage to oust all the other kids out of the treehouse at the playground and then proceed to throw rocks at them, while their caregiver (?or mother?) looks up at the sky thinking about her father the war criminal and how she wishes she could have a war for her son to fight in. Um, Lady....I think he's started one already! Anyhow, I digress.

What I wanted to say was this. We met up with 2 lovely couples in their senior years of life. They talked to *Mila* with wonderment and appreciated the values and lessons she was learning there at the park while we stood over top of 6 pigs with large turds hanging from their rears. We started to play "I saw a bigger animal than you" with them. We told them about the baby pigs across the park. They of course had seen them. Then we said we petted the bunnies. They didn't see those, but they saw some cows. Then they wanted to know if we had seen the peacocks. Yes, we saw the peacocks. THEN, the one gentleman told us that they had seen a deer earlier in the woods. He corrected himself, "Well, by Parking Lot A". Parking Lot A? Is this now known as the woods? I thank my parents for allowing me to see nature in nature's natural environment. The other day *Mila* asked us what the "environment" was. A very valid question and she got two different answers from her parents. To *Steve* it meant the woods and to me it meant the planet. Which one is it for you? Is it green and lush? Is it your personal Eden or Utopia? Or is it where you actually live, work and play? Make your choice and make your bed - now lie in it!

signed, the willow

If you are looking for Kathie Lee's feet

If you are looking for Kathie Lee's feet, you won't find them here. I have probably had more hits as a result of blogging about Kathie Lee Gifford's feet than anything else. Here are her feet. I guess there are people out there who want to know how Kathie Lee managed to squeeze her giant hammer toes into a pair of 6 inch Manalo Blahnik's fine specimens. Well guess what Internet, Kathie Lee Gifford opted to have her feet operated on instead of her face (she said it, not me). I'm just thinking, if I had big ugly hammer toes I would opt out of showing them on TV. If you have enough money to have your feet "done", you probably have enough power to say "Hey, you know what...I don't want to show my big ugly toes on TV. Get a foot model. I hear that *Steve* is for hire." This is where my husband enters the room with his modelesque carpels and meta-tarsels. His life long dream of being a hand & foot model would come true.

signed, the willow

She's in Every Picture

This is a photo of my grandfather's family. He is seated in the front on the left. He claims that he had rickets and couldn't walk until he was two. Beside him, his older brother Roy and younger brother Bert. The boys' mother is standing in the back smiling and her sister-in-law, Auntie Bertha is beside her.

Now, I was starting to write about my grandfather and I just have to interject this while I think of it. Auntie Bertha. She lived to be 102.5 or 103.5 and she is found in nearly every darn photo I have on my Dad's side of the family. She never had children, although she did marry. Was this the reason for her longevity. I have to say, I have never heard whether she was good or bad or ugly, but I have yet to see a picture of her smiling. Maybe she was just caught off guard by the flash of the camera. I know that happens to me. Thank God for digital photography.

This picture tells the stories of Auntie Bertha's insistence on being in the family pictures, my Grampa's rickets and the missing eldest brother. The eldest brother, Jack was left in England during the war when they moved to Canada. As a result, he was schooled there with his maternal grandparent's family. The younger 3 brothers were all born in Canada and met their brother later in life when he stepped off the train in Canada for the first time. Imagine being a teenager and meeting your brothers for the first time? I'm not sure where their father is here. I'm guessing that he may have passed away at this point in time. My great-grandmother looks happy and I'm sure that she was a clever woman as she would cheat at cards while playing my dad in his youth. So, her cleverness or wit is what I imagine her with. All of this is left to my imagination. For the only person I knew in this photo was my grandfather. He was an extraordinary man and my father is proof of that. He was taken from us over 25 years ago to the horrible grasps of cancer. I'll never forgive you, cancer, for taking him from us while he was only 69 years old.

signed, the willow

Rainy Day crafts

There was a lull in the outdoor activities this past Victoria Day weekend, so we had to do more things indoors. It's very difficult to believe that this is what is known as "SPRING"!!! Sorry for the "unnecessary" quotation marks.

