Happy Halloween

signed, the willow

It's been 23 years

Ok, it's been about 23 years since I have been to, or even considered going to, a concert.  

As *Mila* has the biggest girl crush on Selena Gomez and I find Selena harmless as far as little girl role models go, I figured there was no harm in having a last minute look online for 2 tickets.  

Knowing full well that prices probably sky rocket at the last minute, I decided not to tell her and instead just surfed.  Within about 10 seconds I found a set on the floor and emailed my husband the details. (I emailed him because he was sleeping and considered to be dead to the world.)  So, off *Mila* went to gymnastics while *Steve* made arrangements to buy the tickets (below cost I might add, the reason why he was left to negotiate).  I didn't think much more about it and finished my own workout, laundry, etc. and then *Steve* called to say *Mila* had made plans for an afternoon playdate, so that we could go grab tickets in Hamilton.  The worry then began.  Now I have to actually go to the concert?  Crap!  What did I do that for?  Okay, so I psych myself up for staying up late, get motivated, etc. and what if this? what if that?  Yeah.  I started to worry that we'd get the internet printout of tickets rather than the actual tickets.  Now what?  So, sure enough we get to the mall to meet two very honest looking young girls who have an envelope of internet printed tickets.  *Steve* has faith in the situation and gives the girl cash for the tickets and now I begin to zone out.  We've probably been ripped off and they've photocopied the tickets 50 times and resold them.  Really, what's to stop them from doing that?  

We went to pick up *Mila* from her playdate and we asked her if she wanted to come out tonight.  She considered it, but asked all the right questions: who? when? where? with who? to what?  So I handed her the questionable tickets and asked her to read where and when and then she could decide.  Kids scan things so quickly and know where to find information.  She handed them back and said "seats 35 and 36".  Yeah, but if you read the tickets you can see where and when...."SELENA GOMEZ?"  She had tears in her eyes and quite honestly, I did too because her dad and I had just officially blown her mind.  Something we parents like to do to see if an explosion will occur or what maximum elated expression will be shown to prove our own creation is actually real and not a hologram.

We arrived, only slightly lost, at the concert with some great friends [and one awesome assertive driver ;) ] who were scattered across the Coliseum (a fancy word for Arena in Hamilton).  We lined up to have our tickets scanned and then I got the [beep] [beep] [beep] sound on ours.  GREAT!  My heart pounded.  I've blown her mind and now we're going to get yanked because we've been scammed?  OMG!  I'm dying inside.  I'm clearly the worst mother in the Universe for letting this happen. Buying tickets off an online auction, last minute?  BAD MOTHER.  We are now yanked to the side to stand by an office where a father is yelling at a concert-organizer-looking-manager-type-guy.  He's furious.  His wife has her head in her hands.  His tweenage daughters have their well coiffed locks and perfectly mascara'd eyes leaning their heads up against the cinder block walls.  We too will be them in about 2 minutes.  The very kind supervisor that is now holding my tickets was sympathetic and came out of the office and said "Well, we don't really know why, but your tickets are flagged for some reason.  Go.  Sit down in the seats.  Enjoy the concert.  But, if the original owner shows up with the actual tickets, we'll have to ask you to leave.  Don't worry. Go."

So, off we went and sat in our rather tiny chairs.  Two male foreign exchange students from an Asian country sat behind us.  They were so excited about Selena.  It was the highlight of my night.  

Here's *Mila* unsure of what she's about to witness.

The first act was a you-tube sensation named Christina Grimmie, who's victorious voice will take her wonderful places.  Funny that I chose the word "victorious" as her middle name is Victoria and I just found out on that wikipedia interwebby page.

Next was Shawn Desman.  Great dancers.  Great costumes.  Is this what concert bloggers say?  Concert blogger, I am not.

The music was loud and thumping.  The screaming got to *Mila* more than I thought it would.  Since she's been known to dish it out on more than the odd occasion.


Starry eyed.  Sparkly eyed.  And even a touch of mascara on those lashes for some extra glam.

And then Selena came out.  She sang.  No lip-synching here.  I think I started to enjoy the pop tunes and sweet saccharin of this odd event I have found myself in.  Mostly because it's now 8:30 and these seats are obviously ours.

Don't you hate concert photos from someone's BlackBerry?  no kidding.  Especially when they are not sure if they can use a flash or not and clearly are annoying the tweenagers in front with the laser-wielding blinding light to get rid of red eye!

I'm sorry.  But I have to show off my fun.  I'm a sucker for a chart, graph, measurement gauge, dashboards, stock market like plots, or treble equalizer (whatever!  you get the picture).

