She Said Yes!

I like to think I know a good thing when I see one and so with my husband who conducted the nanny interviews (now that I'm back in the workplace, we need one) with the same earnestness as he would the search for a Chief Financial Officer, we wasted no time in offering the position to a most delightful supergirl, whose easy charm and natural posturings filled us with much comfort. She's 6'1, just to put the 'super' into context. I don't think anyone is going to mess with my daughter whilst in her care do you? Unless you were a ground-to-air fool and possessed turbo boots that could lift you to her eye level, though I dare say she'd still swat you away like a fly. Next to her I'm one of the Wizard of Oz munchkins. Well, in any event, the darling girl said Yes! and we are over joyed.

Finding someone to care for your most precious ward, a child is one of the most stressful things you can do. If I am to go to work and build a career, I owe it to my child to provide a quality and fun caregiver. I also owe it to myself. A career person since the day I graduated, I've made decisions after becoming a mother that required compromise and limitation on my part; a part I am honoured to play but now that my girl is close to school age (albeit JK) - it's important for me reprise a role in society that fulfills me and also provides her with a brighter future. Money my dear dear friends makes the world go round and don't we know it especially when there is a distinct lack of it.

So while love for my nipper is all pervasive and unconditional, my ability to pay for braces or a good education isn't, unless I take back possession of my career. Look at it this way: it's a win-win situation. She will thank me for it later when I can pay for her to go on a European jaunt even if right now at 3, it seems like a stupid and mean plan. She doesn't realise that I will miss being with her as much as she thinks she will miss me.

Acutely aware of the secondary role I will play once she is at 'big' school with her big friends in skinny jeans, I need to plan for that time now. See, I'm not a natural homemaker or stay-at -home mum and I don't make any apologies for that. But imagine how much worse it would be to be at home when the kid is at school? I have never baked a cake that was edible and while I like pretty things, trying to make anything nice is the craft equivalent of burning toast - something I do often and well. So I'd literally be wasted in the home.

By proactively going back to what I did before, I hope to instill in my girl, a dose of healthy self-worth and conviction that will ensure she is well equipped to make good decisions in times to come. By being me as well as a mum to her she will hopefully learn the importance of independence. And should anything happen to me, should I be called to write reviews for the harpists in heaven anytime soon, well, she'll be better equipped to deal with the fallout than a child that was molly coddled into her teens. Call me a doommeister, I know what I'm talking about.

I run the risk of sounding like I need to justify my decision beyond reason so I'll stop. Everyone's a winner today and tomorrow.

PS anyone who is looking for a nanny could do much worse than to check here www.canadiannanny.ca

What a Difference a Day Makes

I will not take up your time, dear friends, with telling you what is the matter with me. Life is brief and you might pass away before I had finished. But I will tell you what is NOT the matter with me. I am no longer looking for work. And by that I mean, I got the job; THE job - not to be mistaken with 'a job'. Went after it like a cat bats at a piece of string and I snagged it (pending a short probation period). World! I'm back!

If you don't know, I've been actively job-seeking for the last 8 months since realizing that the job I am doing (writing for a music website) rewarding as it is, to basically be paid for a hobby was never really meant to be more than a hobby and happily a hobby it will be again.

Now at long last, I can unleash the carefully rehearsed casual gait designed to underline a carefree urban nonchalance whilst bobbing my head to an MP3 and really enjoy it, instead of pinging between faking that sentiment to dragging my chin along the floor in perpetual yearning for something more consistently social. I love music, even more to write about the talented and truly committed individuals that send their work my way to review - a honour to be asked. It requires however, spending a lot of time inside one's head and that can be a very isolating place at times. But now I want to laugh out loud except I don't have the room as I'm re-ordering my CDs and vinyl (if ever you wanted to see evidence of a misspent youth, it's strewn all over the office floor).

One more hurdle left: the nanny. The process started this morning. As one journey ends, another begins. I've chatted to people who've chuckled the sort of chuckle that goes with 330lbs and a fat head; who didn't sound like they'd drawn more than 3 sober breaths since January...last year and met with some for whom I had hoped, on closer inspection - such as I was hoping to avoid, that the longer I waited, the more fascinating it would give them time to become - all in vain. And one young lady that while harmless enough appeared to be directly wired to the moon. But as with the job search this too has an end. I feel it in my bones. Actually, I've already met the perfect nanny and I just hope she liked us enough to say yes.

