Ebb and Flow –– A Summ’a Holiday Tale

(for your listening pleasure while you read...)

Deb: We just returned from a weeklong holiday with friends. We rented a beautiful beach house and spent a glorious week with Sandy and Greg, two longtime friends whom we see fairly often but have not holidayed with in years. Isn’t it funny when you reach a certain age and “long time friends” replaces “old friends”? I chuckled to myself when I caught myself typing it. These long time friends called us out of the blue with this cottage suggestion, assuming I think that we would not be free, which is usually the case. The fact that we were was in itself a good omen. Riffing off Friday’s blog-post about walking through an open door, we walked through that open door without hesitation and were rewarded tenfold for doing so.

Four ebbin' friends

Even good friends, dear friends, fun friends, can be tough to live with. But this holiday was chilly goodness from the get-go. Easy peasy lemon squeezie into a martini.

Colin and Deb 4-ever!!!!

I marveled as, day after day, we just ebbed and flowed with the tide. Everyone did exactly what they wanted when they wanted, and we all came together as naturally as the sunrise. The same sunrise that none of us saw, by the by. At this point I might moan and shake my head at the regret of that, but it was never my intention to see a sunrise, nor do I think it was anyone else's. For any one of you who might be inclined to ask why we didn’t see a sunrise, my answer would be: “Didn’t want to. Too damn early.” If the sunrise gets its shit together for the 9am slot, I’m in. 

But we did see plenty of sunsets, which we celebrated with Cocktails. Cocktails were held strictly at 5pm, except on those occasions when they were funned over by accident. When this happened someone would invariably start to whine, reminding us to stay within the parameters of the previously established cocktail timeframe.

M'honey

We did make ourselves some delicious simple summer meals and ate as the sun was sinking  (for a fab fun fact on the sinking sun click the youtube link below). We played games at night and, one by one, we disappeared from the day as easily as we had arrived. All different timing, depending on the night and the pepe.

Dishes got washed, meals got cooked, tables got set, wine got poured, and it all worked seamlessly without so much as a rumble. Relaxed, simple, and easy was the order of the day. Someone flowed in, someone flowed out. And the wine joined in with the flowing.

Loving and relaxed

As I lounged with my book, I would think “it would be great to hear some tunes” and before I finished the thought, on came tunes. Or I would bring out chips in a bowl, just as someone else was opening dip. Oh, and in case this affects your holiday plans, there are no chips and dip left in the whole of Huron county.

Any time of the day you could find us sitting together in silence or sitting together laughing our asses off. Isn’t it heaven on a stick when you are so comfortable with people that you can sit in silence?

Morning walk after a storm

Halfway through the week––during kite day, I believe––we employed the notion of the beach cocktail or “pre”-cocktail cocktail. This came in the form of a cold dry rose or a cold beer. Come on! Holiday!!!

Let's go fly a kite

I'm doing it I'm doing it!!!

It was one glorious week that we are hell-bent on repeating. Nothing to do, nothing to distract. The howling thunderstorm replaced the solicitor, and the seagull screech, the hammering of a street reno.

The waves lulled us to sleep and woke us up.

Summ’atime. Go with the flow baby, go with the flow.

Summ'a girl with wine

Barbara: Sigh. I know I’ve had my own holidays, and will continue to do so obviously, but there is something so viscerally lovely about hearing someone else’s holiday experience (well, maybe it requires a Deb-level description, sigh, oh sigh, so good). But still. I love it. 

It’s like watching movies with gorgeous homes and wishing you could live there. (The beach house in Something’s Gotta Give? Oh yeah, baby.) They call it “real estate porn” and I get it. Makes me hot. So, in that vein, I think this kind of post should be called “holiday porn”. Give it to me and give it to me good.

Thanks, Deb, for sharing your most intimate experience ;) 

(and, btw, thanks Deb for this fascinating––and funny––video!)

Happy New Year!

In honour of our first year birthday, we decided to re-vamp our blog a little. Gone are the “Side of Slaw” and “WTF?!” pages (look at our list in the left column). We weren’t really updating them, so… wtf, right? In their place, we now have Deb’s Deco Tips and Barbara’s Easy Recipes. We're hoping that since these new pages are different enough from our regular posts, we'll (hopefully!) be inspired to regularly update them. From now on, we’ll feature a new deco tip and a new easy recipe every second Saturday in addition to our regular blog-posts. We’ve also moved our Bookmarked list to its own page so we can add more books, keep existing ones, and link to all of them in case you want to check them out for yourselves. We'll also be happy to link any of your books to this list.

