Gift

So, I wasn't super psyched about my bday. The weather was shit (although it didn't actually rain), it was on a Monday and I ended up having to work though I had the day off. But strangely, despite that suboptimal constellation of events - it was my freakin' birthday and I made sure everyone knew so they would comp me things. (What? I'm not proud.) I also told everyone that I'm 47 so they would respond with the obligatory you look so young! I intend to work this angle indefinitely, irrespective of accuracy. Youth, people. It's an attitude.

(Brief Sidebar: Make no mistake, a reno is not good for one's youthful mien. I don't know how to quantify my level of stress because I don't have a classification system that supports it. In the words of my day job: this construct is not contemplated within the terms of my current level of experience. I don't want to lead you to believe that this is because its badness is beyond fathomable. I've actually felt more oppressively stressed on a number of occasions in years past. For example, so far - and I'm not taking anything for granted - having a reno is way less soul-crushing than having a baby. Because renos don't wake up screaming.)

At any rate, each year, my friend Nicole takes me on a garden tour. The tour moves around and we've been going for so many years (at least 12) that we've watched it travel out from the centre (the tiny, creative urban gardens that we love and can relate to) to the increasingly affluent "interior suburbs" as I call them. I LOVE the garden tour like a person who is twice my age - and, while we're creeping up on them, the tour is largely comprised of women of a certain age who like to apprise you, sometimes at length, about their own personal experiences of growing plant x. This year, a small dog followed me from garden to garden, who can say why?, to the great dismay of the volunteer staff who kept saying sternly: "Ma'am, your dog cannot enter the back yard." No matter how many times I advised that it was not my dog, that they were welcome to pick him up and remove him, I could tell the volunteers did not believe me. It was odd. Strangely, as we walked from one batch of gardens to the next, a woman going too fast in a big-ass German SUV, rolled down her tinted window and bellowed at me: "Have you seen a small black dog?" and it's not like I was the only one walking down the street. (Um, thought I, get your ass out of your car and start actually calling his name. Your dog ain't gonna know you're looking from behind a steering wheel.) Ah, rich people...

We wandered, on a beautiful, sunny, sweltering day from gorgeous home to gorgeous home, sneaking a peak at indoor swimming pools (behind the shubbery), admiring yet another elm or birch (or peony). Usually, I finish the tour with a heady sense of status anxiety. Don't misunderstand, I take it on for the joy of seeing the gardens, but I always feel vaguely crushed by my inadequacy in the end.

It's silly, I know. I'm generally confident. I recognize that I have a great life. I'm sure I have great taste :-) I have never had one moment of self-doubt when reading Vogue magazine though I cannot afford most of the fashion and all of the models are a foot taller and infinitely more waifish than me. In fact, some of my happy memories include dissecting Vogue with a bottle of wine and a bag of all-dressed chips. But, God help me, Home and Garden throws me into a tail spin.

As they say, age brings wisdom - whether one fights it or not, it would seem - because, this year, as I ambled and peered and petted the flowers amongst gorgeous, classical architecture - in a 'hood I knew intimately from my affluent youth (talk about triggers) - I was entirely unmoved. In fact, during this day, I felt that I saw but one house and one garden because everything looked EXACTLY the same as everything else. There was no creative impulse in this place (east Rosedale meets Moore Park, in case you're wondering). Not one home owner was there to show his or her personalized garden. I imagine they were all in Muskoka... There were no tiny gems, no well-won flowers, coaxed despite the climate. The hard scaping was all expensive and well-maintained - and apparently all acquired from one vendor that doesn't feel the need to reinvent the (elegant) wheel. And for all that, I didn't envy it. I didn't want it. I just didn't give a shit.

In fact, I was vaguely irritated that people of such means could be so inherently bland. There was so much squandered opportunity. Moreover, for the first time ever, I fully perceived the unending effort and money that goes into maintaining a grand, cookie-cutter Edwardian home - because one's primary goal is to look just slightly better than the neighbours (if homogeneously). For the most part, these people work and work and work (as do we all in this centre of commerce), and there's no time to do much more than to pay others to take care of everything. These people don't have energy for (or interest in) being creative, at least not according to their gardens. And that's just not me.

Who can say why I came by this joyous epiphany? Time is a teacher, after all. But I've been banging my head against this wall forever. What changed? Is it that I've finally undertaken the creative redesign of my dreams (or occasional nightmares)? That I finally feel empowered? Is it that I'm living rich-adjacent in my own right and, frankly, I'm unimpressed. I really don't want to live in a block party 'hood that fund raises for a dunk tank. What the fuck, people? I don't want to get to know you after a 10-hour day, though I'm very happy to wave and say good morning (and even to help you should you require it). I'm a downtown girl who finds tremendous pleasure in the standoffish oasis of the urban home. It's not big, but the bones are good. I can be anywhere in 5 minutes. When I want the best El Salvadoran food in North America, I walk up the block. It's right next to awesome Ethiopian and some damn good Nicaraguan too. Plus there's table-cloth bistro, when I'm feeling the need for oysters and cava, albeit in the other direction.