All I need now is one of those wedged shaped weather systems coming up off the coast of Florida to make the last two weeks of home journalism a backyard bikini laptop experience.

My thanks to Jerome K Jerome for the comedic turns of phrases above, some of which I've directly lifted from his book 3 Men in a Boat (and a dog) written in 1888! yet reads as fresh as a Stephen Fry piece.

Less is More

Took the nipper to Riverdale Farm this week in Cabbagetown. It used to be a zoo way back when but now houses what look like rescue farm animals. There are two horses, one of which looks like a retired workhorse that has a bald patch on its nose from years of wearing a bridle; a donkey that's exceedingly happy to be there; one huge pig - at that size, you only need the one; a handful of lucky but scrawny hens and turkeys; a cow with it's heffer that has adorable saucer like eyes and eyelashes that Rimmel would kill to patent; finally 4 baby lambs - the sort you just want to nestle in your crook. The piece de resistance of course was the fluffy, temperamental ginger cat. It ain't a real farm if it doesn't have a cat. My little one loved it though she wasn't keen on the pig when it yawned. It's a big pig - have I said?

The farm itself feels and looks like something out of Tim Burton's 'Sleepy Hollow', there is something very gnarly about the foilage that divides the paddocks. The ramshackle barn buildings would not need much to transform them into a horror movie set. Actually a horror movie based on a comic book was being filmed in the streets around Riverdale Park the day we visited, which may have affected my impression of the place. It was an odd sensation to see fake snow on the ground laid by the special effects guys for said film ambiance on such a gloriously sunny day. If only every day of a Canadian winter was this sensational and mild.

But it was precisely in the ghostly and overgrown appearance of the place and it's immediate surroundings that I found its charm. Everything about Riverdale, the zoo, the very neighbourhood which incidentally houses the Toronto Necropolis (spooky!) is in a very natural state - I would say decrepid but that suggests negligence which isn't the case at all. I mean it in a stylized way. Even the Tim Hortons on Parliament and Winchester has a brick interior with a single chandelier illuminating the sugared treats. Add a few cobwebs and you'd be forgiven for thinking you were refuelling at Bleak House. Loved it.

The important thing is that the animals are very well cared for and enjoy roomy sheltered beds at night. Wish that it were the case for all living creatures - human and animal alike. It gave me an idea as I meandered down Parliament towards Queen St. E where there is a coffee house I love called Dark Horse that perhaps I could volunteer at a shelter of some sort. I'm not sure what the ins and outs entail or even where I could be of most value and then I passed the Toronto Humane Society as if beckoning me from my thoughts into reality.

I have time and I'm going to give it to a deserving cause - it's the least I can do.

Writer's Block or Fallow Field?

I hate weeks like this past one where I've seemingly done lots of things but have absolutely nothing to say. I used to mistake writer's block with general stagnation in day to day life but not any more. I make allowances for the fact that life can't be exciting all the time. First of course one must define excitement and then take it from there. For me excitement is a state of mind. I've been to the same place twice or repeated activities that one time blew my mind and filled me with joy and other times did more to accentuate my feeling of futility and sadness then a morning of Spring cleaning.

It's the difference between what looks fun and exciting on paper but in reality falls well short of expectations. Actually there' s a position of danger if ever there was one: to be in expectation. I'll give a banal reason befitting a week that has been emotionally duller than church - I read about Kim Gordon's new label at Urban Outfitters called Mirror/Dash. Kim is the bass player and singer of Sonic Youth, a band that transformed my view of the world as a young adult. I still feel that way about her as an artist but it didn't translate into fashion. It was frumpy, unimaginative and bad retro though I could see where she was coming from I think she failed to put her designs into context. In 1990 they would have been a sensation of understatement. Not in today's celebrity driven youth who at 17 are whitening their teeth and having cheek implants.

I say all of the above with a couple of caveats. I had a lovely coffee with a truly sensitive individual who has shown me the sort of kindness I would be wise to learn from. Oh here I go again, feeling sorry for myself. Maybe that's it? I've been down on myself this week for reasons too complicated to explain..no wait that's not true. I guess I'm anticipating another job rejection and have kind of allowed myself to slip into a state of helplessness and dejection. In reality it's been a pretty good week with two interviews and a number of promising networking invitations. I guess I've used my quota of positivity up and now just want to have a clear idea as to which direction to take. Will I stay or will I go? And just as I think I'm close to pulling the trigger I get another approach from a thoughtful professional and I think...ok, just one more try.