Pick your favourite artist and then do a self-portrait in that genre. Up on top is *Mila's* Matisse inspired version of Snow White. On the bottom is my Picasso inspired Snow White.

signed, the willow

My Monkey Brains

*Mila* has become affectionately known to us as "Monkey Brains". I take no credit for this one. *Steve* pretty much made it up.

signed, the willow

Pentimento

I have managed to squeeze these puppies in here before, so I do apologize. These represent years of Pentimento to me. Don't you just love that word? Certain words can evoke certain feelings. Just as the scent of vanilla makes my sister-in-law gag, or how the song "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago burns images of boys grabbing girls bums at Grade 8 dances. Yes, the ubiquitous Bum Dance! I cringe when I hear that song and I can still smell the gym on a cold June night in Northern Ontario. Please make it stop, it's suffocating me!

Anyhow, these canvasses hung in my first home. Which later became my first marital home. On them I pasted wooden letters that read "DARE TO DREAM" in a wine coloured Times New Roman font. I have since jumbled the letters around and used "READ" on a small canvass for *Mila* and "ART MODE" on my craft table. The letters came from Michaels in a two pack, so I did my best to make use of each letter and I think the O was actually a zero, as there was a shortage on "O"s at the time. Everyone was busy spelling out "SCRAPBOOK" in Winnipeg. One day, I tired of the "Dare to Dream" quote that was becoming slightly too "poopular" for my tastes, so I tried my hand at a sequential painting. I like them. And I have sheets to match them too!

signed, the willow

Icelandic cookie pie crust

No, this is not a picture from Iceland. This is Lake Ontario at La Salle Park. Off in the distance you can see how the tree, landmark and strategic placement of the limestone chunks are framing the scenery of the steel factories in Hamilton. Pretty, ain't it? Nice of the people in Burlington to frame that picture.

The other week I stumbled across this recipe that a cousin of my Dad's had generously typed up and bound into a little book for family members. Her favourite Icelandic recipes. This one happened to be her daughter's favourite cookie and I made them with *Mila*. They are super easy and quick. Best of all, we had only used half the batch, so I took the remainder and made a pie crust with banana cream pie filling. It was delectable!

ALMOND CRESCENTS

1 cup butter, softened

4 1/2 tbsp powdered sugar

2 cups flour

1 cup finely chopped almonds

1 tsp almond extract (I used about 1/4 cup of Amaretto - because I can!)

Cream butter and sugar. Blend in remaining ingredients. Shape into crescents and bake on an ungreased cookie sheet for 20 minutes at 350. While still warm, roll in 1 cup of additional powdered sugar. Yields 4 doz +.

signed, the willow

Ikea, I Love you

It has taken a marketing genius (there is no sarcasm here...this time) to marry IKEA to the Sims. Check it out here. While I sadly do not own the PC version of Sims 2 or the PS2 version, I would be buying the IKEA furniture for my Sims if I did. Can you imagine? Decorating your Sims up with cool MALM and POANG stuff? Ooooh. Now, if only Mattel will get together with the Swedes to make some IKEA furnishings for Barbie!

Today, I want you to play "SPOT THE IKEA". Ready? Here is the photo:

Scroll down to see the answers. There are (12) things to find in the photo. Can you do it? How big of an IKEA fan are you? Did you know any of the "names" of the items? Do you have any of these items?

1. GESTALTA dude
2. LACK sofa table - no longer available
3. RIBBA picture frame
4. KASSETT CD box
5. POANG chair
6. HAROLA chair
7. SKIMRA lampshade
8. lamp base - not available on their website
9. LACK shelf
10. concrete letter A - no longer available
11. LEKSVIK end table - no longer available
12. IKEA catalogs

Brother, did the spellchecker have fun with this post or what?

signed, the willow

Why my dog is better than George W. (and Rush Limbaugh)

Reasons why my dog, Suma, is better than George W.:

1. Suma is Canadian. George W. is not.
2. Suma has never caused a war. George W. has.
3. Suma licks her family. George W. does not.
4. Suma has never hunted and killed. George W.? Can he say the same?
5. Suma licks her ass. George W.? We're not sure about that and I don't want to speculate.
6. Suma's administration doesn't drown polar bears, she cuddles them. Does George W's administration take any accountability for stopping the drilling in the Arctic?

