Let it Snow

It's Monday evening and it's snowing. Not those namby pamby flakes that barely make it to the ground but big, lush flakes of white crystal that dift to settle over everything. I love times like this because there is a certain quietness about the city. It's true that snow muffles sounds but the majority of citizens are wise enough to stay home and not go anywhere which cuts the traffic noise to almost zero. Falling snow seems to allow people to shut down the busyness of life.

On nights like tonight we open the curtains fully, turn off all electric lights and put on candles and the fireplace. We make hot chocolate, turn on some wintery feeling music (Vivaldi's four seasons is great) and just sit and watch the snow fall. If it's a weekend and its late we will sometimes grab sleeping bags and all sleep-over in the living room. There is nothing as serene as laying there surrounded by your family, including the dog and two cats, and watching the snow fall until you drift off into sleep.

With only three days of work left this week and three weeks of vacation scheduled I'm really looking forward to spending more time with my family. Thankfully we don't celebrate Christmas so there is no need to get caught up in the shopping and craziness that I see so many going through. So despite the fact that I know it incoveniences people I am really hoping that we'll be blessed again this year with a lot more snow.

(Snowflakes under Microscope-Kenneth Libbrecht)

As Dean Martin puts it so eloquently..




Salynne ©2009

Family Traditions

Sunday evening is quite often family night and this week after dinner we decided to play a family game favorite, train dominoes. It was one of those evenings that you see on those commercials that show a idealic family sitting around the table enjoying each others company. We chatted, played and laughed at silly family jokes until tears ran from my eyes and my sides hurt.

Every family has a number of sometimes quirky traditions and we are no exception. Keeley and I have been going to a certain tea shop once a month since she was three years old, we all take the first really snowy day of the year off from school or work and have a sleep-over in the livingroom at least once every summer and winter. One custom that we cannot wait to do again this year is to indulge in making crazy and unique snowmen. In previous years we have created entire snow families-mom, dad and children, or sometimes large dogs and cats. Last year we created Winnie the Pooh during one snowfall and then during a later one we created two of our cats sitting on the hood of our vehicle as well as a snowman who had been hit by the car and was laying injured in front of the vehicle.

This particular family tradition started years ago with my love of Calvin and Hobbes so I thought I would share some of the cartoons that have inspired us. I don't know what we have planned this year but when we do get out in the snow to create some kind of art we'll be sure to share photos!
Salynne ©2009

Therapy for Archaeologists

On Saturday I checked out The One Minute Writer and found the prompt to be Archaeologist. My thoughts first turned to Egypt and far-away places but then I started thinking about what I have spent the last week doing--digging deeper into the places in my soul. The concept struck a cord and I decided to combine that into a little therapy session for myself--it actually worked wonders and I think I saved myself several hundred dollars!





Therapy for the Archaeologist

“Ok,” my red-haired therapist said, “Let’s dig a little deeper. How did you feel after your daughter died?”

“The emotional pain was so intense that I thought I would die. In fact, my heart started physically hurting. My doctor did a lot of tests but in the end it proved to be anxiety,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

“It’s not uncommon for parents who’ve lost children to go through physical symptoms. In reality, you had a broken heart, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “It was so broken. It just laid there in pieces, until I came to see you.” I looked at her through the distortion that the tears in my eyes created.

“And over the time we spent together you picked up those pieces and put them together. I don’t know if I’ve used the analogy before but you were like an archaeologist who finds the remnants of a very precious vase. He picks up the pieces up carefully in his hands and over time glues it back together until it is whole again. It was hard work then to fit together and mend your heart but you did do it.

“It’s true, Angie,” I sniffed. “ I did put things back together, but it’s been ten years and lately I feel as though the glue holding everything has come apart, and I don’t know what to do."

“Well, you are archaeologist of your life. If something precious like your heart has fallen apart into pieces then you need to pick those pieces up carefully in your hands and very tenderly brush off any dust or dirt. You need to spend time and focus on putting things back together. It sounds as though this would be a good time to focus on you and treat yourself with care and gentleness.”

I nodded and looked down at the remnants of the shredded wet Kleenex in my hand. “When I was going through the worst of it I used to get up in the night so I could be all alone and write. I would write for hours, about what was happening in my life, how I felt about it and what I was going to do about it. Those moments were a commitment to take care of myself and they helped me sort things out.”

“So it sounds like maybe you need to do some writing again then?"

I sat quietly and thought for some time before I spoke. “Yes. I have been writing just not that kind of writing. I’m working on a lot of projects, some short stories I want to submit to magazines and I’m even labouring on two novels; but I think the problem is that I’ve stopped writing things about me, just FOR me. I need to write for me. I like the analogy you used—it’s like I should take a shovel and dig down into the dirt to find those parts of myself. Writing sorts out the pieces and helps me make sense of them and put them back together.”

“That’s a really great observation and I think something a lot of people could learn from.” Angie looked at me and smiled. “Our time is up for today, would you like to book an appointment for next week?”

“Let’s make it a month,” I said, my tears starting to dry. “I’ve got a lot of sorting and putting things together to do.”

“Ok, well the session today will be $500.00; will that be cheque or credit card?”

