Shopping With Dad

Deb: Today, as is our habit, I was grocery shopping with my dad. Several times during our shop together he said, “You should write about this,” making a joke, of course, but kinda meaning it too. So....

Shopping with my dad.

My dad is 85-years-old. He likes to go shopping. When he was younger he was a gourmet chef. He would prepare wonderful meals for us all the time. I grew up enjoying baked Alaska flamed at the table. We had large profiterole trees at Christmas, filled with fresh cream, caramel dripping from its rounded branches. Beef Wellington adorned with pastry autumnal leaves would appear at a dinner party or Dad would cook an entire pig on a spit for a neighbour’s bbq. Gourmet Magazine was his bible. Dad actually guested on many local cooking shows.

Dad is in the chef's cap with my Uncle Don! 

Dad is on the right. Our friend Murray is on the left looking on.

He does not love to cook anymore. Cooking, his lifetime hobby, is now a chore.

I can remember watching him sit with my baby brother on his lap while he read cookbooks to him, putting so much expression and passion into them, you would have thought he was reading Robert Munch or Huckleberry Finn.

Cooking, next to my Mom, has been his lifelong passion and hobby. So despite what a painful and empty chore it has become of late, old habits die hard, and when Dad is in the market he loves looking at the beautiful foods. My favourite moments are spent watching him stand at the meat counter and reminiscing. Actually bloody well reminiscing about meals gone by and cuts of beef my mother used to eat and now doesn’t!!!  He loves to describe what he would do with a pork loin or a beef tenderloin and what the side dishes would be. And of course, no weekly shopping trip would be complete without our ritual of talking about the mustards and how they only come in squeeze bottles and how he sprayed the entire kitchen when he was trying to get mustard out of the squeezy bottle. He also falls into despair when considering the new liquid detergent!  “Why? Why?” says my dad. And my favourite of all, uttered every five minutes is, “This store is starting to tick me off!” sprinkled with a few, “Boy, that’s gone up!” as he scans the prices. My dad can forgive anything except bad overpriced produce!

But he loves it. Loves the outing. Loves the connection to his old life. He may not want to cook it when he gets home, but he sure wants to step into the nucleus of it again. He wants to go back to a time when shopping and golf were his exquisite passions. The grocery store can take him there in an instant and he comes alive savoring every second. I swear to you, I watch him as we shop and I can only compare him to a retired athlete running onto the field again for another toss of the pigskin. The difference is, my dad is wondering how to turn the pigskin into a savoury appetizer. In his day he would get up on a Saturday and go to the St. Lawrence Market and he would know and chat with every vendor about their wares. He would choose his cheeses and meats and breads with loving care.

And he still is. He is doing it as much as he can. Every aisle we go down he says, “I need to find a nibble for your mother, something she might love to have.” Although it is a packaged bag of caramels or muffins, he is still putting the thought into it. He is still playing out that role. He is doing the best with his skills and, even if the menu is wieners and beans, he is still trying to impress my mother, still trying to make her happy. And when he cooks for her, she still tells him she loves it, wieners, beans and all.

Today when we wound our way to our parking spot, slowly but surely, Dad said, “My pants are falling down,” and damned if they weren’t. I hitched up the back of Dad’s pants as we pushed the cart to the car door. He laughed and said, “You should write about this.”

Barbara: I knew this was going to be a killer post, Deb, and it is. In every sense of the word: kills with its sentiment, with the nostalgia of something lost (or going), kills with the sheer and utter love. As many of you might know, I’m not around right now—off on holiday with my husband—and I haven’t had a chance to read all your amazing comments and thoughts and dreams. I am looking forward to a quiet moment when I get home to really savour them. But this post, Deb, took me to another place, both for the memories it evoked in my own experience, and for the tenacity and spirit with which you guys navigate this new world of “different”. Chef’s hat off to you and your dad.

How To Travel With Friends

Barbara: Since Deb and I and the boys just got back from our amazing trip to Costa Rica, I thought it might be fun to start a convo about traveling with friends. I mean, let’s face it: it’s one of those adventures that sounds appealing in theory, but often ends in quasi-comic disaster. We’ve all heard the stories of a group of friends heading off together to some distant land, only to find their dreams of sun-dappled rest, smart cocktails, and scintillating conversation suddenly morph into nightmares of personality clashes, mismatched expectations, and money mayhem.