It's time for us to stand up and say "My dog is smarter than George W. and his administration" and it's time for us to do something. Scientists are now predicting that Arctic ice will shrink and disappear by 2100. I won't be here, my daughter might be here, and her children will definitely be here. To think that my grandchildren will never see a real polar bear unless it has grown in captivity behind bars in a dug out concrete environment disgusts me and I'm going to take action. Unlike Rush Limbaugh who deserves to be placed on an iceberg to struggle for his survival and starve to death. He's the biggest moron to walk the face of this earth and the fact that humans are even considering or listening to his opinion makes us the stupidest species on the planet.

I have a Cardboard Box

by the Lady of the Lake

Apple-Box Memories

I have a cardboard box - a box which once contained rosy red apples from Fairview Orchards in Oliver B.C. The apples long eaten and digested, the box now contains Photos in Frames of several family images. When we moved house and homestead four years ago, the box was packed with pictures and had remained unopened until now.

So, rooting through my apple box, I rediscovered many picture frames in sizes from 2” square to the large 8 x 10 very close, close-up portrait of Hubby’s MIL, which he affectionately refers to as the “Eye-a Toll-ah”s picture !!!!

The frames are made of varying materials, stretching from many different wood grains to glass, ceramic, and plastic. The photographs themselves, span many years and family members; those both present and “passed”. There are in-laws, out-laws , nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters; mostly children, but some adults as well. There are the proverbial “school pictures”; those un-naturally posed kids with cow-licks seated in front of painted screens. (usually blue) And some captured, impromptu glimpses of laughter, fun and special moments in time.

It amazes me to see how faded some of these photos have become. Sitting, as they used to be on shelves in a quiet room of our former home, I did not notice how they were becoming fainter. I also wonder if I did really display them all – all those images of people, some of whom are with us no more – all those sweet toothless smiles of children, who now have children of their own. Photography has changed so much in the last few years and since I have finally succumbed to the digital camera of today’s genre, I find that I truly miss using my 35mm. SLR with its requisite roll of film inside; the long telephoto lens which allowed me to capture crystals hanging from a spider’s web necklace one foggy morning in time !

But, the photographs remain, faded, though they may be. We have all enjoyed capturing and preserving snapshots of our lives and loves; marking our paths of life.

Someone I know has surrounded herself with pictures of ancestors; as many as she can tastefully display in a modern home. Surely, those images of past family members are as important to her as their blood cursing her veins.

So, may all our photographs, be they sepia-toned postcards, black and white “vintage’ variety, faded colour prints from later years, or the digital style of today survive and chronicle the life and people whom we once knew and whom we once were.

Dig out your apple boxes full of pictures, dust them off, replace the broken glass and fill your shelves and your hearts with these visual memories.

-----for familytreefriday -----------

signed, the willow for the lady of the lake

Miss Smarty Pants

Bragging moment here as a mother. I am allowed once in a while to blog it and the nice thing is I can now etch it into the internet's grey matter forever as well too.

Last night during story time, *Steve* and I let *Mila* pretend to be our mother reading us bedtime stories.

She read us Go Dog Go quite well until I asked her "How do you spell the number three?" And she put down the book and went over to her bookshelf and pulled out a bedtime story book and flipped through a few pages and calmly looked at this particular page, "Oh, here it is. Yes. Three. T-H-R-E-E."

It was as if she had memorized where that book was, where the story was and what page the numbers were spelled out onto stepping stones and which stone read "three", as there were no numbers illustrating the words. Thank you for being so smart, Miss Smarty Pants. I love you.

signed, Mommy Willow

"Do you remember the girl...