Selena did a little Britney Spears tribute as the first concert Selena went to was Britney's in the nosebleed section, no less.  Haven't we all sat in the nosebleeds?   I'm still sitting in the audience and thinking to myself "I wish I could be a dancer for a pop star.  Am I too old?  Maybe Aerosmith will take me on?"   

The highlight of her night....

I had the same highlight, oh 25 years ago....

signed, the willow

Halloweenies

With Halloween around the corner, there are so many great ways to dress up and create an impression or create a fright.  For years as a kid, I almost dreaded Halloween.  I would order my mother to make me a costume, only to change the details last minute.  My costume would then be perfect, as ordered.  However, growing up in Northwestern Ontario doesn't allow for balmy Halloweens.  In fact, every Halloween I have ever remembered as a kid involved *snow*.  So, those lovely costumes?  You got it!  Covered up with a snowsuit over top.  Candy and treats weren't a novelty to me.  My parents had a grocery store.  Now, as a mother I try get excited.  I really do.  I buy the candy, eat the candy, paint the face, gather costume ideas.  But, it's begun:  the anxiety of Halloween.  *Mila* too is suffering from GLOE (general lack of enthusiasm) when it comes to Halloween.

It's nice to enjoy the holiday through some creepy halloweenie spirit like so, from afar on the world wide interweb thingy.

Wouldn't you die to eat from these cute cones?

Source: styleathome.com via ZombieGirl on Pinterest

A little felt friend with those foggy zombie-like eyes.  Spooky!

source:  Lybo on Etsy

some vintage spookiness

Source: google.nl via Chantal on Pinterest

you'd have to have the right property for these.  Aren't they amazing?

Source: Uploaded by user via Chantal on Pinterest

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

signed, the willow

Name your YOGA

With so many types of yoga out there, it's hard to say which one to practice.  I have always found ashtanga and hatha styles appealing, mostly because they have been assimilated into North American culture.  My body craves short, sharp bursts of energy.  So, yoga has been my balance effect.  My cleanse.  Now, I find I choose to sprinkle some Nia in there as well.  It really rejuvenates my spirit.

This is the yoga I'm dying to try.  Antigravity yoga.


source:  lululemon on YouTube

Stretching your body.  Stretching your trust.  Stretching your imagination.  Stretching your limits.

Stretch.

signed, the willow

So, she remains faceless

This girl has come and gone, been reshaped, reformed, dripped, changed skin tones, added with a face, taken a face away.  Not sure what I've done with her arm.  She's been liquid papered.  But her expression is empty still.  Is this my transitional state right now?  Unsure of how I should feel.  Unsure of how I should tackle her.  So she sits and waits for me.

signed, the willow

Candy Corn Nails

*Mila* asked for some candy corn nails.  I struggled with how to create these ones.  

First, I pulled out a Science project book.  Why not?  Use it to protect the table and use it to maybe come up with a better idea than intricately painting finger nails.  This is not my forte.

I figured some scotch tape might help us out for this and taped the top 2/3 of her nails.

So far, so good.  She thinks this is all legit and what the candy corn nail process is all about.

Paint the bottom layer orange (yep, I'll get to this later).

We let them dry and got down to taping off the top 1/3 of her nail and carefully painted in the yellow.  How fabulous is that yellow nail polish by Joe Fresh?

Order some cucumber slices from the kitchen for your tired eyes and relax.

We topped it off with some globs of white for the tips and hello Candy Corn Nails.  

Until we saw this:

Yeah!  Yellow goes on the bottom.

signed, the willow

Silver Spoons without Ricky Schroeder

This great little metal piece was made by a Muskoka artist.  The petals are fashioned from old silver spoons. You know the tarnished old collectible ones your Gramma has.  A pink rock tied in for soft effect and then it was fashioned to a metal hair band.

But it fell off of *mila* girl's head a few too many times and I need someone to solder it back on.

Who would that be?

Maybe this guy?

Maybe not.  He looks like he catches flies with that mouth.


Doh!

signed, the willow

A Hermitage Kind of Day

We never pass up the chance to have a hike in the Dundas Valley Conservation Area.  No hike around the loop would be complete without a stop at the Hermitage.  Supposedly haunted, it never leaves us with a bad feeling.  Rather, there's a sense of welcome and comfort there.  A woman lost her home to fire and remained in a tent on the site because she too felt the same as I do.  There is a stillness there and rarely do you hear a bird chirp, or a chipmunk chew through a nut.  In fact, it can give you a sense of unease if you pay attention to the silence.  The history associated with the ruins runs deep and tragedy surrounds it.   Not for us sassy babes.