“Hmmmm...would you take a couple of old beaten up relics that I found while cleaning out my garage? It’s mostly some of my husband’s stuff from his school years and according to him it’s pretty precious.”

“Ha,ha” laughed Angie. “Just remember you may be the archaeologist but I’m the therapist. How did you want to pay?”


Salynne ©2009

Winter Doldrums, Grief and Onions

It seems that this time of year and I don't mix very well. The winter doldrums have set in; the weather is blah, its seems to me to be dark twenty-four hours a day and I'm feeling down and exhausted. Over the past two months I've also had some heart palpitations which it turns out have been anxiety attacks.

Some of you may know that this fall I committed myself to editing and compiling stories from the time period that my daughter Brenna was alive, with a goal of having a finished manuscript by spring. Writing about and dealing with that time period is not helping matters and/or causing a lot of my current anxiety issues--writing this book is proving to be much harder emotional work than I thought it would be. Members of my writing group (part therapy group :) suggested that I blog about what is really going on and how I feel consumed with thinking about my daughter and why; they suggested that being open and honest about it all will in itself help me lessen this feeling that I'm blocked by sadness and going in one direction only.

They've also encouraged me to start writing about the process of putting this part of my life onto paper and that has proved to be very good advice. Since our group on Wednesday I've been penning like crazy about what has been going on while I'm writing the book and the reasons why I need to take myself on this difficult journey. It's been twelve years since I became a bereaved parent and although I thought I was doing "well" I've learned that term is very subjective. There are different layers of grief which are often compared to the layers of an onion; you peel off one but there is always another under the surface. Sometimes you get "blindsided" by grief, it pops up unexpectedly. In this case I've opened the can of worms myself and after my experiences over the past several months its very clear that when you purposely dredge up things from the past and allow yourself to feel some of those tragic feelings again it can take a heavy toll. I'm determined to press on but I have to start taking better care of myself, give myself breathing space and let others know what I'm going through.

On top of all of this hard emotional work I've been doing, last weekend I felt that I had to attend the memorial of a fifteen year old boy. His mother and I have done volunteer work together at Canuck Place Children's Hospice, and although I'd only met her son once, out of respect for her I went. When I arrived there were over a hundred people there but the first thing I did was search out the faces of the others in our Canuck Place group. They, like me were also bereaved parents and felt it important to attend. The plan was that we would sit together and support each other.

In the end I did not sit with my group preferring to stand in the back to let the large number of arriving family and friends have seats. There was also the part of me that hoped that I could escape early. The memorial itself was emotional but I was not particularly moved. What struck me the hardest and made me the most sad was watching the faces of the parents in my group. The pain on their faces was so evident and I knew this sorrow was not just for our colleague but for themselves and for every other parent who has lost a child. I could see them remembering the last moments of their child's life as our friend talked about her son and that they fully understood and remembered days of numbness afterwards which helps you to be brave and get through the memorial. Being a writer I am an observer, a watcher, almost a voyeur into other people's lives. On this occasion though, it wasn't so much that I could place myself in others shoes or read on their faces the gaping hole the death of a child leaves in their hearts; I realized that the pain on their faces and the sorrow in their hearts was only a reflection of what was in my own.

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - Going Home

After our soujourn with Jane it was time to head for the airport and we stood on the street outside the Morgan Library. My son hailed a van taxi for five and we were soon on our final ride out of the city. None of us talked much; I know I was lost in my own thoughts, reflecting on all of the incredible things we'd done and seen.

I couldn't help but smile with recognition as we crossed over one of the bridges and took a last look at the skyline; Paris is the city I will always love the most but the Big Apple with its charming vibrancy has clearly nudged its way up into London's second spot. One thing is for certain, New York hasn't seen the last of us.

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - Jane Austen & Other Celebrities

Our final day arrived and we spent the morning packing our suitcases and getting ready. Keeley had found out that a Jane Austen exhibition had opened at The Morgan Library on Madison Ave the previous day so we dragged all of our luggage to the subway & to the museum.

Just as we walked into the museum lobby, Richard Gere walked right in front of us. I did a double take and so did my son. "Was that...?" There was no doubt. And ladies, let me tell you, that grey hair is just as silky, shiny and "want to run your fingers through it" smooth as it appears in movies. Mr. Gere walked to the dining room and obviously had lunch there because he came out some time later while BFF, Keeley and I were in the exhibit. My son & DIL were sitting in the entranceway waiting for us and he stood there for some time and waited for his car to arrive. They said he was quiet, unassuming and looks & talks exactly like he does in movies. We certainly did wonder if we would see a celebrity on the trip to New York but I have to say that seeing someone like Richard Gere in such a place was completely unexpected. I have to admit that although I've always thought of him as a grey fox but my opinion of him has raised a notch or two; I mean really....nice hair and Jane Austen lover....what more could a woman ask for?