First off, I will say this: Phil and I and Deb and Colin make EXCELLENT travel partners. When the kids were younger, we traveled together over several years to ski in Panorama, BC. My memories of those trips just burst with giddy laughter, silly game-playing, and sassy cocktail hours. 

2005: Zoolander was the movie theme for our first shared Panorama trip:
sun and wind whipped, that's right, we're supermodels... 

And the boys? Brandishing "Le Tigre" and "Blue Steel", of course.

So we knew going in that Costa Rica wouldn’t be ruined by unexpected conflict.

But why do we travel so well together? I’m afraid mutual love and admiration are not enough when you’re in close quarters. But here’s what does work:

1.     Let things slide. Go in with a come-what-may attitude and you will evade a LOT of conflict. This is rule #1 for very good reason!

2.     That said, do some planning ahead. Compromise is 9/10s of the law of travel. Like this:

3.     Agree on how to deal with money matters ahead of time. We split any bills we received (asking the server to accommodate this at the start of our meals) to avoid that clunky “my turn, your turn” quandary. We also agreed on how much we would tip. It may feel a bit awkward at first, but believe me, it’s way less awkward than suddenly realizing you hate those ungrateful-heathens-formerly-known-as-friends for taking such blatant advantage of you or for being such social idjits. Not that this has ever happened to us, but this seems to be the number one complaint in those nightmare-traveling-with-friends scenarios.

4.     Agree on what you’re going to do to some degree. Some people look forward to spending the week just lying on the beach, some prefer exploring and shopping, some a mix of both. If you plan ahead, even just a little, you can avoid the frustration of either being that guy who’s always bored and disappointed or listening to that guy who’s always bored and disappointed. The best part of this preemptive plan is that some of the divides occur within a couple, so now individuals can potentially enjoy more cake whilst also having it as people split off in diverse groups to do what most appeals to them. This rule applies to traveling with your kids too, btw. When we go on hot-weather holidays as a family, Stefanie and I prefer beach, book, and snorkeling, while Phil and Michele go for the diving. Not only does splitting the group allow for everyone’s tastes to be satisfied, but it gives you great re-cap talks at the end of the day over vacation dinner.

5.     Waiting for others can be a pain. It’s okay to agree to disagree about what time to get up, or eat a meal, or get a drink. This is everyone’s holiday. We would often let happenstance guide us in a “we’re sure we’ll bump into you at some point” kind of way. Even amongst the couples themselves. Phil might decide he wants to sit by the pool instead of waiting in the room while I shower and “beautify”. Deb and Colin might decide they want to get up early and sit by the lodge fire instead of waiting for us to get our sweet asses out of bed. That kind of thing.

6.     And last but not least—and this comes NOT from personal experience, but from sharing a resort week with guests and kinda getting to know them from afar—but try, please please try, not to bicker. Bickering is so … ugly. It sounds petty and feels irritating. It’s not the Muzak you want in the soundtrack of your trip. Every resort trip we’ve ever taken has included some version of the Bicker McBickersons. I don’t how they do it, but they manage to suck the light from the very equatorial sun itself. While these aren’t my own friends, I’ve felt sad and empathetic for the poor sods forced to travel with them. If you can’t say anything without bickering, don’t say….yadda yadda.

Now it’s your turn. Any great tips (and/or tales) to add to this list???

Deb: Barb, I think you pretty much covered it. All the potentially awkward things were taken care of and that left it open for relaxing, easy travel.

I do hate the deciding what time breakfast is on a trip, though. I love it, of course, when there is something planned and we can all meet an hour or so before said event to eat and chat with anticipation. But on the non-scheduled days, I love just saying, “See you at breakfast.” That way the early birds can go down for coffee and meet the later birds when they arrive. We did this on our trip and it was perfect. If one couple had eaten they would join the other for a second or third cuppa. No one felt pressure.