My (front) garden reflects my love of monochrome and tidy verdance. It's an expression of my obsessive compulsive nature, a metaphoric chess board. My former back garden (which will be recreated, post-reno, in a new motif because, why not?) was an ode to floral phasing, respectful of the limits of the landscape. It transcended what it was originally, a sad melange of concrete and lane way.

These spaces will never be perfect but they elevate what's there. Beauty is much more enticing for the the decay that surrounds it. I've always regretted that I see decay in everything but it's my way. Show me anything - I'll find its problem and then I'll solve it. I cannot skate on the surface, though often I wish I could.

My current reno is the very embodiment of this. We have unearthed what was submerged and now we're paying the price (in all the ways). But challenges are meant to be resolved. And homes are meant to be a reflection of the self, at least in my opinion. So that's the gift I got on turning 47. Not bad, I think you'd agree.

Woodsmoke and Sock Yarn

It's fine times here this weekend. To start things off, I had my pre-birthday dinner at Enoteca last night. The weather was perfect, the food was terrific, the drinks delicious, the friends awesome. The only hitch was that, while we got there at 5:30 to confirm we'd find a seat on the patio* (they only take reservations inside, which we had as a fall-back), some idiot woman took the one spot in the shade that could work for 6. She had to have arrived before they opened so I guess she wins.

At any rate, the sun was behind a building within an hour and the night could not have been better. Little twinkly lights, superb service (as always). I do love a place that comps me (disclaimer - I eat there often) - our desserts were gifts as was a round of bitters when the meal was over. It was all toasts to Kristin, all the time. I can't say I'm one of those people who freaks out if you sing happy birthday to her on a patio :-)

The walk home was temperature-perfection and I was shocked to find it was 10:30 when I opened my front door. That evening flew by.

Today I went out to buy myself a few treats. First up, I've figured out how to make socks with no remnants to contend with. Since I use 75g per pair of socks, 300g of yarn (generally split into 3 100g skeins, as sock yarn is wont to be packaged) turns into 4 pairs of socks. Three of those 4 are made from the individual skeins of yarn. The 4th is a mash up of the remains of the first 3. The key is to make sure (or to hope) that the yarns for the 4 pair of socks will work together.

I went for these options because I couldn't stand knitting with another solid while everything around me is so colourful:

The grey yarn at the top is Koigu (a perennial fave that comes in 50g skeins - hence 2 balls). The other yarns are made by Regia, a German yarn which is indestructible. I'm sure I've mentioned that I'm still wearing one pair 3 years later...

These skeins are fun because they're self-striping. The blue/purple combo  does this crazy pattern, all on its own:

Regia Arne & Carloss - Tokke

I've wanted to try it for a while because, that's a lot of pattern for yarn you just hold an knit.

This is what the grey yarn looks like, once knit:

Regia Relax Color - Stone

I've been all over the greys and neutrals lately (not that the Tokke sock is particularly neutral) so I'm sticking with my preferred palette.

I also got myself a new body scrubber and a box of Paine's Cedar:

You know of my endless love of wood smoke. These little pellets burn in about 10 minutes and they make your house smell like a forest or an expensive fence! Not incense-y like something you find at the hippie store.

Just ordered my fave vegetarian delivery - Fresh. I've got a Big Salad (with avocado, hemp hearts and marinated tofu), my fave Cacao/maca smoothie and quinoa onion rings wending their way to me.

Sure, it would have been smarter to do yoga before I ordered the food - how can I pair the yummies with a chilled Rioja if yoga awaits? Something's gotta give and I really don't know which one it's going to be?!

Scott's off visiting his parents and M is working (mercifully). Today she advised me that she has disowned me and changed my name on her phone from Mum to Kristin. I did opt to dig a little by asking her whether she'd spelled it correctly...

Quick Update: The food just arrived and the onion rings are hot. I believe the Rioja wins.

Update on the Update: I ate the onion rings only, waited 45 min and then did yoga. Awesome forward bend practice. Now for the salad and Rioja.

* Note: On a gorgeous Friday evening in Toronto, you do not fuck around when it comes to getting a seat on a good patio , even if the food is meh. At a great restaurant, you do what you must to be there when the place opens. There was not a seat to be had outside from 6 until 10 pm.

The Scene

I had one of those hilarious urban evenings last night. In celebration of my friend Sandra's birthday, we started at Rush Lane (a terrific place for cocktails). I would totally recommend this, hipster-scale breaking point notwithstanding, because the drinks are FANTASTIC and the accompanying snacks are just as good.