The exhibition itself included over 100 pieces of Jane's work including manuscripts, personal letters and related materials. Jane's letters to her sister Cassandra were very revealing about her personality, their lives and the social mores of society during that period of time. The dispatch to her neice was cleverly written backwards and challenging to read but it showed her humour and her relationship to her family. Rare editions of Jane's books as well as illustrations of various characters from her novels made for a well-rounded look at one of our favorite author's lives.
Playing in a walled off enclosure in one corner of the exhibition a short film about Jane featured various artists and actors. It was here in this small place that I had opportunity to pay close attention to the other women and one man who were there at the exhibition. In fact I had to sit through the film several times because I kept missing parts and getting distracted by the interesting personalities that came in and out of the viewing area. When it came to fashion my jeans and top were the only non-designer and un-pressed, not perfect, outfit in the room. I tried to tuck the ragged hem of my jeans under the stool I was on. At some point an older jewish woman with a 5 or 6 carat diamond ring on her finger and sporting a hand-carved cane sat down beside me. Several actors answered the question, "If you could have Jane Austen for dinner, who else from history would you invite?". The answers ranged from the pope to Freud. In a very cultured New York accent my neighbour turned to me and whispered, "My god, Jane would just be turning over in her grave if she heard such foolishness". Of course I gave her my most sophisticated head nod and agreed, after all one doesn't argure with a Madison Avenue queen bee brandishing a cane.

From there we visited the gift shop where we picked up a fabulous little book entitled "The Jane Austen Handbook--A Sensible yet Elegant Guide to her World". It discuss things such as How to Become an Accomplished Lady, How to Get Rid of Unwanted Guests and How to Behave at a Dinner Party among other very interesting topics. This is a read aloud book and Keeley and I have been having some good laughs as we go through it, although I'm not certain how the chapter on How to Marry off your Daughter is going to go over.


Spending time at the museum was one of those unexpected but very pleasureable events that somehow just seem to drop into your lap. I'm so glad we took the opportunity to attend even though it was not on our planned itinerary. Jane would have approved,

"Why not seize the pleasure at once, how often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparations"~Jane Austen.

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - Times Square

On Monday we traveled to Brooklyn in the morning and afternoon to visit friends and the headquarters of our spiritual heritage. Since our feet were so sore we then went back to the apartment in the late afternoon for several hours and just sat there with our feet up.

Several days earlier we arranged to have dinner that night at Carmine's, a very well-known Italian Restaurant in Times Square. One of our friends, who lives and works in Brooklyn joined us for dinner there and for a wonderful evening after. Carmine's dishes are served "family style" meaning each dish feeds between six to 10 people. From the menu we enjoyed chicken parmigiana, lasagna and salad. My glass of wine did not come in a stemmed glass but a normal drinking glass just like you would have somewhere in Tuscany or the Italian countryside; all of these things helped give the place "family" feeling. Black and white photos on the wall of the restaurant featured family members, celebrities and theatre moments. It was packed and fairly noisy but we had a great time.

The week prior to our arrival the city of New York made some changes to Times Square, which now makes it more pedestrian friendly. They've blocked off a number of streets and so we were free to wander all over the street and explore places like the Hershey's and M&M's stores and unfortunately we missed the giant Toys R Us with its in-store Ferris Wheel and other features because it was closing. The weather was so warm that after grabbing some take-out desert we gabbed for several hours while sitting at some of the new table & chair sit down areas.

We laughed and enjoyed our conversation along with taking delight in the very, very interesting night life. I think Keeley will always be scarred after her photo with a giant red TickleMe Elmo who squeezed her a little too tight and for a little too long. He asked in a creepy, suggestive voice, "Do you have something for Elmo?" She disengaged herself, begrudgingly gave him a tip and ran back to our group. Other Entertainment was provided by a caped Batman who ran through the crowds, John from John & Kate + 8 was being interviewed on some live TV show, a young woman singing for a CMT video came by with her camera entourage and a very, very large six foot plus, black male Marilyn Monroe, complete with a leopard print dress, high heels, full makeup and a blonde wig blew bless kisses to us and waved hello.

Times Square is an overwhelming feast for the senses; lights, color, and constant action. As I stood there in the centre of New York, in the middle at the huge screens and advertisements, I had the surreal feeling that before me was the representation of the pinnacle of human achievement. There were the financial markets, the commercial elements and ads with models in all of their full-color scantily clad glory, technology, culture and even religious components. In my minds eye I saw myself standing there alone in the middle of everything and I realized how small I was in comparison to the buildings, the city, the state, the country, the continent and finally the earth. My thoughts turned to how different my every-day is from what I saw before me. It made me thankful to have my life in my own little corner of the world with my Starbucks, my local grocery store, my favorite tea shop and my family and friends. I knew then that I was ready to go home.

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - Bucket List Accomplishments

Last year one of Keeley's class assignments was to create a Bucket List. For those of you who have not been introduced to the 2007 Movie of the same name it is list of things that you want to do before you "kick the bucket". Keeley's list surpassed the suggested 100 and she seemed to have a really good time creating her list of life goals. Since I'm a confirmed list maker/lover I decided that it was something that I wanted to do too. Always the over-achiever, I ended up with 230 items recorded and more than likely that will continue to grow. This trip allowed both of us to accomplish a number of items on our lists.