In the meantime, if you have any great decorating ideas or easy recipes you’d like to share here, just email us at radeckirites at gmail dot com and we'll publish them with links to you and your page.

And for all of you waiting with baited breath as to the winning blog-post of Deb’s blog-draw last Monday, we’ll be posting the winner on Wednesday.

We'll get back to our usual shenanigans after this, but we did want you to know that we’re excited to shake blog-things up a bit. We’re excited at the prospect of chatting with you wonderful peeps for another blogging year. And we’re thrilled that it’s spring and the birds are out. Thanks for all your love and support over the year, and please know that we’re sending you ours.

xo Deb and Barbara

Middle Ages Milestone

Art by Deb's finger

Happy 1st Anniversary, The Middle Ages! It has been an amazing journey filled with new friends and old, and fraught with venting, kudos and wonderings. And we have loved every single minute of it.

Which is why we are sad to say that we have to hang it up. We’re not saying forever. In fact, we NEVER SAY NEVER. But with personal and professional commitments, we are finding ourselves overwhelmed and we both know that is the last thing any of you dear and darling followers would want from us.

So what we have done for our last (for now) blog-post is to compile a little story, each of us taking one sentence from our random archival blogs, trying to give them a flow. Each sentence contains a link, so any sentence you click on will take you to that old blog-post chestnut. We hope you enjoy it.

And please know that at this point the only words we can manage are:

April Fools Day!

As if we would ever leave!!!! Who the heck would we prattle on to?

The part about today’s post is true however. But it is in honour of our 1st anniversary, not our departure. So enjoy. You are stuck with us.

Love, Deb and Barbara

Deb: Dearest Blog Readers, 

Now that I know what I was missing, I ask myself: how could I have gone so long without this???!

I keep telling myself that there is nothing wrong with me just because I engage in verbal solitary intercourse, is there?

I’m a bright girl! I’ve been well edumacated!

But I faked it, faked it up, faked the “love”! 

Oh well—I guess that’s the difference between fantasy and cliché! 

It can take me way back to my days as a child.

Nothing worse than a teenager with a good point. Should be against the law.

Human beings at their best kill me. Their capacity for compassion and empathy is bigger than air. And when we are lucky enough to witness it or be a part of it, we are filled to bursting.

After all, it’s like that scientist said: there is greater diversity in the DNA of a handful of snails than there is in the entire human race!

It makes up wonderfully for all the times we cry for sorrow, doesn’t it? 

Oh and P.S. while I am writing this, the thunder and lightening is cracking in the sky! 

Wasn’t that the most stirring storm? Nothing scary (unless you’re a dog), just lovely cracking and pouring, indeed! You see, we just shared that storm together—beauty. 

Today is one of those days where I find myself embarrassed for the weather. 

“Quit biting … Quit biting … Quit biting.”

It’s a cutting of the apron strings from the other side of the old cliché.

As long as we don’t let the power go to our heads, bwa ha ha…. 

As I watched the Queen approach, I thought of you.

So please, pray for him or think of him because he is our boy. Our boy’s first boy. He sleeps in our bed. He is our family and we are losing him. 

I always loved the age I was right then and there.

I just am. Spontaneous meditation. Joy. Joy. Joy. I am alive.

On our wedding day, I wonder how many of us really take it in when the phrase “for better or worse” is uttered?

My goal is to always try to find that good side.

The other day Deb bit my head off. True story.

I am not judging. 

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!

And gie’s a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll tak a right guide-willy waught,

For auld lang syne.

Barbara: Happy Birthday, Baby!

Hopefully, our poor taxed brains won’t self-combust in this new venture!

I am a chicken-shit. Simple as that.

Have you ever lost something that was really precious to you––and you can’t figure out how the hell you lost it? 

I have still not gotten over that utterly disorienting feeling of confusion I experienced on looking and looking and LOOKING at her and not understanding what the hell I was seeing. 

It took me to hit rock-bottom before I realized I had left myself without that precious life-preserver: a true girlfriend.

It was different for me, this friendship thing. I was the girl in school who had a gang.

I’m getting much better at choosing to embrace who I am over worrying about what other people think.

Sure, they should understand that people might indeed judge them, but they shouldn't live their lives making choices out of fear.

My older self would say that any good friends will do … as long as no one brings expectations or judgment or recrimination. They will fit together—maybe not perfectly or seamlessly, but willingly––because they need it as much as you. 