Like Obama said in his inauguration speech (guess I have to go for gold here), did the pioneers turn around and go home when the going got tough? Though I imagine the thought of having to retrace their steps was more than they could bear, it was still an option but they kept on going. So here I am, taking heart in the words of someone who will have been on first name terms with adversity at some point in his life. He's definitely seen it through his father's eyes at the very least. This isn't mission impossible, just mission very difficult and while I wouldn't say I'm a fighter, I like winning.

On a positive and random note I read an article in this week's Rolling Stone about the Kings of Leon whose lead singer is my teenage self's dream boy. Turns out his favourite show is America's Funniest Videos and he loves the Food Network. Made for eachother we were. We could be the new Ashton and Demi, minus the looks and glittering movie career on my part.:)

Feed Your Mind...and Your Soul Will Follow

There is a coffee place in Westdale, Hamilton called My Dog Joe's that I fell in love with the moment I stumbled on it just over a year ago. I don't live in Hamilton but I make the trip every now and again just to sit and muse over a cup of ethically sourced coffee or roughage packed muffin so recently baked it's usually still warm. There is something very cosy about this place with it's higgledy piggledly approach to interior design. It's not stylized Bohemia, it's better than that. To me it's authentic South London squat meets warehouse interior. No two chairs are the same. Tables range from fold out vinyl topped picnic bench to secondhand bookshop reproduction mahogany. Totally random. If you're lucky you can nab a deep, squishy armchair at the back against a wall lined with original artist fare.

This week the walls were adorned with pop-art style portraits of rock stars from the ages overlaid with lurid screenprint acrylics, all for sale. The place rotates artists every few weeks. Next time it could be wall sculptures made from petrified wood (love the word petrified) or plastic bags. Pier 1 it isn't.

No matter what the weather outside is doing, for some esoteric reason the place is usually steamed up and hot, hot, hot. This isn't the result of over heating or over conditioning. For a start this place shouts CONSERVATION!, it's definitely not run by wastrels. I've come to think of it as a little hothouse of productivity whose patrons are so inspired by the cosy vibe, they've given off enough creative energy to produce this micro ecosystem.

In being so close to MacMaster Uni, there is a lot of 'laptop-and-chunky-textbook' thing going on, but you'd be silly to pigeonhole all its patrons into one box because they are as eclectic as the decor. On any given visit, you will likely find a kaleidoscope of people from students to hippie grandmas to maternity leave mums to boho junkies like myself. I will make the 20 minute highway drive just to sit and have an organic mango/orange juice while I piece together a story for work or just because. I do feel a little bit hypocritical driving to such an ethically minded establishment but I'm conscious of it and try to compensate in other ways. Oh the guilty pleasure of it all.

I'm not entirely sure what it is that I like so much about this kooky little place. Yes, I love the atmosphere, the vibe, the food and the feel but I think it's also related to the place it takes me in my head. Up there in my mind, when I'm in this place, I'm reminded of when I was 18, guided by fancy and folly, hungry for life experiences and truly convinced that anything was possible. Coming here, I guess I'm reminded that anything is still possible if I just dare to keep believing. And while I nourish my body with ridiculously natural food, I'm also feeding my mind with dreams that one day might just come true - even now.

What's your style?

Historically a city dweller, I'm a people watcher by nature. I love nothing more than to scrutinise the interesting, the dishevelled and the outrageous from the safety of a terrace or street cafe. I've noticed one recurrent theme over the years, most people (not all, I know) stop developing personal style at a specific point in their lives and settle on 'a look' that falls into one of three social categories: 1.) a time when they were most engaged (style culture) 2.) a time when they felt they were at their peak (looks) 3.) After a big life event - usually trauma (regression).

I'll try to explain. I was most engaged in a scene when I was around 19-20 years old. The scene was grunge, in particular female bands (or those that included a strong female influence) like Hole, L7, Babes in Toyland, Sonic Youth, The Breeders and Pixies to name but a few. I was deeply connected to the scene in London and was part of an unspoken sisterhood of Riot Grrrrrlsss. With this came a look that ranged from schizophrenic babydoll, lipstick-smudged camisoles to peel off, threadbare black leggings and ripped top. The 'look' was a product of retro thrift store finds and long saturday afternoons at Portobello Market. My mum stopped offering to darn things for me when she saw me cutting into a top once and finally 'got it'.