Sunday evening after our Central Park sojourn, our shopping excursion on 5th and Madison Avenues, a walk through Grand Central Station and a lovely Thai dinner we made our way to Rockefeller Centre.

Skating on the ice rink provided Keeley a chance to knock off one of her items, skating on an outdoor rink at night. It's on my list too but I decided not to skate; we figured out that we had walked over sixty blocks so in deference to my weak and wobbly feeling legs I decided that I'd wait to fulfill that dream at another place & time. The last thing I figured I needed was to injure myself on the ice and end up with a huge medical bill! Keeley, Son and DIL had a great time using their younger legs to skate around the famous venue all the while enjoying the interesting "characters" on the ice. BFF and I had a blast watching them all. (Photos by SC)


Some of the things I accomplished on this trip are:

Visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art
Buy a silver tiffany ring or necklace from NY Tiffany & Co
Play in a pile of Fall Leaves-Completed in NYC Central Park
Go to a Jane Austen Event-This was a completely unexpected and unplanned event! (for which I'll provide more detail later)

Keeley accomplished:

Skate on an outdoor rink at night
Get Dressed up and have Breakfast at Tiffany's

We had awesome experiences visiting New York but I have to say that both of us have an added sense of accomplishment in that what we did made it possible to cross off some of our life goals. As for me, four objectives down, only 226 to go.




Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - Brand Names

My pretty-much perfect Sunday continued as we made our way through the rest of Central Park. We even stopped and sat on a bench for a while to listen to an accordionist and observe a busker who had a Humpty Dumpty puppet. We watched that poor egghead get cracked over and over again but there was always a happy ending when a family stopped by to help. Once at the edge of the park we wandered down 5th Ave where we joined the throngs of faithful followers who worship at the shrines of some very well known Brand Name Temples.

Our first stop, lead by Keeley and my son was Abercrombie and Fitch. Their flagship store features photo opportunities with their tall, well-built male models, or should I say young god's of the male physique. Plaid shirted young Homo-sapians exposing their bronzed six-packs and underwear along with surprisingly modestly dressed young women bid you warm welcome at the front door. It's a good thing because it provides a distraction so you don't realize until you've been sucked into the Abercrombie vortex that sales are NOT part of the observance at the store. You get to stand beside these stunning looking people in front of a backdrop that features the ripped torso's of more scantily clad models while a store appointed photographer takes a Polaroid shot. This feature seemed to be the highlight for anyone of the female sex although my cynical daughter murmured to me a moment before we took our turn, "he's probably gay but I'm going to close my eyes and dream." The store itself was badly lighted, the throbbing club-like music was extremely loud, aisles were cramped and crowded and if you are one of those people allergic to perfume it would be a deathtrap. I think they have their signature scent diffused somehow throughout the entire store. BFF and I found a chair and parked ourselves while everyone else wandered off; thankfully, we were not there long but it did give our tender tootsies a rest. Considering it is such a shrine to fashion it would have been nice if like at temples centuries ago some of their staff could have bathed and perfumed our feet.

As you can probably tell from my little rant I'm pretty cynical when it comes to the world of brand names and marketing and surprisingly it is to my mother I must be grateful for these wary eyes and my circumspect view. My great lesson occurred in the late 1970's when I was a nagging 13 year old, begging my parents for the coolest designer jeans of the time, dark blue Sergio Valentes'. "Everyone is wearing them." I cried. Well, that wasn't quite true of my group but all the cool kids were wearing the $40.00 expensive breeches. "If I don't get them everyone will think I'm a nerd." I wailed and cried for effect.

After several weeks of my incessant badgering I came home one day to find a brand new pair of SV's sitting on my bed. I burst into tears of gratitude, my family did love me after all and I told my mom she was the best person in the whole world. The jeans did did not leave my body for a week and I paraded them proudly to all of my friends and acquaintances at school and the mall. Everyone was totally impressed and jealous; Sergio Valente's were expensive and to have a pair meant that your popularity soared at the blackboard institution you attended. I became "somebody".

Mom finally got the dungarees off my body to wash them and I discovered I had blue thighs from the dark dye. I wore something else that wasn't half as cool to class that day and when I arrived home from my busy school day they were again waiting on my bed. Mom summoned me into her room saying that she wanted to show me something. On her bed was a tattered and bleach stained pair of jeans minus all of the labels. She explained that these were the "real" Sergio jeans that she picked up at a thrift store and how she had carefully taken all the labels off and then stitched those labels onto my new jeans. In her hand she proffered up the dissected "no name" labels for the $14.99 pair of pants that I had been parading around in for the past week.

I was stupefied into silence. My mom looked at me and said, "I'm sorry but I want you to understand that a label is just that, a label. The Sergio Velente company more than likely buys the same no-name jeans and just puts their label on it. One is not better than the other but because "someone" says those jeans are cool they can charge three or four more times for them." It was a profound and life-changing moment. I learned a very important lesson and I do have to admit that there were a couple of times during my later teenage years that I did something similar because I wanted to impress my friends. No one was ever the wiser and everyone thought my family must have been well-off in order to afford some of the items I wore.
As an adult I learned the power of labels and marketing during the beanie babie craze. I was producing little stuffed garden inspired bears for my gift shop and I sold a few of them but they were not flying off the shelves. Watching beanie faddism I determined that if I too signed my bears, made them a numbered series and created a cute name they would sell better. That is exactly what I did and they started to sell better because they had become "collectibles". The realization however, was that they were the same old bears and had only become so desirable because I said they were and marketed them as such. So all in all I've considered brand names nice and if I have opportunity to buy them at a price that is similar or equal to a product of similar quality, I will do so but the trappings of a brand name are just that, trappings.