The only thing I do not enjoy on a trip—and we only had to endure it once (LOL)—is shopping with boys. Boys. Shopping. No. Now, in fairness, Phil is not too bad because at least he was interested in maybe getting himself something, although he did say, “Why are you girls going to the closest shop first? Why not do this shop at the end???”  Oh Phil. Poor well-intentioned Phil. The answer is that we must “scout”, boys! We must know what is nearest the hotel. In this case, the shop right outside the gates at The Harmony had all the treasures we could hope for. Had we not “scouted”, we would have spent our budgets before we even landed there. Rookie mistake, Phil, rookie mistake.

However, and I say this with love ... compared to my husband, Phil is one of the Sex and the City girls when it comes to shopping. My husband abhors shopping. Bless him.  And the beauty of him is, he does not try to hide it. We went into a very chic men’s shop and Phil looked around at a few things. Colin stood outside. When I poked my head out the door, this is how the convo went:

Me (holding up stunning simple gorgeous fabric T-shirt): “Honey, I am going to buy you this shirt!”

Him: “I don’t want it, thanks. I already have a shirt.”

And so it goes. 

London Diary: Solitary London Day Five

Deb: Rough night. My back kept waking me up asking me to get help. Finally I capitulated and booked a massage for tonight. I love the concept of the night massage as you can just fall into chill mode into sleep mode into dream mode afterwards. I am getting a soothing pressure point massage that I pray helps me. Being on pins and needles is never best, be it literally or figuratively.

Today was stellar. Woke up late––almost 10, which was reflective of the fitful back sore sleep. I feel I need to state where the responsibility lay lest the bed should feel guilty. If ever a bed should be off the hook, it’s this bed. This bed of comfort, this bed of cosy, this bed of sink. So bed is exonerated. Thank you, bed.

I headed out around noon leaving husband to his bath and very very full day of rehearsals, wardrobe and live audience shoot.

I set off to explore the area around our hotel, the old and grand Langham. The hotel supplied me with an audiotape and earbuds for my sojourn. The tape lasted exactly ten minutes before it conked out, but here is what I gleaned about the Langham. The site of the hotel was originally the private country home (yes, country) of the third Lord Foley in 1797. He secured an undertaking in perpetuity from the landowner, the Duke of Portland, that no future building would block his view northbound from his home of Regent Park. This resulted in Portland Place being the widest street in London today. It is home to many embassies and upscale law offices and businesses of the schmansy ilk. In 1814, the architect John Nash bought the entire kit and caboodle when bossy Lord Foley (no relation to Dave) went bankrupt. The hotel had its original opening on Saturday June 10^th, 1865. The Langham was now London’s biggest and finest hotel and its claims include the very first “rising room” (lift-elevators) in the world. It would take me fifty blogs to describe all the firsts, ups, downs, fires, renos that took place in the Langham, but it is wonderful to stay here and be a part of her grand history. Better than a swank white boutique hotel any old day. Some of the noted guests and residents of this hotel have included Marie Louise De La Ramee, Oscar Wilde, Sir Richard Burton (the explorer––not of Liz), Algernon Swinburne the poet, Robert Browning, Sir John MIllais the artist, Lord Lytton the politician, Wilkie Collins the author, William Allingham the poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Mark Twain the author, Colin Mochrie the improvisor and Deb McGrath the blogger. The last two were left out of both the book and the audiotape due to a horrendous error in judgment. I mean, Mark Twain??? COME ON!

The bookstore I went into to buy The Little Princess. Who's this guy?????

So this ends my tasting sampler of the Langham and the blog continues from this point with my day.

I did the area of Marylebone, which is very near the hotel, very posh and very charm charm charming! What isn’t here? I did some shopping, I won’t lie to you. I bought two pairs of shoe/booties and a pair of slippers. A casual dress, a blouse, a wallet and a scarf. But the area is so wonderful that I could have just window-shopped. LIES. Good one. Almost bought that myself. Then I was off to Regent’s Park for a long stroll. The last shop I was in offered to keep my packages for me so I did not have to return to the hotel before exploring the park, so that was awesome. The park was dressed for fall but still clinging to its summer finery. I could have walked for days but my stiff and aching back was a constant reminder of each step I trod.

R.P. Merman and mermaids––look at the algae!

Late October. Are you kidding me?