Why can’t I just say “Thank you” and leave it at that???

And I will share my knowledge with you. It’s not too tough. It goes like this. “Thank you”. 

Deb Got Mad At Me

Barbara: The other day Deb bit my head off.

True story.

It took until today for her to ask my forgiveness.

Deb and I trying to look sexy (with no makeup on
during a ski holiday). Pretend we're mad.

I guess it’s small comfort that she was so contrite about it. She admitted much to me in her apology. She claimed to rue the day. She told me that she deeply regretted her outburst and felt terribly guilty. She even told me that she felt so badly about it she had to confess her transgression to her other best friend––much to that friend’s shock. She wanted to make sure I didn’t hold it against her too much. That we were okay with each other.

I don’t know, guys, it’s hard to offer forgiveness for an affront when … you … didn’t … notice … the  … affront.

Deb and I are not only friends and co-writers, but we are soul sisters. I can’t even imagine her doing something or saying something that would anger me so much as to require contrition, forgiveness, or lost hours of worry. If she bit my head off—as she claims to have done—well, chalk it up to a bad day, or a legitimate but of-the-moment disagreement between two usually compatible friends. But I swear to you—and I am usually a very sensitive soul—I DID NOT NOTICE. I have no idea what she’s talking about.

After we established that the transgression had indeed occurred, we—as dear friends are wont to do (and one of the reasons I LOVE having dear friends)––discussed what actually went down. Turns out Deb wasn’t actually mad at me in that moment, but just irritated in general, and I was the (completely oblivious) target of a momentary (and frankly very subtle) outburst.

An oldie but a goodie.

You know what? Shit happens. Irritation between friends is par for the course, especially those accidental or unintentional clashes. Comes with the territory. And you know what I especially love? That Deb talked to me about it. That we could talk about it together. We are all human in our transgressions, but some of us are also wonderfully humane in our approach to them. Deb, I tip my hat to you. Of course I forgive you, but I also love you for it.

Just, you know, never let it happen again.

Deb: Barb, my neck is soaked with tears. They were orderly tears when they left my eyes, but I was so moved by your loving generosity, I spilled the rest as a result.  Hormones. Yep.  Bad few weeks. But muddling through, and surviving quite nicely, thanks so much.

Thought it was done though, the menopause. Wasn’t, as it turns out. Was not done!!! Still. Hanging in there and working it through. Hmmmnnn.  Official menopause was easier. At least I knew that it was awful all the time ... but on the other hand, at least this time, as willy nilly as it is, I know what I am dealing with. And more importantly, that I’m not going mad. Always an important point when one takes stock at the end of one’s day.

Thanks Barb xoxoxo 

P.S. As I said to Barb earlier when she called me to offer her support, I wish for each of you who are not there yet, a safe, giddy, funny, lovely crossing into menopause. And if it is not thus, I will be your MenoYoda. Something every gal should have. 

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way with Annette

For this month’s three-way, we asked Annette to join us. She’s a regular reader and commenter, a beloved longtime friend of Deb’s, and a new and cherished one of Barbara’s.

Annette: As you ponder today’s post, allow me to immediately disclose I owe my participation herein to the old adage “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know!”. However, before chafing at this preferential treatment, recall the original basis for these lively exchanges was––but charmingly has turned out to be not limited to––the exploration of that most fabulous of manifestations … the female friendship. Now, upon learning that I am middle-aged, female, and a friend to both bloggers, perhaps you’ll agree the burning question becomes, “Why wasn’t I asked to contribute sooner?”.

By way of background, lovely Deb and I go back several life-affirming decades. Gracious Barb and I, once merely seasonal pals bonding annually at Deb’s magical holiday soiree, have seen our relationship flourish courtesy of the exponential power of Facebook. Two of the most incredible women I know, I am beyond grateful for their camaraderie … which leads me to today’s musings.

Having had the magnificent kismet to reach this age and stage, I think a lot about gratitude … specifically the shifting, ephemeral nature of thankfulness … while wondering why it’s so hard for us to truly appreciate our lot. Oh sure, most of us pay lip-service to counting our blessings and all of us can claim occasional bouts of true mindfulness, but it’s the inconsistency that intrigues me. How easy it seems for us to suddenly consider our glasses half-empty instead of half-full…

Case in point, recently I endured an affront courtesy of a family member … not a “Gosh, you people don’t get me!” slight but a really disconcerting dig that normally might send a person to a professional’s couch for an extended period. Intellectually, I understand the perpetrator operates out of ignorance rather than malevolence, yet still emotionally the sting was surprisingly bitter. Suddenly my considerable good fortune was overshadowed by my fixation on this offense.