"Mom, do you remember the girl who took all the cookies?"

My response: "Yes. I do. I remember her. I also remember a lot of other girls who took all the cookies. And do you know what, *Mila*? You'll meet many a girl who will take your cookies and your toys and your clothes and your boyfriends away. The cookies don't matter. We can make more cookies. The toys, well that's slightly different. We probably don't want those toys any more, now that they have been destroyed by the girl. And the clothes? Well, we can replace those too. Although, I'd prefer to just buy clothes for you and not for your quote-unquote friends. As for the boyfriends...AHEM. Well, if boyfriends let themselves get "stolen" you don't need them, as they can be replaced even easier than the cookies. *Mila* when you get to be older, the cookies will become ideas or original thoughts. You'll think that you have a great idea and you'll express it to someone. Before you can say Marty, Lawrence and Shag are your uncles, that idea has now become theirs. But don't worry. This is the part where Karma kicks in."

"Oh yeah, I know all about that mom. Dad told me all about Karma!"

Ok, Craftable Thursday is all about the art of writing this week. And by the art of writing I mean the presentation of it as well as the embroidering of the words. (How cool did that just sound?) The Lady of the Lake has been kind enough to publish one of her works of art and give me a copy. While I will suffer grief for just posting it here, I want the internet to know that it is more than just her words that wax poetic. She has a knack of weaving it together tightly into chapbooks. I'm looking forward to more of her publications and her next series on Altered Books. She may not think of herself as an artist or a writer, but it's time the internet did. Welcome to the internet Lady of the Lake. Please be gentle with her, internet.

signed, the willow

Tumultuous

The past few weeks with you, little girl, have been tumultuous. I never expected this to be easy. We aren't easy people. You didn't sleep throught the night when you were a baby, neither did I. You have trouble sitting still, I have trouble sitting still. Your dad has no trouble sitting still. Keeping a note in front of me reminds me to not blow your self-esteem by describing you as acute or intense. But you ARE instense and I love you for that. Hey, your dad loves me for my intensity too. It's all good.

Your social skills are really developing and I'm proud of how outgoing you are. You lean towards the dramatic at times and while I think you'd make it big in Hollywood, I figure I'll keep you to myself for now. I just wish you could harness that energy that builds up inside you and take it to the playground instead of standing on the doorstep and screaming in anguish as if I ripped your toenails off one by one. If I listen hard enough to my childhood memories, I think I can still hear my own mother say the words "Just settle down!" Well, okay maybe we both screamed those words at our daughters. This isn't easy. And some days I feel like each week, month and year it gets harder. The best part for me has been the hardest lesson I've ever learned, persistence. Sure I was persistent before with getting my way. I had it down to a craft. This is different. It's not giving up and sometimes it means not giving in. You are a litle charmer with your Dad and I. The nicest part of this blog is that you ask me to read you what I wrote about you today. How cool is that? You are now reciting Shakespeare to me and you are reveling in learning more about famous artists like Matisse. I love learning with you and sharing all these experiences and I'm not ready to share you with the world, I'm sorry for that.

*Mila*, you will go far in this world. Because you are an artist, an athlete, an actress, a friend, an animal lover, an environmentalist, a singer, a dancer, a swimmer, a gymnast, and a kool kat!

Thanks for taking me to Niagara Falls for Mother's Day. I love you.

signed, your mother, the willow

I want to be in Dooce's movie

I painted these 3 continuous canvases for our master bedroom. IKEA was kind enough to lure me into some sheets that matched the teal colour in the paintings so we could be all matchy-matchy.