Unfortunately I have to admit that I'm a hypocrite when it comes to Tiffany & Co. It is the only "brand name" that has gotten a hold of me and won't let go. It's not just any Tiffany's either, it's only New York Tiffany's. There is a Tiffany's in Vancouver, one in Paris and other cities but they don't hold interest for me in any way shape or form. The little known truth is that I'm closet NYC Tiffany's snob.

Some of it has to do with the history of the family and the store. Charles Lewis Tiffany was the founder in 1837 of the institution and because I once had an antique business I learned his silver-work was the standard of quality against which all others of the time were measured. Later, a relative, Lewis Comfort Tiffany took over the business and he became the talented craftsman who was responsible for very unique Arts & Crafts silver jewelry and household items along with his famed stained glass pieces which are unequaled. There is a certain quality that is associated with Tiffany's and I have bought into that hook, line and sinker.

Some of my passion definitely comes from good advertising and marketing; the elegance of Audrey Hepburn, my love of the opening moments of Breakfast at Tiffany's and the scene where her and George Peppard's character try to find something in the store at a reasonable cost have all tugged at my heart and brand consciousness. Sweet Home Alabama didn't help my cause as the fairy-tale private proposal at the store somehow got stuck in the synapses of my brain on repeat.

A lot of it also has to do with our first visit there two years ago. We visited each and every floor and as I've mentioned in a previous blog we were treated as old friends and as if we were their most important clients. It was in fact the staff that catapulted New York Tiffany's into that very special place in my heart and gained my loyalty. At that time I purchased a small Tiffany blue butter cream leather journal and I still continue to hold it and use it with reverence.

On our visit this time we spent most of our time on the third floor which contains the more affordable silver jewelry but this did not stop us from visiting the other floors and having a good perusal of the diamonds, watches and other jewelry. Keeley bought a ring made up of hearts; DIL got the signature Tiffany toggle necklace; BFF got a gold key and I purchased the Tiffany blue heart key to start my intended collection. I told hubby that now that I have my New York Tiffany key the others don't have to come from there and in fact I don't even care if they Tiffany's, only that they are real silver.

We did some further shopping in a designer outlet type store and then wandered down Madison Ave because the road had been blocked off and a street market stretched for blocks and blocks. We meandered and took in the sites, sounds and smells of the variety offered. When we saw the sign Cashmere scarves, 5 for $20.00, we all ran up excitedly to the booth and started grabbing the soft supple neck ware. What great gifts for friends and how generous they would think us for buying them something so luxurious. As I was waiting to hand over my cash, my eye caught one of the labels on the scarves; it read, Softer Than Cashmere, 100% acrylic". I checked the rest of the gifts that we planned to give to friends and all of the glued on labels read 100% Cashmere. I laughed, gave the wrongly labelled piece of cloth to the saleswoman who shrugged, smiled and tucked it behind the counter. She helped me select another scarf with the "right" label and I handed over my dollars.

We didn't do much more shopping after that but we all just shook our heads over the amount of knock-offs and fake label items out there. So I cannot help but feel a little guilty as we give our 100% Cashmere souvenirs to our friends but they don't impress me as label idolizers and I don't think they'll really care what the items are made of. Like us, I believe they are the kind of people who will think more about the fact that we loved them enough in the name of friendship to be crazy enough increase the poundage of our luggage and then have to lug it from out of the apartment, down the elevator, down the stairs onto the street, into the taxi, out of the taxi, through the airport, onto the conveyor belt and then reverse the process when we arrived home.

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - No More Regrets

Sunday was one of those days that will live long in my memory because it was one of those very rare days when everything works out just the way that you want it to. I had a very unique opportunity to correct something that I truly regretted. Our visit to Central Park on this day gave me a wonderful second chance.

There are not many things or passed up opportunities in my life that I bemoan; I'm the kind of person that usually goes with my instincts and jumps when my heart or my gut feeling tells me I should do something. One of my first real and long-lasting regrets happened around twenty years ago when we were visiting my hometown and my husband and I were in a local thrift shop. Sitting in one of the back rooms was a stunning antique oak Arts & Crafts Mission style chair with a leather back and seat. The price was a whole $5.00. The chair which had a unusual adjustable back reminded me of one that my Grandparents had when I was a child; I got that warm, fuzzy feeling when I looked at it. Unfortunately, after humming and hawing, I let my husband talk me out of it. The excuses were myriad; we didn't have enough room in the car to get it back home so it would have to be stored at my parents, the leather seat and back needed recovering and that would be a lot of work, money, etc, etc. Several months later I was looking in a decorating magazine and saw the almost exact same chair. It was made by Stickley, a name reknowned in Arts & Crafts design circles and also very, very expensive. That chair was something I will always regret not buying; not only because of the value but because I was not true to myself. I did not follow my heart and although I have other pieces of furniture that look like very much like that original piece they will never have the meaning that particular chair would have had.