Wounded thus, I felt compelled to share said transgression with my first-born 21-year-old son. Upon hearing of his beloved mom’s trial, his response was to burst out laughing and facetiously declare, “Well, that’s a surprise!” And so it was––courtesy of his succinct but still illuminating assessment––that I entertained simultaneous realizations. The first was that it’s an extraordinarily efficient shortcut to madness to expect more of people than they are capable of delivering. And two, when I consider the largesse of the forces in the universe that saw fit to deliver the gift of this insightful boy, who knew I knew such a thing and needed only a gentle reminder, gratitude should be my default.

Barbara: Dear, sweet Annette. Just so you readers know, of course I HAD to find out what said affront was, even if Annette wasn’t going to share it here. And, trust me, it’s a doozy. Without compromising Annette’s privacy, let me just say it was a carelessly dropped announcement that revealed a terrible betrayal. The kind of shocking declaration where you would not have blamed her one little bit if her glass had drained completely dry. But our wonderful Annette did what most us here try to do: she put on her rose-coloured glasses, shrugged off her pain, truly noticed the things for which she was most grateful, and shared her beautiful spirit with us.

But the thing is, we all have those moments of cathartic shock in our lives, don’t we? There we are, innocently chugging along, trying to live as good and wholesome lives as we can (by our own definitions), feeling pretty good about stuff––and BOOM, some act of treachery knocks the friggin’ wind out of us and we are left reeling. “Where did that come from?” and “Whhhhhhhyyyyyyyy?”

I’ll give you one of my own examples. My husband and I were just starting our married lives with a new baby when a trusted friend embezzled money from us. Yeah, the kind of friend you share secrets with. The kind you hang out with on lazy weekdays when you’re waiting for the next acting gig. We were a struggling young family and money was very tight, which our “friend” knew. And then we were tens of thousands of dollars in the hole … only to discover that this “friend” had taken all our money. It is a long, tortuous story, but the absolutely worst of it, I swear, was the shock of the betrayal … by someone who was our trusted ally.

The good news? No, we didn’t get our money back. The good news is that we managed to put those rose-coloured glasses back in place, hug each other close, and carry on. To this day, I am grateful for that.

Deb: Barb, I have never heard that story and I am shocked! What a dick. May the bluebird of happiness crap on his birthday cake! And how wise of you to put on your happy faces and move past it. It is with that example that I would like to pay tribute to my dear friend Annette.

Annette is the poster-girl for the expression, “God doesn’t give you any more than you can handle.” And believe me, she has been given more than her fair share of shocking and disastrous issues. And I am here to attest to the fact that she has handled every single bomb with grace and with humour. Annette is one of the most honest, straightforward, fair people I have ever known. She is the real deal. It is easy to be honest and kind when life is running smooth. But when life throws us curves our true mettle is tested. Annette, through it all, has employed her secret weapon and it has seen her through every single time: Humour. Annette can find humour in everything. She never plays the victim and yet she has been victim time and time again. And all the while I can see the wheels turning and she is thinking, “This sucks … but it will make a great story”. She has hung her hat on that mindset and she has been rewarded for her efforts. The universe has seen fit to deliver to her a wonderful loving husband and two gorgeous, smart, magical kids. But she has paid the piper, oh yes. Hopefully the piper now has enough money to take a holiday. Annette could use it.

Annette, a transplanted Torontonian, currently lives in the Buffalo, NY area and makes a living as a freelance writer penning pieces about stuff she knows. Sadly, given that parameter, she won’t be getting rich any time soon. Her move to Western New York was motivated by her marriage to her Math Professor husband with whom she is currently overseeing putting the finishing touches on their four college-student children.

Tapas Friendships

Barbara: It might sound a little demeaning to call a friendship “tapas”. After all, tapas are just little dishes, none a full meal on its own. But think of it: each one is still a chip off the ol’ appetite, a palette-whetter, a delicious morsel in its own right. So maybe not so demeaning, after all, huh???

With the explosion of social networking, I’ve been reading a lot of articles lately about relationships suffering because people are now isolating themselves on the internet, hiding behind “false personas” and “superficial connections”. I have to say that in my experience (so far, anyway) nothing could be further from the truth.

