A little girl gave me a perfect daffodil on Monday morning. She brought me another on Tuesday, and a third on Wednesday.
I was charmed. (With my Welsh roots, daffodils hold a special place in my heart.)
I had playground duty on Thursday…
I’ve been worried about my lack of interest in reading lately. (As a hard core bookworm, not being able to concentrate on text was a huge and unwelcome change.)
D sent me a Chapters gift card for my recent birthday. Rather than spend it on a scented candle or coffee mug, I chose a novel. I went for one I’d read before, by an author who never disappoints–Stephen King’s Pet Sematary.
I read it in two days!
Friends, I believe (hope!) my reading funk is officially over.
As for Pet Sematary–like many of King’s books, the horror didn’t fully hit until I was snuggled under the duvet with my Chihuahua, and things started going bump in the night.
Eek! I give Pet Sematary two shaking thumbs up.
Sometimes things don’t go quite as planned…
M and I enjoyed a night out on the town.
First stop was a drink and nibbles at Townsite Brewing. I don’t drink beer (yet I love brew pubs–figure that out!) Townsite has cider on tap, so I opted for a big glass of the apply stuff. Needing to clear my head afterwards, I went for a mint sparkling water. It was…not what I expected. Bright green and more minty fresh than my toothpaste, I couldn’t finish it.
Next, we went to the Old Court House Inn for a wine and paint night. I’ve seen the results of these semi-regular events on Facebook–happy, well-wined people proudly holding landscapes, seascapes, florals… Each paint night has a different theme. Ours was an SPCA fundraiser. Great, I thought, let’s help the animals! Our project was a violent purple sunset featuring some type of creature in silhouette. Although a group photo was taken, I’ve yet to see it posted to Facebook.
But sometimes things do go the way they’re supposed to…
As usual, M and I morphed back into our giggly teenage selves. (How is this possible?) Even though we’re dealing with full on adult issues, the load seemed a little lighter when I could share it with M.
…and of course there were some stories, best not shared on the interwebs. (What happens at Townsite Brewing stays at Townsite Brewing.)
I’m in Powell River for a few days to celebrate spring and my birthday.
This post is part one of an extended love letter to my beloved hometown.
Last night I went to a movie.
Isn’t it Romantic is an empowering, satirical take on the rom com. When the lead character, a timid, dumpy woman learns to love herself, everything in her life turns around and she becomes fabulous. Yawn.
While the movie was meh, the venue was super special!
The Patricia Theatre in Powell River is the oldest continually operating movie theatre in Canada. (Google it if you don’t believe me!) It’s been open since 1913.
The Patricia isn’t wonderful just because it’s a cinematic jewel. It’s a part of my history. I saw Jaws, ET and The Back to the Future trilogy there. It’s where I saw my very first movie with a boy. (Porky’s–terrible choice for a first date!)
There’s something magical about revisiting places from our past, particularly if they haven’t changed much over the years.
Thanks for the memories, Patricia!
We did the dreaded time change on March 10.
Ugh–instead of “saving” daylight, we lost a precious morning hour.
This year, it happened on the Sunday prior to Spring Break. Two weeks of un-alarming mornings to make the adjustment.
Yesterday I glanced at my watch, and noticed I hadn’t changed the time yet.
What?!? How did this happen?? I’m chronically early and I constantly check the time, even when I don’t have anywhere to be.
Somehow I forgot to adjust my watch…and I didn’t even notice for over a week!
It’s almost like I’m starting to chillax!
Ever noticed that most problems don’t seem so big after some time has passed?
These goblets at the thrift store reminded me of a similar pair my mother-in-law presented to me mere weeks before my cursed wedding.
“Aren’t they gorgeous?” she asked, praising her own gift. “They’re for you and the Sailor to use at the reception!”
I went into panic mode. I’m not hugely bothered about small décor details, but these Flintstone-style cups were way out of my stylistic comfort zone.
I agonized over what to do, torn between not wanting to offend my future mother-in-law and the horror of incorporating these hideous babies into my wedding.
I’d forgotten about this “huge” problem until I saw the replica glasses. It was a reminder that most issues truly aren’t worth the emotional space we give them.
Oh, in case you’re wondering how the wedding glass fiasco resolved itself: my brother broke one just before the big day. He claimed it was an accident, but he also suggested the breakage should count as his wedding gift to me, so I’m not so sure.
It’s been a long time, friends.
Although it’s not officially spring, it feels like winter is finally over.
I’ve spent the long, dark months with my nose to grindstone trying to keep up with the nineteen wonderful five year-olds in my class. I’ve crawled home every evening, exhausted. No energy to do anything more strenuous than watch a little Netflix, drink a little wine and snuggle the little dog.
I finally feel (somewhat) on top of things. (Sunshine recharges my batteries, and I’ve been basking in the soothing rays for the past few weeks.)
Stay tuned for more adventures!