It is that experience and that pivotal moment in time, when I should've listened to myself and didn't, that I think about whenever I have to face the decision of whether I should listen to the stirrings of my intuition or not. When my oldest daughter was alive and we knew that we would only have limited time with her, I learned even more about how important it is to live without regrets. Then several years ago when I quit my event planning business and opened an on-line antiques business I learned to trust my gut feelings even more. There were numerous items that I purchased whenever I got those certain vibes and those things usually turned out to make a very tidy profit for me. My husband was often a nay-sayer or couldn't understand at times why I bought a particular item but when he saw the dollars that someone was willing to pay for them it certainly brought a smile to his face. Over the years he has learned to trust me more, even when I cannot explain things rationally. Today, whenever I get that inclination to call someone, send a card or do something I always try to listen to it. It is one of the reasons why I am fortunate not to have too many other things to lament about.

One of my few lasting acts of contrition happened in the spring of 2007 when my family and I visited New York for the first time. We spent an afternoon in Central Park and when strolling the Mall on that occasion, we came across a group of four gentlemen playing blues and jazz. The music truly moved me and it was all I could do to stand there and not start dancing. The group consisted of bass, guitar and sax players and a trumpet player/singer who wore a page-boy cap. We had only a dollar or two in cash between us all and although I really, really wanted their CD, none of us had the energy to walk to the other side of the park, find an ATM and then make our way back. We felt that it wouldn't have been worth the time and effort because the group would probably finish their set and leave meaning we'd have gone the distance for nothing. I also did not have a pen in my purse so I couldn't even write down the name of the group and although we tried to commit it to memory none of us remembered it later.

Not going to the effort of getting money and getting their CD was something that I have thought about and regretted many times since then. I couldn't remember the music specifically but I could recall how this group's music made me feel inside. When we returned home I tried to find similar tunes but nothing seemed to capture the magic I heard that day in the park. I filed the event, or should I say the non-event, in the back of my mind. A hard lesson learned and a regretful weight to carry with me.

When I knew we would be travelling back to New York, the hope did awaken in my breast that I might by some chance be able to see the same group again. The probability was slim, I felt, because it was almost two years ago that the non-event happened. Then again hope springs eternal and I made sure I had a good sum of money with me wherever we went in the city. As my narrative has stated, we had already been in the park during parts of several days and although there were lone musical artists there was nary a group to be found.

We started our Sunday by walking through the Park. Again, it was a beautiful sunny, sweater weather day and the leaves crunched beneath our shoes as we wandered the paths. The view from Belevedere Castle presented stunning vistas of the city and since my son and DIL had not spent any time in this beautiful natural landmark yet the five of us started walking back down towards the Mall. Just before we got to the lake I heard the strains of a song that sounded like it was from the 1920's and I knew immediately that my previous regret was going to have a pretty good chance of redemption.

There was something of a crowd gathered on one side of the Mall and as I made my way to the front I knew that I had found the group I'd been searching for. There before me played The Tin Pan Blues Band and I felt like a kid in a candy store. I immediately started dancing to the happy music and soon I was joined by my daughter and then my son and DIL broke into a swing jive. In between songs, I ran up to grab both of Tin Pan's CD's, throwing my prepared cash into the guitar case they used for donations and tips. Quite a number of other people did the same.

We stayed, danced and enjoyed the music until the end of their set after which I went up and told one of the band members my story. He was very gracious and seemed delighted that we "Canadians" should be interested in their music and that their reputation had spread so far. I signed up to receive band email alerts; there is no doubt that we will at some point return to New York so I want to make sure that I keep up to date and know where these talented musicians will be playing.

Listening and dancing to Tin Pan's lighthearted, nostalgic music on this bright sunny day in the middle of Central Park is something I will always remember and now I have their CD's to take me back there any time I want. As far as that original non-event is concerned I got my second chance and I did not hesitate to jump in head first. With a great sense of satisfaction and glee I can, from my heart, say that now I have one less regret in my life!

Photos by Keeley

To check out The Tin Pan Blues Band and their music follow this link:
http://tinpanbluesband.com/wordpress/

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - A Lazy Saturday

This morning dawned bright, sunny and clear and the temperature during the day reached an incredible 15 degrees (celcius that is). You needed a jacket or sweater but the weather didn't really feel like Fall.

The three of us (BFF, Keeley and I) meandered over to the Morningside Farmers Market at 110 Ave and Morningside Park. Unfortunatley, due to the time of the year, there were not a lot of vendors with set up stalls but the ones there were of very high quality. We purchased fresh baked croissants for our breakfast and then I was off to procure vegetables for the gourmet dinner that I purposed to make this evening. Baby salad greens, yellow carrots with their tops still on and a two large bunches of baby turnips rounded out my choices for our side dishes. We stopped to pick up some organic almond butter and forestalled our entrance to the park, lingering to breathe in the sweet smell of the honeycomb from the organic bee farmers stall.