Thanks to Facebook and blogging and email, I have never enjoyed so many tasty hors d’oeuvres of friendships in my life. I get to keep up with old but hardly-seen friends and I get to meet new ones. I know these are not the same as real-life, in-the-same-room, no-holds-barred, you-know-all-my-secrets kind of friendships, but they have turned out to be pretty scrumptious just the same. And very satisfying.

These tapas friendships offer a lot of different flavours in one sitting: the spicy one, the soft one, the sweet, the crunchy, the wild. Each “dish” feeds a different need in me. And each one has sustained me in a different way, much like the finest meals have done, just in smaller portions and in more unexpected preparations.

Tapas friendships seem to offer a lot of unconditionals––maybe because there are so few expectations. No one takes it personally if you don’t engage with every thought. And support is so easy to offer because there are no grudging personal histories. Oh my god, the support! Who had this kind of support 10 years ago? I mean, really? I never even knew it possible to feel such warmth and affection on such a grand scale. And who doesn’t thrive with extra and unexpected servings of attention, love, and encouragement?

In fact, we might be on to something. Maybe we can get rid of those chunts who insist on using the internet to spread hate and villainy by feeding the world one tasty morsel of loving friendship at a time. To one deserving diner at a time.

So don’t be offended if I consider you my tapas. Trust that it means I think you’re tasty and satisfying. And if you let me have yours, I’ll let you have mine.

Deb: I love the tapas friendship. Because in my experience––to your point, Barb––the tapas friend has surprised me again and again. It seems like tiny little tapas (yes I know tiny is redundant), but when the chips are down it serves up as a main course complete with salad, soup, and your choice of rice pudding or chocolate mousse. Because the bottom line is ... people constantly surprise me. Friends I have expected the world from, have sometimes let me down, and friends I expected very little from have stepped up and killed me––just killed me––with kindness and support.

But it does not matter because ultimately, I will happily take all the love and friendship you can give me. At this point in my life I relish every kind word and motivating speech. I will take any positive words, accolades, reinforcements, regards, kudos, loves, likes, or “she’s okay”s that you can offer. Bring me the antipasto of friendship and I will supply the bread and the oil. Happily and gratefully.

And PS: we made Round Two (last round) of the Canadian Blogger Awards for Best Personal Blog 2010!! We want to thank you all for supporting us to get to this round. You are the best readers ever!! Voting closes Oct 26 at noon for this the final round. Apparently you can vote once a day (edited to say: once every 24 hours) … but only if you love us once a day, even just a tapas little :-)

Um.....Yeah.....So, Anyway.....

Deb: Barb phoned me late this afternoon to remind me that it was my blog-post tonight. I always have an issue on a long weekend––as I am sure you all do––because Tuesday becomes Monday in my mind and the week leaps forward on me. So, long story short, I just got the message now––5:30––and I have to shower and go out to dinner for 6:30 and I will be home too late to write a post. SO ... hmmmnnn. What’s new? How are all you guys? Lovely weather, huh? Wow, do I ever have a big bruise on my foot. Still have the weird pounding in my left ear. Just had a good workout. I am watching Brothers and Sisters while I work out and it gives me twice the weight loss benefits. One, because I am sweating, and two, because I am crying. Only one episode to go though and I will be finished the latest season. Hmmmn, so anyway, how are you guys? What’s new? Had a great turkey sandwich today with mayo and cranberries and stuffing. Heaven. Really. Bliss. Uhhh, errrr, Barb and I had a really frantic workday today, but actually got lots done. It was good. Yeah. It was really good. Yeah. Ummm, Barb loved her sandwich too. I have a wart on my finger. What’s that about? Never before in my life. Maybe I am turning into a witch. That would be okay. Give me something to blog about. My doctor is burning the wart off. Keeps coming back. I think this time she might have gotten it for good. So, hey, great. Right? Fingers crossed. Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh … so I am loving my Zumba classes on Saturday. Fun and great workout…………….

.................................................................................. just got back from my shower. Rushed, but really nice. Hot water and soap. Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ bout.

Anywho, it is 6:13 and I gotta go. For realsies. So, yeah, my point of view is meditating today. Shant wake it. Anywhooooooooooooooooooooo...

Barbara: So you feel it, too, Deb? I am so in the same head-space today. Just kinda out of it and wanting naps and drinks on the front porch. And yet, there’s all this … stuff … to do.