The weather was shit, natch, but we had a bit of a break from rain as Sandra and I walked to Queen St. to meet Nicole. Gotta say, there's nothing like the Queen West strip in Xmas shopping season. We could barely steer ourselves to drink what with all of the fantastic hygge happening in those windows. Note: We have a shopping date Sat. after next to do Xmas "recon".

Turns out that Zack, the owner of Rush Lane, just happened to be one of the peeps who opened Colette (at the Thompson Hotel) and we just happened to be going to Colette for dinner. He urged us to put our names on the list for the rooftop bar, for after dinner, and to ask for Brad when we got up there. Gotta love the TO bar network.

OK, let's revisit that previous sentence: Who the fuck puts her name on a list to get into a bar, rooftop or otherwise. Am I 23?? Have I been 23 in the last 20 years??? But here's the thing - I've been asked about that rooftop bar about 1000 times in the last 3 years and, frankly, I've wanted to see the pool SO badly. (Note: Unless you're staying there, they won't let you in the elevators.)

Alas, in late November, the (much smaller than imagined) infinity pool is more of an infinity tarp (which you could easily - and dangerously - step on by accident, fyi). In the rain, I just wasn't feeling it - though I can see that it would be spectacular in the summer.

But about Colette: The food is very good - especially the seafood tower. The atmosphere is opulent and hyper busy in true bistro fashion. It's a transient sort of space (hotel restaurants always are) but this is mitigated by elegance. Sadly, our service was over-attentive in the most irritating way. Our waiter - who pretended to know everything but didn't know much of anything - was not up to it. When I'm at a fancy place I expect excellence. Simply throwing 15 servers into the mix, to refill one's wine glass every fucking 2 minutes, does not cut it. For all of its upscale, the restaurant is not refined.

Look, I am beyond spoiled for choice. I have some of the world's most fantastic food and service at my doorstep (literally). Moreover, I can experience any sort of meal in any kind of atmosphere. I've got fun pizza (with wine sold for a buck an ounce - in a chic setting). I've got awesome Asian food like, in 5 walkable neighbourhoods - and at every price point. I can eat Hungarian like the peeps in Hungary. Lord, there are 2 other venerable TO bistros within half a kilometre of this one. So, though I had an awesome time with my ladies - and a novel experience - I won't be going back to Colette anytime soon.

Now let's get back to the rooftop bar... OMG - they put stamps on our hands. The kind that only show up under black light! There was an attendant in the elevator. He checked our stamps! When we came out, after one drink - I mean, we'd been drinking since cinq à sept aftr all - there was a line-up.

Ordinarily, I would have been super snot-ball about this kind of scene. (My kind of scene is the kind that eludes one - on purpose, of course.) But it was impossible to remain unmoved in the midst of this view:

My iPhone can't do it justice but, it was a 360 degree sky-span with lake to the south, downtown to the east (that shot is south east) and relative darkness, dotted with tall buildings and leafy neighbourhoods to the north and west.

The bar was atmospheric, in that modern way:

And here are my friends looking gorgeous:

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night, don't you agree?

Birthday Weekend

The older I get, the more I celebrate - which is why I've begun the birthday long weekend tradition. That gives everyone an opportunity to buy me a delicious meal :-)

This birthday's been pretty terrific so far (and only 60 per cent of the way done). Yesterday I went to Bar Raval for lunch with Scott and my friend Sandra (it was awesome) and Scaramouche for dinner. Let's just say my husband is very generous as those amazing dining experiences no doubt cost most of a mortgage payment.

June 5, my actual birthday, is apparently also National Donut Day in the US. Very strangely, since I don't actually like them, I managed to eat the majority of 2 donuts at Bar Raval - and I sure wish I'd taken some photos first. One of them was gorgeously filled with creme Catalana and the other was topped with a delicate smear of dulce de leche on which was crumbled a generous amount of smoked jamon. Both were less donuts than salty bread, fried to perfection, with a little bit of creamy and sweet thrown in for good measure.

Scaramouche, which is always awesome, did not fail to impress. My filet mignon was cooked to perfection and, as always, there was coconut cream pie for dessert. Fun story: On Thursday, I went to my coffee shop on the way to work and chatted with my usual crowd. One of my coffee friends, Rocco, on hearing about my plans for the following day, said: Don't forget to have a piece of pie for me. Which just goes to show how a) famous that pie is and b) the degree to which Toronto really is a small town. I'm starting to wonder if Rocco might be a chef - just based on the crazy food conversations we inevitably end up having randomly at 8am.

