Sunday, 30 September 2012


Under the weight of the clouds, sometimes this place just stuns me.


Wobbly-legged trees.


I just found my birthday invites for next year (or Dempsey's nuptials, I still haven't decided yet).

A turtle/shark party would be awesome. Don't come dressed up as a fish, you won't have a good time.


Dublin graffiti with a healthy dose of cheeeeeeese.


I like running down the canal, pretending to chase a canal boat in a last-ditch attempt to skip town for some ridiculously awesome crime that I would totally be good at committing.

Like stealing a unicorn. Or something. I dunno.

I guess I'm not that good at pretending to be a criminal.


Gahh, the gig last night got invaded with penguins.

Yes, that's a sailor penguin. Straight off the boat.


Gig with the freshest dudes around.

I need to start drinking less coffee (look at the shaky hand!)


This is sad. If you see him, be sure to report it so he can be reunited with those who love him.


Sigh... cloudy skies.

Thursday, 27 September 2012


My valiant steed.


See, now Canada is just teasing me. I know this sun won't be following me back, and it's just. not. fair.


Oh, beautiful town. I will miss you, for certain.


I sometimes wonder how I have friends. Then I realized that most of the people in my life are (thankfully) as weird as me (this photo is deceiving -- the chick loading the dishwasher isn't as normal as she looks).



sigh... why oh why are you so delicious, taffy?


Hm, other brother already went bungee jumping this summer.

.. I suppose I'll have to try to give him diabetes for his birthday instead. Cue Mrs. Lake cookies, salted caramel and lemon curd.

It's a start.


Irish weather training in full force.

Tuesday, 25 September 2012


I love those pieces of your life that come tagged with a story.

I have had the most wonderful privilege of having this ring keep me company all summer.

Now look close -- take a look at those markings on the inside of the band. They're faint, and small, but squint and look closer. This beautiful 22-carat gold sliver of a ring belonged to my great-grandmother. Those inner markings are from the original jeweller in 1912. It has never been melted down, never been resized, has never been tampered with in any way.

It's stunning beauty is in its simplicity. The carat is so high on the ring, the gold looks nearly rose. The width of the band emphasizes its delicacy. But the most valuable visual on this stunning piece of history are the markings and scratches on the outside.

The ring's not perfect, I admit. In fact, it looks somewhat worn and tired, in a way. The surface is dulled by numerous scratches and grooves. And that's what takes my breath away. You can see the life it lived. You can see what it has endured (which is two world wars, two continents and three generations). I marvel at the thought of what it has seen and experienced. What meals it slaved over. How many sheets and socks it laundered. How much agony it suffered. How much raw joy it was conscious of.

Does that not take your breath away?

After an entire summer, I find myself groping for it, and am struck by the loneliness brought on by its absence.


"We're all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone who's weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
                                                                                                                                  - Dr. Seuss

I think that's about right, Dr. Seuss. I think that is just about correct.

Here's to mutual weirdness. May it bind us together forever, and may the memories never fade.


Summer ends. And with it goes the best ten weeks of my life with the most wonderful team of women a girl could ask for.

One last look at my beloved stage and theatre brings my breath to a halt and I wonder... how will I walk away from the warm, golden summer nights and into the cold, dark winter ones?

I think I'll even miss the excruciating heat of those muggy, still Sunday afternoons with nothing but ceiling fans to stir the thick summer air as I gasped beneath my muslin lined skirt and high-necked collar. It was somehow heavenly.

Please (pleasepleasepleaseplease) support summer theatre, people. If you don't, you've no idea what you're missing.



Seriously, just look at that stitching. If you're not impressed, you're dead inside.


Is she? No, she isn't.... oh crap, she is...

The 75 year old in me is emerging once again because yes, you guessed it...

It's the quilt show weekend (insert squeal of delight here, please).


Friday headlines... oh, the horror! Sticky situation, indeed.

I personally think it's an inside job. Regardless, get your syrup before this hit sends maple-confectionary prices through the roof.


Ancient Canadian History (as in 68 years before our country was even born)

We are wee babes.


I'm sure I didn't take this, but it was in my phone... and I like it. *littlecheat*

Ah, a reminder of home from over in Ireland. 


My mother:  What do you want for your birthday dinner? (family tradition)
My brother:  Meat.
My mother:  What kind of meat?
My brother:  All the meats.
My mother:  What else would you like with it?
My brother:  More meat.

My brother, ladies and gentlemen.

(you'll notice I snuck in some bread a roasted beetroot. Brother was not impressed)



... although, for some reason the lighting is different and it's weirding me out.


Best brothers/back flip launchers.


I'm not sure you realize how long this took (the first few shots were of limbs contorted in ways I wasn't sure was possible).

I have never had more water go up my nose than in those few fateful hours.

BUT CHECK OUT THE RESULT... I CAN FLIP BACKWARD (as can anyone over the age of six, I know).

Monday, 24 September 2012


Warm summer rain <3


My old, best friend. I didn't pay nearly enough attention to you all summer, and now that I'm leaving soon I know I'll regret it.

Sunday, 23 September 2012


Aren't these ones beauts? They look like pretty beads -- pretty poisonous beads, that is. BUT still gorgeous. Man, I wish I possessed any amount of horticultural skill. Even just the tiniest bit.

Sunday, 16 September 2012


These flowers are amazing. They're called 'naked ladies'. The leaves bloom earlier, and then die away. Months later, the flowers peak up through the mulch, completely leafless (or naked, if you will) and then grow, delicately, stripped back to only a fragrant little blossom.


Get ready for a blatant flaunting of my alter (75 year old) ego... and her love of flowers and gardening.

She's shameless, really.

Every time I see orchids it makes me think of the Davster's grandmother, and her wall of orchid plants back in Brazil. Stunning plants with a dozen blossoms on them. Brilliant colours against whitewash.


What makes my Sunday better than usual?

When my fruit is sliced into deeeee-lightful architectural designs. Obviously.


Most beautiful drive.


Let's. Play. Ball.

Nosebleed seats on a Friday night with a beer and a hot dog and ma famille. Summer heaven.


Ok, it's super fuzzy (you'll know this by now if you read the blog a lot -- and if you don't, you'll find out quickly -- photo quality is not my strong suit) ...but isn't the view fantastic?!

Christopher Plummer is theatrical royalty. Behold, the throne.


Goodness, there is nothing better than this town, in those moments just before afternoon dips into early evening, and the glow of the sun reaches its arms out to the edge of everything. Sitting by the river, wine opened, food spread out, listening to the water's current sneak past us... it makes me never want to leave.

...people, if you've never spent an evening in Stratford, drop everything you're doing and drive there. Now.


Lovely day for an ice cream and train ride. Seriously, I love my town.