Is it true? Will Dooce (aka Heather Armstrong - she really has a name) be working on a movie? Her interview last night on Nightline was proof to her dedicated internet fans that she really is cool. Some of us being "mommy bloggers" (not that any of us condone that term) and some of us the husbands of the "mommy bloggers". After watching her last night on TV, *Steve* looked at me with love in his eye (because the other eye was closed) and said "Maybe I'll quit my job too and work on your blog full time like Jon!!!!!!!!!!!!!" GRRRRR. Um, okay, like, whatever. That is sooo not going to happen. Even if I'm making the kind of dough that Heather makes. I will send you and *Mila* both off to boarding school.

signed, the willow

Not to be or to be? That's the Question.

*Mila* and I have been reading the Barefoot Book titled 'Shakespeare's Storybook: Folk Tales that Inspired the Bard'. To be completely honest with you, if you have never gotten into Shakespeare and you don't have anyone young to read to, don't fret. We took this out from our local urban library and I've been enjoying it so much that I've decided we need to own our own copy. It's Shakespeare without the "doths" and the "me thinks". What *Mila* got out of the "Ashboy" aka Hamlet story was "Not to be or to be? That's the question." that she reiterated to her dad when he arrived home.

A DOOCE FAN note: Dooce will be on ABC Nightline tonight at 11:35 pm according to her blog and the ABC website. If this was somehow misinterpreted by me I will officially take myself to the optometrist and get some damn glasses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (see Dooce's affinity for exaggerated exclamation marks) Personally, I always dreamed I would be on Letterman. I hope she doesn't get on Letterman, then my days are over of ever getting on his show for having a yodeling dog that can spit noodles from her nostrils whilst I balance on her head.

For Mother's Day I was sort of expecting the IKEA teapot that I've been hinting at for several weeks. Since it's only $9.99 I thought I'd see it stuffed into a Zellers bag on the kitchen table in the morning. But, instead when *Steve* got out of bed he whispered in *Mila's* ear the words she was supposed to utter 3 hours earlier when she woke me up from my slumber at 6:30: "Happy Mother's Day! We're going to Niagara Falls today!" I guess she was pumped to go and I have to say she kept her secret safe from me for the first time. We get there at least once a year, as it's just a short little drive for us. In fact, I think we clocked in at 40 minutes this time due to good traffic on the way there and about an hour and 45 minutes on the QEW coming home. *Mila* wasn't too interested in getting out in Niagara-On-The-Lake (which happened to be Ontario's prettiest town at one time, I believe...if you've ever been there you'll know what I'm talking about) and I can't say I blamed her as it was super busy with several of sweater-over-the-shoulder dudes. As *Steve* said "Your Dad would never live here because he doesn't tie his sweater around his shoulders." For one second of my life I actually remembered thinking how wonderful it would be if I met some guy named Brad, Chad, or Tad who would wear his preppy sweater tied over his shoulders like that. It was 1984. Okay, okay, enough of that talk. We got out and a kind young lady offered to take our picture at the Floral Clock. *Mila* and *Steve* played Hide-and-Go-Seek for 30 minutes (something she'll remember for the rest of her life.

Here is *Steve* stuffing himself between two cedars.

And here is *Steve* grabbing our four-year-old by the scruff of her neck to hold still for 10 seconds so I can take her photo.

Down the Niagara Parkway we went and we finally found a parking spot after driving thru the Clifton Hill strip 10 times and seeing what lurks on the streets behind the tourist traps. Advice to visitors who have never been to Niagara Falls before: Spend the $12 and park close to the Falls on the Parkway unless you clearly look like a thug and want to buy some illegal drugs down a back alley and only pay for the $5 spot.

There they are being blown away by the wind and *Mila* had given up eating her Dipping Dots by this point.

She must have stood there (along side another 4-year-old girl) watching this water fountain for 5 minutes until we dragged her away. We never did get to see the largest tourist trap in North America after this time-waster.

Since the weekend was all about the women of the family, today I've got a little secret recipe from our family that the men do love: BEER BREAD

You heard me right brother, BEER BREAD. It has real beer in it. Or you can add the non-alcoholic variety if you so choose. It goes great with your other BBQ fare or it always goes really really really well with pickerel if you are fortunate enough to catch some fresh from Minnitaki Lake.