Another birthday tradition, and one I've written about on a number of occasions, is the garden tour I take with my friend Nicole, every year, which is always held on the first weekend in June. Well, last year the horticultural peeps opted not to host it, for some bizarre reason, and Nic and I were at a loss. But this year it bounced back in force: They held the tour on Toronto Island.*

Toronto Island is an oasis in the midst of a lot of ugly. Our city isn't known for its natural beauty. From the dock, however, you can see one of the best vistas TO's got to offer:

And here's a shot of me taking a photo of the city:

Do not ask me how it happens, but every year we get the most spectacular weather for the garden tour. There's rarely a cloud in the sky which, given that I don't live in the friendliest or sunniest place, is like an eternal birthday miracle.

We went to this surprisingly good restaurant on Ward's Island and drank sparkling wine from a can?!

It was off-putting but not unpleasant :-)

Then it was off to see some cultivated nature. Note: Toronto Island, which is actually three islands which we seem to refer to as if it were one, is a micro-climate. Islanders seem to be able to grow many of the things that we, 5 minutes over the narrowest part of the lake, struggle with (rhododendrons, for example).

These gardens are not the most tended we've ever seen but they are the most lush - and they're surrounded by the incomparable natural beauty. Wild isn't my general garden preference - it's too untended for my OCD - but I do love to see how the other half live. I took photos of the neater plots:

The allium was everywhere.

This house is the most gorgeous thing ever. Talk about a million dollar view. It faces the CN Tower.

We did have one outrageously horrible moment when one of the garden owners looked at my abdomen askew and asked me when I was due. Fucking hell, people. OM fucking G!? In case I've been under any illusions that my stomach is that of my pre-perimenopausal state, I guess I can throw that idea under a bus. The woman realized immediately after her comment, that she'd been very misguided - and utterly stupid - but the damage was done. Might I add, she looked infinitely more pregnant than I do. I called Scott immediately, to freak out and to confirm that I don't actually look pregnant (not that Nicole didn't have her work cut out for her for the rest of the day). I told him, under the circumstances, I was ready to throw myself into Lake Ontario and be done with it. He gently urged me to reconsider: Like, for the baby... HILARIOUS!

Please tell me I don't look pregnant!

At any rate, I managed to pull myself back from the edge. After all, I've done nothing but eat for the past 48 hours, and I was slouching. Now it's off to have a glass of wine before my next festive meal. Wish me luck!


*Toronto Island is a residential community of about 800 people, many of whom have lived on properties - leased for 70 years, from the city - for most of their lives. The waiting list to lease is about 25 years long, and the process is by no means transparent. When your name comes up, you may get a property that's falling down - and 140K - or one with a city and water view that will easily run you a million bucks. If you've read Margaret Atwood's The Robber Bride, part of it is set on the Island. It's got a truly rich history and those who live there do not consider themselves city dwellers. It's not surprising - they basically live in cottage country, 5 minutes from downtown. The beaches are gorgeous - particularly Hanlan's Point, which is clothing optional. Note: It's a nude beach. No one ever wears clothes there, not even me.

Watch Word: Birthday

So today's my birthday and I'm 44. (Brief sidebar: I truly don't understand all the people who won't tell you how old they are. It's like wearing a bra that's 3 sizes too small in the cup and two band sizes too large and refusing to accept that you aren't a 36D when you get fitted. I mean, your boobs aren't any differently sized because you refuse to hoist them properly. Avoiding the discussion does not make you any less busty.)

At any rate, my point is not to take shots at the peeps who get coy when the discussion of age comes up.

My point is to tell you about the birthday present I purchased for myself this year. Note: Every year I get myself a birthday gift (actually, every year I also get myself an Xmas gift). Apparently I really like new things, in the guise of "special-occasion presents" - particularly the ones I choose for myself.

This year my choice was decided, about a month ago, when I saw Lisa's post. Gist is, she was giving away a wooden watch by JORD. This is a Swedish outfit with an outpost in the midwest, if I'm not mistaken. They make all wooden watches, using different woods and finishes, which take a variety of shapes - all verging on massive, IMO. No, I didn't win the giveaway. Neither did I expect to so I found the site and bought one 5 minutes after I read Lisa's post. As you can see, I was intrigued.

Let me tell you a little something about me: What with my delightfully slender wrists, I am a Lady-watch wearer by nature. Actually, I'm a no-watch wearer by habit because I cannot wear one without it conking out almost immediately. I have no idea why this is - I have had my watches serviced and I take good care of them - but I suspect my heart arrhythmia may fuck with the batteries. Anyway, I have the most gorgeous Baume Mercier gold watch my mother gave me years ago, this thing is so Lady it sets the fucking standard. But every time I give it a go, it stops.

It's too bad, really, cuz that thing makes me look like 2 million bucks. Seriously, it's the instigator of good service everywhere - not that I don't inspire it naturally! Alas, I'm way to practical to wear a watch that doesn't tell time.

