June 15, 2013
Listening to ROCK 101, Vancouver’s Classic Rock radio. Now playing: One of These Nights, The Eagles.
Sitting at my son’s kitchen table in La Conception drinking pink grapefruit juice and eating pretzel sticks. Now playing: Shake it Up, The Cars.
Drawing a birthday card for my grandson who turned 7 yesterday but the party’s tomorrow at my other son’s house in Boucherville. Now playing: Is This Love, Bob Marley.
June 9, 2013
This should be fun: with 21 days left before I move back to the city, my already cramped one-room flat is now decorated with empty boxes. As the blue boxes are filled and stacked, it’ll probably feel like I’m living in Legoland.
FLASH NEWS: As soon as I pressed the button to publish this morning’s post — U-HAUL, we have a problem —, my son was on the phone with his friend / work partner who offered to lend us a trailer. Life is beautiful. Never say die. Keep smiling. Everything works out in the end.
June 9, 2013
So my son said we wouldn’t have a problem renting a trailer in Tremblant for my big move back to the city on July 1. After all, he said, Tremblant isn’t like Montréal.
So yesterday he phones U-Haul and guess what? There’s not ONE trailer left for rent on July 1 in the WHOLE PROVINCE OF QUÉBEC.
I’m still laughing…
June 23, 2012
I don’t wear high heels.
For the better part of the 80s and 90s, I wore high heels almost every waking hour of the day and night. I even went through a rather insane period — my “I’m too sexy for winter” phase — where I wore my high heels in the snow and the freezing cold, adding leggings and leg warmers over my hose.
What follows may not be the best photograph (I think it’s cool) but it’s the only one I have which immortalizes my favourite pair of high heel shoes.
The pic was taken in December 1987 by my then-boyfriend Gary.
Gary was 28, I was 37. We had met in a bar earlier that year and we were getting ready to leave on a road trip to Florida (thus the new shoes), an exciting 43-hour bus ride all the way down to Riviera Beach to visit my brother, my darling André who was stuck there in drydock renovating his antique jewel of a sailboat.
That was one weird trip.
All this to say that I don’t wear high heels anymore.
I stopped wearing them somewhere in 1999…
around the time I started shaving my head.
P.S.: Making a cameo appearance in today’s story is my cutie pie son Vincent who is now 33 years old and still a cutie pie.