Yesterday, there was evidence of some rituals or just kids doing random coincidental decaying wood monstrosities.  We found odd displays of decayed wood - split apart and formed into small mounds.

See?

And oddly, every photo I took of this "window" had a prismatic effect in the upper right corner.  No matter the angle, no matter the setting on my camera.  It was there.  This one seems to have an orb-like circle below it.  It is so distinct in some of the photos that I had to carefully inspect them to see if it had been painted on the stones.

Enjoy your day, whatever you choose to do, or not do.

signed, the willow

Wing Ding

I have this penchant for angel wings.  Not the small variety on a necklace.  The real big a** ones that hang on a wall!  No angels were harmed, and hopefully no birds were hurt either.

Source: desiretoinspire.net via Krissy on Pinterest

Source: None via Suzanne on Pinterest

Source: Uploaded by user via Ines on Pinterest

signed, the willow

A chilly walk to the mall

A chilly walk to the mall by kikiwillow featuring black thigh high boots

Abandoned Places

source:  mining markets

Lately I've noticed a lot of the posting and re-posting of the 100 abandoned houses of Detroit.

Which makes me think of this site, Ontario Abandoned Places.  It has long been one of my favourite sites to get a spine chill.  One of my favourites is an old mine in Ear Falls.  Primarily because I grew up not too far away.  But also because we used to visit old mining spots as a bit of a hobby with my family.

One of our faves was a stop along the Hudson highway (Hwy 664), where the concentration of iron in the lake (or man made puddle of trailings) was reddish brown.  There were so many old artifacts there, it was like stepping back in time.  The buildings were falling down (or had fallen down) and terribly dangerous.  I'm sure it's all but disappeared into the shadows of the scrubby brush along the highway and been barricaded by nature.

I'd love some more history on that mine.  Who worked there?  Where did those people disappear to?  I have an image of a society of people that vanished in some fashion like that of a M. Night Shyamalan movie.

signed, the willow

Song of the Spindle

The whale that I painted during the G8 - guarding the oceans and waters of the world.  Steward of the waters.

Which makes me love the connection here with this whale video.  The odd thing is, today *Mila* and I walked home talking about the brain size relative to body size of an animal.  I used a whale as an example of a large brain, then we got hung up on the pea brain variety of birds (and humans).  Fast forward 2 hours and I run across this video.  It starts off talking about brain size of animals.  The singing connection between human and the whale is so unusual.  It haunts me.  I love whales and I remember why. It was that flippy, floppy paper-like record, that arrived in the National Geographic magazine in the early 1980s, proving that whales too made music.  My grandparents went to Hawaii and more whale songs soon arrived on vinyl.  We all pretended to enjoy their deep dark songs from the ocean realm.  Honestly, their songs were sad, morose and told a story.

This is their story.  Enjoy the film.





Song Of the Spindle from Drew Christie on Vimeo.



signed, the willow

Mask Love

Aren't these the greatest masks?  The quality of them is surprisingly impressive.  Why am I so amazed?  Because they are from the giant dollar store in the mall.

So inspired to make a great costume or two or three from these.  What would you dress as with one of these masks?  What's your costume for 2011?  Or the costume of someone you love?

I'm considering an angel with wings, or maybe a lingerie zombie?  Ooooh.

signed, the willow

Mall Zombies

Today was an escape for the girls.  A day for us to get out and just gripe over money, men, careers (or lack thereof), and calories.  We wandered the mall window shopping, sipping on a hot americano, talking about what we'd buy, what we will buy.  This lovely lady here was my companion.

Then we wandered into a particular very grand and opulent lingerie store.  One of the sales girls greeted us with exuberance pouring a couple compliments in our way and trying to tell me which bras and panties would match my coat.  Nice.  My coat.  That was the best should could come up with.  Then she told us about how one pleasant thought can make your whole day better.  "Yes", we agreed.  To which she proceeded to tell us about her bus ride into work.  She noticed a truck get stuck on the train tracks and had to back up and spin out, etc.  This caused her to giggle and added joy into her day.  WTH?  I can't believe this young girl was enthused by this.  We backed away and into the next mall zombie.  This one tried to tell us about a panty sale and it was so rehearsed and so robotic.  Eerie.  Next we met the ultimate panty and bra zombie.  This one got in my face and made me touch the panties.  Her monotone voice and her rehearsed speech was a dead giveaway that she had just eaten the brain of the last panty sale zombie.

Anywhooo, there we were being wedged into a corner by the zombies.  And there was no way out.  Oh, the girl up there in the photo, she'll be the zombie there on Thursday.  Eek, she can fly.

signed, the willow

The Emancipation of Jeannie

Why I dream of Jeannie.