But time marches on, as they say, and I haven't been overly impressed with my Lady-options. (Alas, once you've worn a gold watch, it's hard to shift focus.)

So I decided to switch it up 180 degrees and buy the Lady-est watch of the bunch at JORD, the Ely:

This one is made from maple wood.

It's still ridiculously substantial, but it reminds me a bit of a wooden Rolex. And since it costs about 20 grand less than a Rolex, I thought it might be worth a try.

It arrived yesterday, just in time, and it was massive. I mean, it is massive. If you like massive watches, get the smallest one and you'll be fine.

I thought I'd give it to my husband, whom it fit perfectly, until he said: It just needs a link taken out and it will fit you in the right, slouchy way. Um, ok.

So I said: How would I do that, like, right now? 

And he said: Get me that paper clip and the little screwdriver for your serger.

In 5 minutes it was done. Seriously, how the fuck does that guy know how to modify watches? It's not like he owns one. I tried to get him to explain it to me but, frankly, it was boring so I can't share with you the mystery of link removal at this time. BTW, he was very impressed with the watch construction and called it "highly adaptable".

Some things:

• The Ely is very light, but bulky.
• It's an elegant watch, even as it's not petite.
• The wood is lovely and in no way scratchy or inclined to snag. It's been finely sanded and is entirely smooth.
• I think it's well-priced for what it is. Mind you, I'm irritated no end by the amplified shipping charge to Canada. Shipping is free within the US, which is why I shipped it to my mother, and she sent it to me with some other items.
• It comes well-packaged but don't expect anything fancy.
• The instructions for setting date and time are convoluted, but easily found on the website. I can't say the little wind-y gizmo is the most precision-made thing I've ever seen. But you don't have to deal with it that often.

So now I have a sexy, slouchy watch with which to approach my mid-forties. (Note, I'll update this post later to include a photo of it on my wrist. Haven't had a chance yet...) And JORD has some fairly good free promotion, if I do say so myself.

Today's questions: Have you heard of this brand? Do you like the idea of a wood watch? Have you seen other versions? (Here's one I've found in a TO boutique.) Are you a Lady-watch wearer? Let's talk!

Updated: Age and Stage

Another long week... I'd be lying if I said Tuesday's birthday wasn't somewhat of an anticlimax. Don't get me wrong - it beats the hell out of the alternative. And my friends have been wonderful - celebrating with me (and food and wine). What could possibly mean more than friendship? However, things have been vaguely relentless lately, if only in my own mind. I don't feel old. Of course, I'm not old. But I do feel momentarily older.

What's age if not experience? And, a propos of this, allow me to share a recent discovery: phyllo brushed with butter and dusted with sugar (baked till brown) is an awesome treat. When cool, pipe on some pastry cream and drizzle with dulce de leche / chocolate sauce / berry coulis and it's divine. But really, if you can only get it up to make the wafers, that's enough. They hold up well in a ziploc bag for days.

Alas, despite years of baking under my belt (um, literally), my knitting experience is fairly shallow.

Here's where things stand:

A word to the wise: I'm loathe to mention this, but note the broken pattern at the underarm (it moves horizontally for a depth of about 5 rows). Key when knitting this thing: You've got to end the upper back piece and front pieces on the same row (see below for construction details). The pattern is 8 rows long. I ended the back piece on row 5 and the front pieces on row 8. Regrettably, the pattern doesn't clearly stipulate how to manage this and my knitting experience is woefully brief. Live and learn, I say. It's really not noticeable when you're wearing it. And if this thing works out, I will no doubt make another.

This is a strangely constructed top-down pattern:

1. Knit the back from shoulders to mid upper back (to underarm). Put live stitches on a holder.
2. Graft on the fronts (one after the other) and knit, also to the underarm.
3. Merge all stitches onto the needle, cast on some extra stitches at the underarms of each side. At this point you knit down from the finished armholes.
4. Work flat from the underarms to the ribbed hem. Here's where you're supposed to make the knit buttonholes...
5. Pick up stitches at the armscye to make the sleeves. At this point, one has an option to shape the sleeves with short rows. I intend to give them a go.
6. Pick up stitches to make the shawl collar. At this point, one has an option to use short rows - though precisely how is a huge mental leap. I intend to undertake this option too...

You'll notice that I haven't made button holes on the rib band. That's because, in a gambit to improve structural integrity, I intend to hand stitch ribbon to the wrong side of the "button band" area (the lower rib) and then machine stitch the buttonholes. How vintage-plus!

Yes, you did read that correctly. The super-tired woman with a pathological aversion to machine buttonholes is going to give it a go. I will first practice on my gauge swatch, natch, but I'm opting to be optimistic given recent experience with my vintage machine.