Oh! Just found out that we were nominated for a Canadian Blog Award in the Best Personal Blog category … if any of you want to vote for us. But, of course, you don’t have to. But it would be super-awesome if you did. But no worries.

Anyway, because it’s that kind of day and we really need to leave you with some kind of food for thought, we’re going to post what is maybe the funniest thing we’ve ever seen. Truly. Plus you get food for thought from Ricky Gervais. Which is kinda a neat combo. 

PS: Man, those turkey sandwiches were awesome. 

What I Noticed

Barbara:Today is Thanksgiving in Canada, but the thought of writing a post about all the things I’m grateful for—while very worthwhile (I am a huge fan of gratitude, HUGE)—felt kinda, how do I say … uninspiring. As a wholehearted devotee of the emotion, gratitude is something I try to revel in daily, not just over turkey and mashed potatoes.

But as a somewhat beleaguered possessor of an always-churning, usually-racing, problem-solving, conundrum-facing, event-replaying, needless-worrying, very busy mind, I thought I would use Thanksgiving as an opportunity to shut the ol’ blabbermouth of a noggin up and just plain notice stuff. Little stuff. So I took my dog for a walk through the urban residential area where we live and I opened my eyes.

I noticed that on a beautiful warm autumn day a lot of men like to wash their cars. But not one woman seems to.

I noticed that swarms of gnats can suddenly appear out of nowhere and enshroud your head, getting stuck in your eyelashes and down your mouth. I noticed how really gross that is.

I noticed that if several bright red splotches on the ground appear in my peripheral vision, I will immediately and without doubt assume there was some horrible crime for which these splotches of fresh blood are the only remaining evidence. But then on closer look, I noticed that sometimes fallen maple leaves can turn so vividly red, they look exactly like splotches of fresh blood. I also noticed that I can feel quite embarrassed at my ridiculous assumptions even if no one else is privy.

I noticed that a lot of cyclists like to wear the Lycra outfits favoured by Tour de France athletes. I wonder why. I noticed not everyone looks very good in skin-tight Lycra. But then they’re exercising, so good for them.

Down by the lake, I noticed that when swans tip their heads and upper bodies over to troll for food, their white elliptical butts look exactly like elegant vases bobbing on the water.

I noticed that a woman’s perfume can waft across the air from quite a distance, even if it is very delicate. I noticed how much I like the scent of delicate perfume.

I noticed that most people when they pass you will not look at you, but if they do and you smile at them, they will usually (but not always) smile back. One older woman’s face went from dour and angry to the most angelically beautiful smile I’d ever seen. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. I noticed how I didn’t like the people who didn’t smile back.

I noticed the house by the lake that’s been abandoned for the thirteen years we’ve lived here has its garage door open and its years of ruined contents spilling out. Maybe someone will finally fix the place up. I noticed an old pillow by the gate on the grass; it still had its pillowcase on and was spattered with grime and dust. It looked like a nap by the gate had been intended then abandoned many years ago. I noticed that the house still looks like it’s haunted. And maybe the house is haunted because nothing except the pillow and garage have changed in all these years, even though the house is on a beautiful property with a primo spot by the lake.

I noticed that when two young brothers play in the leaves together, even if they are talking about monkeys flying in the sky, they can still have unabashed, unconditional love pouring from their eyes. The kind of unrestrained expression you almost never see pouring from grown-up people’s eyes.

I noticed how good it feels to shut my brain up for a few glorious minutes to notice things. Especially after turkey and mashed potatoes and a serious helping of gratitude.

Have you noticed something interesting today?

Deb: I noticed when I was reading this that my puppy was whining. I noticed my husband’s top lip pushes out when he dresses a turkey and in that moment I took time to notice how much I love him. And not just because he is doing the turkey. I noticed that the pilot light on the fireplace behind my head makes the sound of a tiny roaring fire when not on. Kinda like a fireplace in a mouse’s hole. I noticed that the birds outside who are scavenging the last of the apple berries on our tree all have different personalities, except for the ones that don’t. I noticed that when I hold in my pee while I am completing a task I am really proud of myself, even though someone said it isn’t good to do that. I noticed that when the sun hits our green and white variegated leafed bush just right, it looks like snow. I noticed that my camera charge light is on, which means I can take some pictures at our goddaughter’s birthday today. I noticed that her gift is wrapped but I haven’t yet signed the card. I noticed in the sunlight that the grey jacket I wore today does not match the plaid colours in my new pants. What I thought was a grey stripe, is pale yellow. I further noticed that I don’t care. And I certainly noticed that Thanksgiving ROCKS. Gorgeous warm weather, sunlight, and a smattering of cloud, the leaves giving off glorious colours, the smell of turkey and a beautiful table. And plenty to be thankful for. And thanks to Barb for inspiring me to notice too. I watched the wee Bairn chase a red leaf today on our walk and noticed that I was laughing out loud.