2 & 3/4 cups flour

2 tbsp sugar

2 tbsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

1 tsp oregano

1 tsp thyme

1 tsp dill

1 can of beer (or bottle - you do the math)

Mix all ingredients together well, pour into a loaf pan and bake in a 375 degree oven for 45-50 minutes. Serve warm with butter.

signed, the willow

She is always with me

Anyone who knows my mother or I knows that we alone share a special kinship that is unspoken and mysterious. We can be together thinking separate thoughts or be apart thinking the same thoughts. A fortune teller once told me that my mother and I were both "old souls" that had been together in a lifetime before. It would definitely explain a lot. For the first 12 years of my life I was attached to her leg. I hid behind her leg, I tugged on her leg, and I think even once in a rage of anger I whipped down her tube top past her mid-legs to hide my own embarrassment and bare her chest to her entire extended family.
I don't think I understood what was going on inside my puny brain (and largely crimped hair - that's me on the left) then and sometimes I struggle with why I did stupid things. Stupid things that hurt my mother.

That's Willow's mother on the left as a teenager and Willow's grandmother and mother on the right in England.

My mother spent her formative years trying to meet and build a relationship with her father. First, traveling across an ocean to meet him in a foreign country. Shortly after this meeting, it would soon be their last meeting. My grandfather decided to take up with a shorter and squatter woman than my grandmother and further bear two more daughters with her. So, off they trekked from Somerset, England to Pennsylvania and now they would make the jump to Thunder Bay, Ontario and spend many years with my great aunt, Joyce, my grandmother's sister. Auntie Joyce was a sweet woman, but she married the cruelest thing to ever walk this planet. He was so mean to all who came near him. There under his roof my mother would bear witness to the abuse he would subject to my great aunt and others. She doesn't speak of the specifics and I don't want to know the grim details. But my mother was a child and she had to see and hear things no child deserves to see or hear, EVER. There would be many homes for her with many strangers co-habitating under the same roof. Strangers who would provide "care" for her while my grandmother was working to support her growing family (there would be 7 kids all together and 2 more would land on the doorstep later on).That's my mom with her little brother Ed

Further to her Thunder Bay formative years, she would develop her girly figure there and develop friendships that she cherishes still. I can't say that I have the friendships from Grade 8 that she has. I'm sure her girlfriends knew then what I know now. My mother makes a great BFF. She is my BFF after all. So then they would move to an even smaller railroad town in Northern Ontario. My mom had her teenage years there and while she went off to college and later a career developed for her with Bell Telephone as an operator, she came back to this same little town what would become my birthplace. She knew my dad for the four years she spent in the same high school, the only high school. They weren't high school sweethearts as their hearts belonged to others then. But they both knew that they were meant to be, or something terribly romantic like that. Her motherhood was split between my brother and I, sometimes. And sometimes she had to split that motherhood with the family grocery store, doing our homework there. Both my brother and I presented her with all sorts of different challenges. I don't know who we thought (or think) we were fooling. Mothers do have eyes in the back of their heads (Yes *Mila* we really do! So you can stop asking me if I have them. They're there, you just need your own in order to see mine).

Mom, you put up with a lot and I'm sorry for the heart aches and tears I caused you. I loved you then like I love you now. My personality was too strong to be bottled up and I needed to exert myself and I just didn't know how. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting there. Thanks to the polluters of the world I'll be coming out. We are tethered at the waist to our children when they are young. Mom, I kept you up at night when I was a teenager and I'm sure that *Mila* will do the same to me when she has her turn. Mom, when I married and became a mother, I started to feel one iota of what you felt. It was amazing that being a mom changed me. I didn't think it would. There I was wearing a short skirt writing on my new chalkboard thinking to myself "maybe I'll be a ballerina AND marry a prince when I grow up". I can't believe that *Steve* and I uttered the words "But we don't go to the bar anymore and we love staying home. How will having a kid change things?" And then I went back to enjoying a leisurely coffee with my gay smoking friends while I worried about the calories in that bagel. That was what worried me then. Now, I worry about how many calories I can stuff into a four-year-old's body before 7 p.m. each day. Suddenly I was tethered at the heart like you are to me. It's an inexplicable bond that we have and I don't expect my words to come out here and make you gush with emotion. You have believed in me and persevered with me when you probably should have thrown your hands up in the air. You took the time to make sure that I would be here to be a mother. "It's no accident that" my brother and I turned out the way we did. Mom, Happy Mother's Day and thank you.