Here's the fascinating thing: When you fuck with gauge (remember I went down a needle size but I'm using a thicker yarn than is called for - this yields 5 stitches per inch vs. 5.5) you have to think ahead. I'm more or less happy with sizing - well, I think the finished product may be too large, but not unwearably so. (I waffled over XS or S. Went with S recognizing that it might be too large, when combined with the larger gauge. It's hard to say at this point, but I think the project might be moving in that direction...)

One thing's certain though: My button band area has gone from a 2 inch width (on either side of the centre front) to 3 inches. Why does this matter, particularly? Well, have you run across 3 inch-wide grosgrain ribbon lately?   

Updated: I think I must have been high on drugs when I came up with that sentence... Having just finished binding off the rib at the hem (i.e. the sweater shell is complete minus shawl collar and sleeves), it occurs that grosgrain ribbon wider than 1 inch is going to look bizarre, regardless of what width of band I affix it to. Furthermore, I have a comfortable inch of overlap of the two side fronts at the lower ribbing (the bottom 4 inches of the sweater). If I go with wider ribbon, I suspect it's going to pull.

The issue here is that I am trying to apply a technique (ribbon stabilizer) in a somewhat different way - different than the way described in the tutorial to which I linked above, at any rate. That tutorial shows ribbon  (the exact width of a continuous, i.e. collar to hem, button band) overlaid on that band. I can't run my ribbon this way because the shawl collar doesn't permit it. I'm likely going to ribbon-stabilize along the bottom 4 inches of rib only. That's the area that buttons and buttonholes will lie upon.

Mokuba happens to stock navy grosgrain in every width under the sun (including the presumed unnecessary 3"). My intention is to purchase some tomorrow, a day I'm taking entirely for myself, during which I will dine out for lunch and dinner - with others! - and shop for yarn and notions.

So here are today's questions:

• What birthday has hit you hardest? Was it due to life circumstance? Self-imposed perspective on what age means? A brief moment in time?

• Have you used ribbon on a button band, the likes of which I intend to? How wide was the band? How did it work? Did your machine cooperate?

Bespoken For

As you can see, there's a lot of aspiration going on in the sewga room:

This weekend is Scott's birthday (let me tell you his number is high!). And let's not forget Father's Day. Amongst other gifts and activities, I decided to draft a bespoke T shirt pattern for him, based on an existing T shirt - a really grimy, seen-better-days-so-throw-it-out T shirt - he really likes.


I followed a method I found online, but stupidly didn't bookmark the site, and now I can't figure out where it is. It involves pinning the existing T to a flat surface and tracing out. Sounds simple but you have to use pin marks to delineate the seams on the parts of the shirt you cant actually draw because those seams are enclosed within the shirt (i.e. shoulders and neck line - remember T shirt necklines and sleeve openings are ribbed).

Then you have to take that 1 piece sloper and cut out the individual pieces (front, back, sleeves) and add seam allowances. Then you have to draft your ribbing separately. To make 1 inch ribbing for the neckline, I cut 2.5 inches (enough for fold over and seam allowances) and made the piece 2/3 the length of the open neckline. I followed the same ratio with the sleeve ribbing.

The prep has taken a few hours, but the sewing will begin apace. Wish me luck. I have enough fabric for 2 Ts...

Dinner At My House

Man, what a great party I had yesterday, an advance celebration of my birthday today - which has been so fantastic. It was me, Scottie, Hilary (my oldest friend, since age 11), Steen, Nicole, Jennifer and Duff.

The weather sucked, but the camaraderie more than made up for it:

Me and Hilly (this pose is a hallmark of our friendship)

My Japanese maple - just cuz.

Don't you love it when your prosecco matches your gerberas??

Steen taking a photo of me, while I took a photo of him.

Y'all know I have worked hard to make my dining room look like a sexy steak house.

At my request, Scott made a very casual meal of hamburgers, hot dogs, tomatoes and feta, green salad with jalapenos and we got some of my fave cupcakes (24 of them for 8 people?!). The flavours ranged from red velvet (a perennial fave) to pistachio and ginger orange. There was even a butter cream peanut butter chocolate.

The wine flowed freely, the conversation was lively and authentic. There's nothing like time spent with old friends. Especially when you're the star of the show :-)

BTW, today I went on the most amazing horticultural tour of back yards in chichi fancy-land. I took tons of photos which I will share in my next post...

And thanks so much to all of my wonderful blog and Twitter friends for well-wishes on my bday. I love to hear from you all!

Birthday Cake

Photo courtesy of Jason Sparks

Here's that yellow cake with pink cream cheese icing I promised to reveal. Don't you think it's girly-birthday, homemade goodness?? And it really tasted awesome, I'll have you know.

What's your fave birthday cake ever?