This thrown-together look and I can tell you there was nothing thrown together about the time it took to look this way, eventually seeped into the pop culture of the time. Main Street took over and whole sections of department stores started to stock the grunge look. I don't think anyone minded - it made no difference to where I sourced my look and I didn't care too much that 7 year old girls were beginning to adopt the look without realising who they were supposed to be emulating. The more Courtney Loves the merrier if you ask me.

I'm skating away from the point. The point is that today I still drift towards that look albeit slightly updated, (I mix designer with $5 finds and use conditioner these days) and cultures built around it. For example, I read Nylon mag even though it's mainly aimed at 17 year olds but I love the grunginess of the styles it champions. It's so retro - it's post modern!

Another example is the lady who never got past the way she looked in the 60s. You know the one? In her 60s herself, pouffy hair, white make-up, thick blue eyeliner and Mary Tyler Moore suits. See, this is a person stuck in an era where she most likely peaked and never updated her style since. She still makes her own mayonnaise, you know? that one. And good for her. I also know someone who dresses like it's 1975 - and it's not disco...but bless his heart, he too believes that long lapels and odd colours are the epitome of debonair.

Then there is the person who has something bad happen usually early on in life that they never emotionally get past and regress to dressing and acting a bit like a 12 year old. I almost fell into this category - thank god I didn't. Music saved me I guess.

Anyway, thing about all of this is that I'm thankful for all these people. They make a Saturday morning infinitely more interesting than the hordes of fleece and runner (trainers to the Brits) wearing masses that don't step out of their car unless it's to go to a Superstore. Hurray for styles!

Purple Triangles

And so it begins. The exploration of self. Today I went to bathe my 3 year old daughter who had spent the morning colouring pretty much anything but the activity books I'd given her. Luckily having been there and scrubbed that, I now only let her have water soluble, non-toxic markers mostly for self-serving reasons but the plus side is she can chew away on the nibs, write on windows and wood - drywall being her special favorite. Evidently she's the Oakville Banksy (see pictures for the real thing). Give her paper? she gives you the cold shoulder as if to say, that's soooo 80s. Anyhow, I've stopped watching her every move when she's wielding a marker because life is cheap and toilet paper expensive.

So back to the earlier point. With the bath ready, I took her jim jams off and WOAH! she'd only painted a purple triangle on her front bottom - a perfect isosceles in fact. My immediate reaction was to laugh and I mean I lost it laughing mainly because it was the last thing I expected to see. I knew it had to be her own handy work because she'd made a mess of her belly button and her face looked like the crowd at a Grateful Dead concert. But I just wasn't expecting it. Once I calmed down I asked her why she'd done it? And she said....I want to be like mummy. Please note mine isn't purple - but you get the point.

There are a lot of things that parents and grown-ups generally have to be aware of when they are around young children because they really are like sponges. She now knows how to say SHUT UP YOU'RE ANNOYING ME...which she got from me (I think I've said that...oh a couple of time to her dad - though I'm sure I'm equally as annoying). Ive stopped using that language though I don't think there is anything wrong with showing irritation - it's just I try to be more polite about it. Every cloud. Besides, I'm only human.

No, this is proof positive that children develop certain traits at their own pace. She watches me do my hair and occasionally I'll put on the slap if I'm going out but so far she doesn't seem too interested in coquetry of that kind. I also play punk and rock and reggae - frankly whatever I'm in the mood for and often she'll just say 'too loud mummy' though I've noticed she's into The Rolling Stones. None of this is conscious on my part. I'd hate to have purposely contributed to the making of a manufactured personality. I much prefer to watch her develop her own little traits some of which I'm sure she'll pick up through nurture but ultimately I think nature wins through if you let it. This makes for interesting and hopefully confident and happy adults. In that sense, I'm like any other parent.

Still, I was hoping for a few more years before I had to broach the front bottom discussion but whatever - the purple triangle has broken the ice in a big way. The last thing I want is for her to think there is anything to be ashamed of down there...god knows puberty is painful enough.