Happy Thanksgiving to all our Canadian and British friends! Gobble Gobble. Or Tofu Tofu!!!

And in a Thanksgiving-inspired homage to “the bird”, here’s a truly amazing bird for us all to admire (you have to watch to the end––it's astounding) (PS thanks, Cheryl, for sharing it with us!)

Video Of A Typical Day In The Writing LIfe Of Deb And Barb

First of all, thanks to everyone for the fun and games over the last two days on our Fun And Games post. We just loved watching the story––and the computer-tweaks––unfold. 

Today we have something a little different for you. Hope you enjoy it as much as we did making it (that might be hard...).

And thanks, Luke Mochrie, for all the help! 

xo Deb and Barbara

Gestures Of Love

Barbara: It feels like a natural segue for me to leapfrog from Happy Anniversary! to another favourite topic of mine: different expressions of love.

Many years ago, a friend lent me a non-fiction book she thought was really fascinating. I can’t for the life of me remember what the book was called, but I still very much remember the subject matter. It explored the relationship between how we express love to others and how we want love expressed to us. The authors pinpointed some classic expressions of love. If I remember correctly, they were: offering a helping hand or acts of kindness, giving gifts or love-tokens, uttering words of love and encouragement, and (apparently favourite expression for the average male) sex.

My friend, Charlotte––as well as being very loving with words and encouragement––is queen of the gifts or tokens. Something I’ve never been very good at myself. It doesn’t matter how small the event, Charlotte will find some sweet gift to acknowledge it. You had a good meeting with a producer? She’ll leave a card in the mailbox, patting you on the back. You feel a bit under-the-weather? A bouquet of flowers will land on the doorstep. In all our years of friendship, I don’t think I’ve ever even thought of making these kinds of gestures (beyond the obvious birthdays and hospital stays), although I am repeatedly touched and amazed that she does. Deb, while great with gifts too, is the fiercest encourager of anything you do, might do, think about doing, or have done (as you can see by her many welcome pats on the back here). My husband … well, you can just guess which gift he keeps on giving.

We know them all, right? The person who cooks a freezer-full of food when someone is in need; the strong silent type who putters around the house doing chores; the cheerleader who supports everything people do; the kisser and nuzzler; the leaver of little treasures on the bedside table and little notes of endearment in lunch boxes. What complicates the premise––according to the book––is that most of us offer our love in the exact way we most want to receive it, but often our love-gestures––surprise, surprise––don’t necessarily match up with our beloved’s ideals of love.

In all the years since I read this book, I still find myself thinking about this core idea. Is it true? Do we express outwardly what we most desire ourselves? Do we know the essence of love so well (the feeling of it, the missing it when it’s not there), but then not understand what actually makes it tick? Because it ticks on a slightly different metronome for each of us? And, maybe most importantly, do we sometimes not know it’s love because it’s offered up in a way we don’t “recognize”? I mean, let’s say someone’s ideal expression of love is sex, and this person and his beloved are in a tough situation, and this someone reaches out for sex to express love and be comforted by love, but his partner wants words, needs to talk it through, is repelled and offended by the thought of sex at this of all times, wonders how he can be so selfish right now, and he is left reeling, wondering how words can possibly ever soothe this pain or bring the two of them closer together. And they both find themselves hurt and disoriented because they each want to express love and, sadly, feel rejected by their lover’s gesture because … they don’t recognize it for what it is. I mean, does this sound familiar? Truth be told, it does to me … uh, I mean, to my friend * whistles nonchalantly *.

Anyway, I’ve thought about my own love expressions-slash-needs and, while I can see myself in the wordsmith and the cheerleader, these gestures don’t necessarily capture my personal idyll. I’ve actually come to realize that the love-gift that I offer most wholeheartedly, most lovingly and however imperfectly, is my gift of listening. When I realized this, I had to consider the idea for a while and ponder how it reflected back to me as a need. And then it hit me: it’s because it’s so important to me to be heard.

That, my friends, was a moment of truth. What’s yours?