You are a great mother and friend to me and you make the best grandmother too. I'm not surprised one bit.

signed, the willow

Dear Mr. Garbage-Dumping Coward

This is an on-going sore spot for me, garbage. In particular, it is usually the garbage close to where you live that bothers you the most. We decided that with it being "Green Saturday" for my blog and the sun was shining, it would make for a good family adventure to pick up that garbage that eats away at my soul. If you need a primer, click here and see what I mean. Now this is our adventure and I'd like to dedicate/address it to Mr. Garbage Dumping Coward.

Dear Mr. Garbage-Dumping Coward,

Yes, you with the red/burgundy minivan. You were last seen dumping your garbage (of the non-organic variety including large sheets of plastic) by Borer's Creek in Waterdown on Friday, May 9th, 2008 at approximately 4:30 pm. We were the ones running down the trail towards you waving our arms. Why did you drive away so fast? Was it something we said? Were you not supposed to dump your garbage there? Huh? Are you not supposed to dump your garbage in public places, especially so close to a creek? We were just wanting to talk to you for a minute and make friends. See, we've been admiring your garbage for quite some time. That was a nice toilet you dropped off and I love the laminate flooring scraps. They will make a nice home for the squirrels once they pick up their power tools at Rona!

You did make a major faux pas. You see, you happened to also ditch a nice paint tray with a very brightly coloured canary orange yellow remaining in it. A colour not found in nature, nor any living room I've ever seen. A colour that one would paint lines on concrete with and yes, I think I see some freshly painted yellow lines at your fine establishment on Dundas Street in Waterdown!I suspect you might also have a cat as we picked up all your recyclables today. Right now, I bet you are settled back in your poorly decorated living room (as all criminals have to live in badly decorated homes so they don't blow their cover) and drinking your canned beer while you toss your can into the trash pile that you have piled in front of your 57" of cheap plasma pleasure. You'd laugh at us to know that we picked up your garbage and loaded in the back of our car, PAID for it's disposal at the transfer station and sorted your recyclables for you. It really wasn't that hard. And while we were the ones who had to endure the complaints of the 4-year-old that we brought with us, we smiled when we knew that we did something good and our little girl will some day too. I hope it's your kids that she manages to throw into a jail cell when she is a well respected lawyer and your turd piles are still selling drugs to teenagers at the skate park. Uh huh. So laugh all you want. We all know who the true loser is around here. Call me Mrs. Social Justice if you want, and when you least expect it (which will be in broad daylight, no less), someone will pop out of the bushes and start taking photos of your licence plate to email to the police, with videos too of your crimes!

One more thing. You see, I love my husband, *Steve* dearly and you clearly pissed him off. See below.Along with the gas, that is running at $1.25 per litre, that we splurged on to get us to the Transfer Station and subsequently waited in line starting and stopping our engine or idling unnecessarily; the $8 it cost us to dispose of just some of YOUR junk (there is so much more to pick up); and now the cost of these beautiful cupcakes I had to make my family after for doing a good deed for our neighbourhood, country, and planet; you clearly owe me a lot. Do me a favour Mr. Garbage-Dumping Coward, stay home. Take your cheap beer cans, your kitty food containers for your very hungry cat, your broken toilet, your canary yellow paint, your assorted scraps of laminate flooring, your sod, your construction materials, your hazardous waste, your crap and dump it in the garbage your-damn-self. It won't stop me from picking up garbage or the countless other people who do the same thing. See, you'll never win.