When I was a young girl, our TV viewing was limited to TV Ontario and CBC, but for a brief period a local TV shop offered to give you some TV channels from the US!  This was sheer genius and everyone subscribed. No one truly understood what was actually going on then.  Now, we would understand the practice to be "pirating" television from large US conglomerates.  As I understand it, he recorded tv shows on a very primitive VCR (this was the 70s), or reel-to-reel system, and rebroadcast the signal (or recorded shows) to us in chunks.  You didn't know what would be "on" or when. But you could cruise the channels (with a dial, no remote, nothing past channel 13) and you'd have a pleasant surprise when the USA network, or WTBS would appear.  This is how I came to know of "I Dream of Jeannie" and Barbara Eden.  For years, I had this idea that I might find a genie in a bottle on a beach one day too.

But, I learned something from Jeannie.

From Crackle: The Americanization of Jeannie

I learned that it was acceptable to live with a man and not be married to him first.  It was okay to go hide in your bottle (*insert tongue-in-cheek reference here*) and pout.  It was fine to cause mischief and play "dumb".  It was also okay to not do the dishes, because you could blink them clean later.  It all worked out in the end, even when Roger Healey tried to sway you over to his bachelor pad with his ascot.  


I loved Jeannie.  She was iconic and revered to me.  Some called her a sex object!  She caused men to have nasty thoughts about her and little girls to bare their midriffs later in their teen years.  But wait!  Jeannie found independence in a time when women were expected to stay home and cook and clean.  It was Jeannie who paved the way.  For me, anyhow.  She had a naivety, surely.  But she was 1000's of years old and had come from the middle east (with a robot accent) and popped out of the bottle after being trapped by the Blue Gin.  


Yes, Jeannie was a swell gal.  She shaped me in some ways.  Sad, huh?  Shaped by a Sidney Sheldon character.  Oh well, I like to think that the TV pirate of my home town also shaped a lot of the kids growing up in the 70s and 80s.  Without that pirated tv, we would have no clue about American culture. We'd still believe that the man on the Polka Dot Door has still never met the Polkaroo!  Or that Rod Coneybeare, The Friendly Giant had a chicken living in a book bag. Or Mr. Dressup let stray puppets live in the treehouse in his backyard and go to the car wash in a BMW (2:00 mark).  


{Please click through for your own benefit.  I had a tear form in my eye for The Friendly Giant and Mr. Dressup.  Oh, and couple giggles when Rusty popped out of the book bag and Casey paid for the carwash with a $2 bill!}


So, thank you Mr. Nutter for going to jail and risking it all for the sake of some entertainment in a sleepy little northern Canadian town.


signed, the willow

My Attention Span is Waning

When this blog began, I wrote.  The odd photo appeared as a novelty:  from my own collection, my family, my own imagination.  Then, something changed.  (My lifestyle, most likely.)  I began to morph into so many other blogs out there.  Post a picture and write a caption. Copy. Paste.  Repeat.

Then *Steve* came home this week with a printed copy of my blog.  It was contained in a very large 3-ring binder and *Mila* and I began to pour through.  Some memories ruffled my feathers.  How could I be so silly to worry about all the menial things I worried about.  No excuse.  Somewhere in my journey of copy and paste (and that crazy life), I became grateful.  Time was again on my side.  I met some wonderful people that were very supportive and recognized many others who had been for quite some time, and yet I had not realized this.  

So, back to the big book of blog.  Like Elaine's big salad.  (right here I was suctioned into the world of Seinfeld only to re-emerge 20 minutes later), I realized how much substance I was adding.  An expression of myself, as pathetic as that may seem to some.  It was my outlet when I wanted to scream.  It went away when I channeled my energy onto a window display, a 6 mile run, P90X, or raising my child.  Then *Steve* put it to me quite bluntly, "You used to write.  You don't do that anymore."  Why?  My attention span was waning as was the rest of the world's.  I found that one paragraph was enough to read.  So, why would someone want to read more than one paragraph?  I'm taking the time again.  For me. Maybe I can paint, or document to some degree, write a tad, photo-journalize my life, blog it, print it, and take time to read it and ENJOY IT.

And now for something completely different.

Little Red SumaDog. 

Twinkie sitting there waiting for some love or bunny crack, which would be this stuff.

You can be sure that this story doesn't have an end.  Only had a brief rest period from the prose and written jargon.  As The Terminator once said "I'll be back".  And, he did come back for Terminator 2  and Terminator 3.  That's for you *Steve* ;)

signed, the willow