We turned to look at the natural grandeur of the park vista before us and descended down a large flight of stone steps into the deep valley with its soring side wall of mica schist rock. A park bench beckoned and we sat down to eat our morning comestibles and watched the local colour. I'm sure Keeley would tell you the highlight of her time there was watching a group of young men playing soccer on the field, especially the curly-haired soccer player who was showing off his fancy leg work. I'm not sure if the thing I was entertained most by was the guy who jogged around the running track carrying his ipod with speakers instead of ear buds or the 30-something Napolean Dynamite look-alike, complete with headband, who seemed to be trying to show off and make an impression. We're just not sure who he was trying to impress!

After a stop at an organic market for the rest of our planned evening meal we headed back to the apartment and then out for our day. We took the bus down to Columbus Circle, crossed the street and entered one of the most famous gateways into Central Park. We first happened across a mini marathon for children that was sponsored by the New York Firefighters Association and then we promenaded past the dairy house, the carousel, and one of the park's many ponds. The Mall, of course, is our favorite spot because it provides the quintessential view of New York. As we listened to the melodic strains of a local saxaphonist we each took turns cavorting in the fallen leaves and tried to capture on camera the enchantment and captivating spell that Central Park seems to cast on its visitors.


Although reluctant to forsake such beauty we headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where we spent the following three to four hours. Sadly, some of the things we had wanted to see such as the textile and musical instrument sections were closed but we did enjoy Egyptian antiquities and the painting galleries which contained work from the impressionists. Seeing a large number of Van Gogh's and Monet's masterpieces was again almost overwhelming but I revelled in the majesty and movement of their plein air works.

My BFF was overcome with emotion when we entered one particular gallery. Hanging on the wall, with light coming from behind, stood one of Louis Comfort Tiffany's most famous pieces of art glass, Autumn Landscape. The piece was luminous, with a glass stream that looked like it was tumbling down a rock river and the sun lit the sky aglow as if taking its final bow before sunset. We spent a fair amount of time then sitting on a bench watching passerby, resting and massaging our over worked tootsies.

After we arrived home that sense of peace that comes from my delight in taking the time to prepare good food came over me and I set about preparing our gourmet fete. The menu consisted of dijon mustard roasted chicken breast; baby greens salad with balsamic and olive dressing; a crispy on the outside, moist on the inside baguette; oven roasted yellow carrots with their tops on and sauteed baby turnips with garlic. Son and DIL expended a large amount of energy during their shopping day trying to find the best Tiramisu in the city. Encased in ladyfingers our "cake" first tasted of espresso and finished with silky top notes of mascarponi cheese and whipped cream.

Sitting around the dining table allowed us to talk about our day, what each person had enjoyed the most and savour all of the delights that make up this vibrant and complex city.

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - Great Food

After we all arrived home from our busy day, Keeley, BFF and I walked up to Broadway and 101 Ave. to try out a fabulous little restaurant called PiCNiC Market & Cafe. I won`t wax lyrical about the food but this Alsatian Restaurant is a place you should try if you enjoy French food.

http://www.picnicmarket.com/

It was Friday night and the entire joint was filled with people who were speaking french; that was enough to tell me that the food was going to be great! I had steak au poivre with pomme frite although I nearly died when the waitress asked if I wanted catsup. I screamed out "NO! No! No!" in my best french accent making the guests at the table next to us smile. They nodded their approval but I guess some things never change in the US.

The staff accomodated Keeley`s request for the delicious looking gruyere macaroni & cheese in their take out section and my BFF had a very traditional Coq au Vin. We also splurged on desert enjoying bread pudding, creme brulee, and chocolat fondant which was essentially a decadent volcano cake.

It was a beautiful warm evening but I think I would be remiss if I didn't say that we all "rolled" rather than strolled up the block toward home.

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative - How to Hail a Taxi

I got up really early and outfitted myself in business attire for my medical conference. My biggest concern was certainly not how I looked or whether I was mentally prepared for the information to be presented but I found I was really nervous about getting out onto the street and finding a taxi.

First of all, would there be taxi's on my street that early in the morning? Ha....in the words of a Jewish bubby, "Oy vey. You schmuck dis is New York!" Yellow and black Taxi's were everywhere at all hours and times. Then there was my worry about my hailing technique. I've never hailed a taxi in my entire life so I was a little concerned about whether or not I would have the necessary skill. I paid a lot of attention the previous day to anyone who was stepping off the curb for a cab and I learned there is certainly is a personal art to it.

One older businessman did the traditional two finger whistle and walked right out into the middle of the road. An older woman in her designer jacket and high heeled boots toddled onto the street, stuck her arm out and did a frantic wave several times before one of the yellow and black cars stopped. A young mother who was taking her daughter to private school reached out and pointed at each taxi that she wanted, following several with her finger before one pulled over to the side of the road to pick them up. From another well-dressed man I learned that standing on a corner was not a great place to try and hail a cab since an "almost" accident occured when the taxi slammed on his brakes in the middle of the intersection.