And you'll never eat these cupcakes!
signed, Mrs. Social Justice


signed the willow

Tree of Life

My ghost writer has taken a liking to writing something for Fridays and I really have to say that I look forward to both reading it and having a day off. This is almost like working, except for the salary part. I have yet to make up the short-comings there. So, live from an ampitheatre in NWO, Lady of the Lake:

Friday again……. That means it is time for my weekly “familytreefriday” entry.

Today I feel like the proverbial “kid-in-a-candy-store”; faced with so much choice and unable to make up my mind. Which one to feature? Eeny-meeny-miney…

So, facing this dilemma, I ordain to speak in generalities about trees in general, and family trees in particular. It is a perfect analogy, don’t you think: the similarities between the structure of a tree and the structure of a family ? A Tree of Life .

I am constantly amazed when I ponder the way family trees spread and grow. My own little family, which began as four, has now expanded to a wonderful nine-count of heads.

The branches get longer and produce their own off-shoots, which continue to grow and do likewise. Like the large, beautiful old white pine in our yard, its girth expands with each added year, as the limbs continue to add smaller shoots. Occasionally, we find a broken branch; and those which have out-lived their time, fall, inevitably to the ground. Some of the boughs have been untimely severed from the tree through lightning bolts or strong winds, but the tree itself, remains intact, firmly rooted in the earth.

Through the marvel of genealogy research, I attempt to recall some of the countries of origin within our family tree. There are many which we know and probably many which we will never know. England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Iceland, Germany, Sweden, Croatia, to name a few. Some lands were warm and sunny; some ancient and steeped in history; yet we all ended up in this very young country of Canada, living in the land of ice and snow. “our home and native land…” The sagas which describe our ancestors’ voyages to Canada and the reasons they all left their homelands, are diverse: I’m sure we will never find the truths in some of these tales; just as we may never know the truth of some parentage issues. But does it really matter? The tree stands.

What if you were a man, preceded in death by two wives; having no descendants; no children to whom you may leave a legacy of knowledge, love , memories ? Does your tree now fall ? Is it loped off at the trunk; pulled out by its roots ? What purpose did your 90+ years on earth have if not to leave a trace, a footprint as evidence of your passage ?

I dedicate this epistle to such a man, who died on May 7th, 2008 and left his traces and memories only to an “adopted” family.

signed, the willow for the Lady of the Lake

Kathie Lee's feet

Onward with my Dooce fan club obsession with catching a glimpse of her on the Today Show. This morning I tuned in to the Today Show around 10:30 am (eastern time) and again at 11:30 on the NBC High Definition channel for an even clearer chance to see Dooce. It would seem that I need glasses and misread her blog too late. You see, she was in fact on tv this Wednesday in the 10:30 segment with Kathie Lee and Hoda. But did I read that? Nope. I skipped right to the part about Kathie Lee and blah blah blah there it was the next day. But I did manage to see Kathie Lee Gifford bring her mother on the show and yap about her life for 4 hours. Then she decided to treat everyone to a segment on her misshapen feet. Man, were they ugly feet. Her and her hammer toes (she called them that, not me). I was able to catch the Dooce segment on You Tube and you can too.

For Craftable Thursday we were just hurting for ideas. Maybe the fact that we spent 2 hours at the playground did us in. Here is what we came up with.

Mix some acrylic paint with some glue. Don't forget to put on your mom's Beaver Canoe shirt from 1984. It is really from 1984. Somewhere around here I have a couple Chip & Pepper shirts too. Remember them? I remember those guys hanging out in the clubs in Winnipeg during the cold winter weekends. Okay, back to the craft.

Paint your glue-paint mixture in a pattern or design onto your paper. Initials work wonderfully.

Sprinkle some glitter on top.

Cut them out and frame them like little monograms for your office. In fact, I think I'll get *Mila* to give me some FF for FundFocus tomorrow. I love her for that, she'll do it too like my little soldier. Crafting like it's for a better good in this world.

signed, the willow