Update: I'm am gradually responding to all of your comments from the past couple of weeks and I have to tell you how enjoyable it is to re-read them! What amazing friends you are. Thanks for writing to express your thoughts and I'm sorry it's taken so long for response.

Full Circle

Last Saturday, on my actual 40th birthday (srsly, how lucky is it to have your milestone birthday on a Saturday in June???), my husband organized the most fantastic party ever.

The scene: Scaramouche (where I had my 18th birthday), a restaurant of pedigree. It has the most absurdly beautiful view of the city (it's on an escarpment) and the food is legendary.

The peeps: Sandra (who doubled as the photographer - see the shots at the end of the post), Hilary, Nicole, David, M, Scott, Abbie and Ray (my parents), Steen and, natch, me!

The surprise: Rick Mercer was sitting 2 tables over. We convinced my cute little child to go over and say hello. Tacky, I realize, but for once we threw decorum to the wind. He was outrageously pleasant and professional, fyi.

I cannot express how thrilled and grateful I am to everyone who came out to celebrate with me. Nicole put together a book of special birthday wishes from everybody at the table (talk about advance planning) and, no joke, if you were to read them you would think I'd discovered a cure for cancer and established a working group to bring about world peace. And won an Oscar. I bawled my eyes out.

My parents came all the way from North Carolina (having just been here 2 months ago) on Friday evening and met us at our regular start-the-weekend dinner. It was a total surprise (except, strangely, I had a premonition this would happen!).

I got some beautiful gifts: A jade pendant (from Sandra), 2 Japanese sewing books (from Steen and Nicole) - one is called Drape Drape, a porcelain ring and my fave hand soap (from Scott and M). A few days later, in a fit of extravagance, Scott bought me an iPad with all the accouterments. I made him return it (we already have one in our household), but what a thoughtful purchase.

Really though, just having my family and friends to celebrate with was all the gift I could have asked for. We are all so busy, and spread thin, but we came together seamlessly and had such a GREAT time. After dinner we went back to our house for wine and cheese in the garden.

I also had a life-changing epiphany, early on in the evening. It deserves its own year of therapy, let me tell you. Maybe I'll talk about it someday on the blog...

There's no way for me to articulate my emotional perspective on this occasion. It was a joy to look at the people I care about all around me - to reflect on how I've known them, in some cases since my birth, and in other cases since theirs. Life marches on and loss is a part of the equation. But on this event, the disparate threads were rewoven to create a beautiful tapestry of my life.

I will never forget it.

My father and Scott

Sandra (with the hair), Nicole (in the b/w dress), Hilary (in vintage Missoni). Not my best pic but the ensemble cast is fantastic!

The coconut cream pie is the best thing you will ever eat. Really. I don't bother with the chocolate sauce which is why I requested it on the side. Note: Everyone at the table who ate dessert, had the pie.

Hilly and M - yes, the woman in the background is wearing a wedding dress. That was its own fun story...

Steen on food high

Birthday Deep Thoughts

I'm writing this on the sexy little keyboard that comes with the iPad.

Don't get all excited about it. Somehow, it's not my iPad; it's my husband's. In truth, it's his birthday in 2 weeks and he's "getting a head start". Magnanimously, I'm testing it out for him :-) All weekend. I'm generous that way.

Today I am 40 so, in my wise crone way, I'd like to leave you with a couple of thoughts:

At this milestone age you are old enough to be taken seriously. But still hot.

(Oh, and it beats the hell out of the alternative.)

I am so grateful for so many things right now: I have health and a cute, intelligent, increasingly-independent kid and a great place to live in a lively city. I have amazing friends and a wonderful husband who arranged for my parents to come here from NC yesterday as a surprise. Apparently the surprises may continue!? I am starting a new job on Monday (same organization, new role) and I'm really hopeful it's going to add breadth to my professional experience. I belong to an amazing community of bloggers whose posts, and friendship, enrich my life on a daily basis, I have the luxury of time and adequate resources, which allow me to explore my creativity in new ways all the time. I can pay off my credit card and buy dinner at a nice restaurant (using cash!). Seriously, what's not to love?

I know that this is a moment in time and I try to spend every day acknowledging the capricious nature of things, feeling gratitude for the state of grace in which I find myself.

Just for kicks, if you feel like it, today spend 1 minute thinking about the thing you are most happy about in your life and send that happiness out into the world around you. Then have a fancy drink and a yummy snack and enjoy.

Kxo

PS: Given that my new job starts next week, it's possible (though not a given) that posts may be sporadic or comments light on the ground. I'll be back in the swing as soon as possible.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Sephora

On some subconscious level, it seems I've been waiting 40 years for the experience I had today. No, it wasn't life changing (unless it was). It didn't take longer than an hour. It certainly wasn't outrageous.