Deb: And today I will call upon my dear Barb to give me the gift of not expecting me to respond in a coherent way to this. I love this post and I have so much to say in the face of it. But I have been suffering a migraine since noon and it is not giving way to words, I am afraid. So I will take a win on the fact that I could read this and comprehend this and be motivated to express myself around it. But given the givens, I will ask for Barb’s gift. Let me leave it at this. Inspired but unable to express. I am a bee-stung head looking for relief.

Barbara: I hear you, Deb!! Poor thing. (Maybe you can weigh in on the comments-section when you feel better.) In light of Deb’s migraine, I’d still love to hear your thoughts.

Old Friends

Barbara: My first blog-post ever was about friendship—how I was quite unfit to be a real friend for the longest time because I had gotten into a bad habit of only being a nurturer and caregiver. I had no idea how to just sit back and enjoy the reciprocity of a good friendship. When I discovered this, I committed myself to real change. Which is when and how I found Deb.

But the exceptions that prove this rule are the friendships that began before my earnest "helicopter-friending". I am lucky enough to have some lifelong friendships that somehow managed to bypass all my usual pitfalls. I think the reason is that these friends who I only saw once or twice a year didn't have a chance to be held hostage by my secret Super-Nurturer. I didn’t have time to sneak away, tear off my glasses and button-down sweater, and don my latex super-hero garb and and laser-bangles, then clasp them to my breast and heeeeaaal. I had to just … yeah, sit back and enjoy the reciprocity of good friendship.

Twenty years ago this year, two of these lifelong friends—Sean dates back with my husband and I to university, and his (very welcoming) wife, Ann—began a tradition that continues to this day. They invited us, along with another couple—John and Sandy, who were also great friends since university––to visit them at their home for a weekend. The catch? By some miracle of timing, we had all just had our first babies. Sean dubbed it BabyFest.

It was a fest indeed. We ate incredible food, drank as much as we could given our parental states, and shared stories (oh yeah, and we changed diapers, wiped drool, and snuck away with a baby when they wouldn’t settle). Two days later, we stumbled our respective ways, vowing to do it again the next year.

And twenty years later, we’ve never let a single thing get in the way of getting to our annual fete. Our kids have grown up together—despite rarely being able to see each other outside of our get-togethers. This fact never stopped them from forming enduring friendships with the BabyFest offspring, with whom they can always somehow share their deepest feelings. Kinda like their parents. While the growing children gamboled about in whatever retreat we had finagled (everything from a windswept house, to a gay man’s living homage to all things Christmas, to my sister’s cottage on an out-of-the-way lake), the adults forged their love and respect for each other through eating and drinking splurges that may rival ancient Roman feasting without the, you know, orgies and stuff (remember, not into that—see Just Your Average Swingers).

BabyFest lasts three to four days, during which each family hosts one adults’ dinner, one kids’ dinner, and one brunch and doesn’t do a thing the other meals. It’s lovely. This year some of the “kids” (the oldest are all now officially university-attending adults, argh) did a dinner retrospective of their most memorable kids’ dinners. I think hotdogs on skewers, tacos, and root beer floats figured large. The adults are all foodies and have covered just about every country’s fare in themed dinners, from Ethiopian to British to Hawaiian. Complete with costumes, mood-music, and party favours. We take our feasting very seriously.

And there is such solace and relief—especially when times are a little rough––in seeing our dear friends and knowing we can both relax and let loose. I think the kids think we’re a little off our rockers. But then again, apparently I don’t care what the kids think—not for the three days of BabyFest. That said, watching the seven BabyFest babies grow up has been a fascinating process—like the famous British doc, Seven Up, it’s like having a microcosm of people’s lives as they go from their youngest selves to grown-ups, always themselves, of course, but incrementally changed. And there is enormous gratitude that all seven of them have gone along for the ride, never rolling their eyes at our tradition and, in fact, embracing it with as much gusto as their parents. It turns out the BabyFest babies are prepared to go the distance with this holiday—vowing even to attend when their own parents need their diapers changed, their drool cleaned, and their to-do’s settled.

I swear to you, it’s worth trying. Although hard-hats are recommended.

 BabyFest photo from 1996 and then recreated in 2007

Deb: I have listened for nine years to Barb’s building excitement as BabyFest approaches. Not once has the event not lived up to the anticipation, which is pretty incredible. There is nothing like beautiful tradition. I love that the kids have never strayed from their devotion to it either. They have never gone through a phase where it was “lame” or where other things in their lives have taken priority. May it always be this way. Long live BabyFest!