When I got down to the street in front of our apartment I tried to compose myself and steady my shaking arm so that I would look like I knew what I was doing. Sucking air through my teeth I reminded myself that it was I would had conquered the Tower of Terror in Disneyland four times despite my fear of elevators and the Eiffel tower despite my fear of heights. Surely, sticking my arm out and calling a cab couldn't be that difficult. I found a vacant spot just off the corner where there was a fire hydrant and stepped off the curb. The sunlight was shining quite brightly in my eyes so it was difficult to tell if the taxi's approaching had their roof lights on or off. I squinted and tried to look into the cars to see if they had passengers. One taxi coming in the lane next to me was clearly empty and I raised my arm bending it at the elbow in a two finger sideways salute. Whether I looked like a dork or someone who'd done this before, I'll never know but the taxi I wanted pulled over and I jumped inside.

My driver seemed happy to see me until I told him I wanted to go to New Jersey. Ah..now that might be a problem as he didn't know how much it would cost; he would have to look it up. So he pulled over and spent about 5 minutes consulting his rate book and contacting the office. After that though he plugged the address I needed into his GPS unit, I sunk back comfortably into the seat, breathed a sigh of relief and gave myself a mental pat on the back. I'd conquered my fear and I'd been successful on my first try!

Later that night after the conference was over I stood in the lobby of the Hospital dialing a number for the local taxi service. It wasn't long before the taxi drove up and I got in giving directions to the apartment. I was sad that I didn't have another opportunity to try my new found taxi calling talent and somehow that ride back home was not as satisfying as my morning jaunt!

Salynne ©2009

The New York Narrative-Day 1 Continues....

Our apartment is everything we could have have dreamed of and more! We have four bedrooms with a livingroom/diningroom, a full kitchen and a bathroom, all decorated with black & white photos of Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe. It also didn't hurt that the price of the apartment was $48.00 per person per night--you cannot beat that price when you're staying in the heart of a major city! The charm of our brick building, circa early 1900’s, with the small balcony off of my bedroom and a decorative fire escape off the kitchen is absolutely amazing. When I look out my bedroom window I can see into someone else’s apartment across the street and I’ve decided I'm going to affectionately call it my Breakfast at Tiffany’s “Moonriver” view!

After a several hour nap the three of us (BFF, Keeley and I) headed out by bus to the MOMA; the Museum of Modern Art. We had a fabulous panini and salad lunch with marinated olives and vegetables in their Cafe 2 bistro and then explored the various floors. A display of Monet’s waterlilies was the lead exhibition and although it was crowded we each had time to sit and feel ourselves lost in the rippling reflections of Monet’s gorgeous pond. As Keeley and I visited Monet’s home and garden on our trip to Europe last year, it did not take much to imagine ourselves back there next to the shallows, marvelling at the glories of the water lilies and the way that Monet was able to capture the intensity and complexity of the reflection off the water.

The most surprising thing for me was the work of Jackson Pollock. I’ve always made fun of his work; I mean really, what does it take to make some splashes of paint on a canvas? It was something that I thought a three year old could do. That all changed however when we entered a room which contained a huge piece of his work. When you got up close to it you could see the depth, the colour and the variety of paint types and textures that he used. I’ve come to understand that his talent lies not in being able to make the splashes but in how to make those splashes look interesting and in knowing when to stop.

Seeing Van Gogh’s Starry Night was a dream come true and I’m sure I spent at least 20 minutes just staring at the heavy broad brushstrokes of his thick gloppy paint. Up close you would assume a child painted it but when you step back you have the famous French small town vista. In the same area there were paintings by Gauguin, Manet and many of my other favorite French artists. To be in the presence of such great art at times took my breathe away.

We laughed as we wandered through the rooms with the works of Picasso and Andy Warhol. In our opinion the most absurd things that we saw which are considered “modern” art was the purple string that was attached to the wall and floor in a rectangle shape and the totally black canvas in a black frame; a five year old could absolutely do those and I'm not sure I would consider those pieces Art.

After a while, when we started “interacting” with some of the compositions by copying poses and creating illusions a number of the security guards started giving us hints and encouraging us. In one photo Keeley looks like she has her foot on a stack of bricks; the security guard told her to hold in her breathe just before I snapped the camera to get it right and I posed in front of a 1950’s fridge & pretended I was on the Price is Right showing off its style. We had a lot of fun.

From the MOMA we headed down to Times Square and met my son and daughter-in-law. I’ve been to this bastion of American capitalism during the daytime but I have to say that being there at night is a completely different story. We did not stay long but caught the subway to Dallas Barbecue for some good old fashioned baby back ribs, french fries, a mess of cornbread and coleslaw. Mmmm....no doubt my cholesterol sky-rocketed but it was well worth it. The meal may not have been the best healthwise but I did wash it down with a giant size Margarita; apparently tequila stimulates the circulatory system and is an anti-inflammatory; all important things considering the sore inflamed feet I've already got!

We window shopped our way to the subway, rode to our stop, walked home to our apartment after stopping at the local 24 hour corner market for Ben & Jerry’s and fell into bed, too tired to even eat our intended desert!

Salynne ©2009