Today is the day I went to Sephora to buy lots of high-end product. Serious-ass "wrinkle outwitting" product. With little consideration for cost because it's my 40th birthday on Saturday and doesn't a girl have the right to buy herself a fancy gift in honour of that occasion? (Note: Of course I considered the cost; I'm a woman with a kid and a mortgage. I just set a reasonably high threshold!)

As a young child, reading my mother's Vogue, subliminally absorbing its sophisticated advertising, I stared longingly at the potions marketed to women 10 times my age. These ads glamorously advised that it was a woman's express responsibility - nay, privilege - to preserve her beauty into old age.

I grew up affluent. Many of my mother's friends, my own friend's mothers, were "groomed" within an inch of their lives. And by groomed I mean users of outrageously exclusive product (La Prairie etc.). Or clients of an excellent dermatologist. Or cosmetic surgeon.

Now, I'm getting on in years. In my day, that was the vanguard of "self-preservation". Of course, people in California have always been 20 years ahead of the curve, but everywhere else tucks and lifts and serums (sera?) were the tricks of the trade for the wealthy lady of a certain age.

We didn't have retinol or Botox or Restylane or back-scooping. Sure, we had La Mer - and secretly I tried that when I was 28, unable to restrain myself. But you need to be crepey-plus to benefit from that amount of moisture. Besides, once Lauder took over, I understand they devalued the formula with mineral oil. (Note to reader: That's gossip.)

Here I am now, about to step over the threshold into old-school "middle age", and I am officially entitled to the wrinkle-busters in their fancy glass bottles with droppers and pumps and ridiculous claims.

On entering the temple of unguents, I hooked up with a very good sales associate. She had a definite bias towards "natural" product, which usually I share, though today I was leaning towards the stuff with hard-core, medicinal ingredients. She'd suggest Fresh, I'd counter with Dr. Brant. She'd say organic, I'd suggest active ingredients with power to reduce signs of fine lines.

Eventually, she delicately inferred that she wasn't recommending those products to me because I don't need them. Of course I don't need them! I've been wearing potions for 25 years!

Those young 'uns. They are so naive.

(Please stay tuned for a write up on the products we could both agree on...)

Contingency Plans

AKA isn't it great that I have a nice dining room.

Because Scottie's birthday was the most horrendously wet, miserable, cold late June day in memory. And we've had some doozies the last couple of years.

The downpour abated briefly, at about 6 pm, when (according to every freaking forecast in the land) good weather was supposed to appear. Clinging to the vain hope, I set the table with my new "china" and Scott hung the lanterns with hooks and chain like beautiful chandeliers. Look, I knew it was a long shot. And yet I was beyond pissed when it started pissing with rain again 40 minutes later and I had to reset everything in the house.

That lasted till well after midnight, though I did force everyone to go outside for drinks at about 11 - in the mist - under the guise of fully experiencing the party theme "dining in Algonquin Park". What? The candles weren't snuffed by the damp though everybody's ass got kind of soggy.

Here are a couple of photos of the outdoor tableau:

I promise, we have had some nice natural light back there. Maybe someday I'll capture that on camera...

All The Better To See Me With...

My new Karim Rashid designed compact (this looks like a drawing of it somehow...)

Here's a fun story:

A couple of Fridays ago (my birthday), I decided to hit the AGO on my way to a fab celebration dinner, in order to purchase the beautiful, Karim Rashid-designed double-mirror compact shown above. I'd seen it a couple of weeks prior to that, having drinks with Steen and Nicole, and I showed it to each of them as a prelude to buying it for myself. (Note: About 15 years ago, Hilary gave me a great mirror compact one Xmas. I didn't properly appreciate it at the time, though I ended up using it till it was well and truly trashed, and then some. I've been searching for a replacement for a while. But nothing was quite right. Till this one.)

So, I went to the AGO shop and walked to the chic cabinet where the chic things are stored and - egad! - it was gone. There was not another under the chic cabinet in the chic-teak storage drawer. I was shocked. What business do others have buying the cool things out from under me on my birthday! I sullenly departed and was miserable till I found a new pair of hot sandals (post to follow) to distract me. But not before calling Nicole in a huff to advise about the unfairness of the universe and the misery of loss.

She uttered some platitudinous statement such as: It was just not meant to be and said she'd see me at Terroni at 5:30.

Cut to 7:00 pm after a few prosecco cocktails and the arrival of Steen with - can you get over it?!? - the compact in question! Turns out my thoughtful friends, aware of my love for it, went out to get it for me for my birthday.

Isn't that a beautiful story?

(Mala)Props

My baby - who turns 9 today?! - just asked me if I've ever heard of a bad kind of crime called "store-lifting".

That's pretty cute, if I do say so myself.

Happy birthday, M!

M at age 7

M at age 8 (she really liked that sweater!)