Regent's Park

But the best better bestest part of my day was wrapped up in conquering a hate/fear/discomfort of mine. I was determined that I was going to face it and I did. I ATE ALONE––twice. Lunch and dinner. Lunch was soooooooooooo good. It was at a bistro called La Fromagerie and it was stupendous. It combines meats and or cheeses and fruits with wine pairings. Going back with my husband to this one! Charm personified. And I did not rush. I lingered. I did not bury my face in a book. I owned it. I looked around. I drank in the ambiance, hoisting a nice Barolo in my paw and I smiled at people, unashamed of the fact that I was at a “one top”. 

La Fromagerie

Lunch––gorgonzola, pear, salad perfect wine.

Chairs you can rent by the hour, day or season. Wow!

A delightful little shop. The owners pup sleeping in a window that says:
Music, Japanese tea and Sweets. Dogs are very welcome.

Queen Mary's Gates leading to the inner circle of her gardens.

The best moment of this Deb-in-progress occurred tonight for dinner when I went to a very charming tiny Italian restaurant near the hotel that Colin and I had been eyeing. When I walked in, the owner was crestfallen to see that I was on my own––translation: girl meal. Bad tip. He attempted to sit me in the corner by the drafty door and I went there, as is my wont. Suddenly I turned to him and said, “Excuse me, is that table by the window taken?” YES I PEED A LITTLE. He said, “No, but we are booked up later for the entire night.” I said (A DRIBBLE MORE), “I will only be about an hour and I would love to have that table to people-watch, as I am alone.”  Yes, it’s true, I said “as I am alone.” Working the Jane Eyre vibe and might have even affected an accent, can’t be sure. Seemingly in a trance, he lead me to the good table by the window. And I sat there, tickled pink with myself, if not a tad damp.

Left the restaurant and headed to the hotel where I got an amazing massage to help my injured back. Sadly (did not think of this) that I am so badly bruised from my chiro and massage therapists attempts that he could not work on the exact area. But. Or I should say BUTT, he worked around it. And I feel wonderful. Waiting for my husband to come home from the first taping! I chose to give him one taping for free, as it were, but I will be back here tomorrow with a full report of “Trust Us With Your Life”. A great day. Solitary, it’s true. But I get on so splendidly with me so ... it’s good. 

London Diary, Day Four: Random London Day Four

Deb: Today was a lovely day in Londontown, but we did not set out to do anything of particular note. We had chores to take care of and so we set off to Covent Garden to stroll around and hit the market where the chores would be struck off the list. We had a lovely day in and around Covent Garden, shopping and watching street performers. We found a great little Italian restaurant and had a superb lunch, thankfully as it is 8:40pm and Colin is still at rehearsal. We bought four wonderful first edition prints done in 1931 of Peter Pan for the powder room we are updating. We purchased them in the quaint shop in a little alley of bookshops in Covent Garden where we strolled together the first time we came to London. On that first trip we got two beautiful prints there, late 1800’s, which hang in our dining room still.

The four prints we bought and are in love with.

As we walked back to the hotel to drop things off, we passed a gorgeous church that had signage announcing that it was being restored to its original Victorian state and all were welcome to come in and worship or just see the restoration in progress. I've attached photos of both the prints and the church, which will not do either of them justice, but hopefully you will enjoy.

The reno of the Victorian church. You can see the chaps on the scaffold trying to fit an idol.

After that, we came back and I promptly fell sound asleep with the heating pad on my poor struggling back. I woke up and Colin left for rehearsal and I ventured out to get these mugs I had seen commemorating her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and her 60-year anniversary as monarch. A perfect little whimsical design done in cameo of her in wellies and trench, corgies in tow. Love them!

The delightful precious mugs! Aren't they sweet?

So because I do not have a ton of stuff for today, I thought I would include some random points of interest that have happened over the last few days. I will do these using photos with captions. Tomorrow I plan to get on my horse early and to have some facts and fun shots for you all. Okay, really hungry now. May have to go into mini-bar and eat Pringles.

Children on their school break taking intensive courses on becoming
bikers in the big city. How great is that?

The love nest of Liz and Dick that they hid in right after Cleopatra. Lots of sex in that house!

The home of Annie Lennox.

Sunset from our room (on the rooftops of London ... caaa wa' a sight).

P.S. Just as I typed my last word, my husband came in and the whole bunch of us went out to a fab Indian restaurant for dinner. So I did not have to eat the Pringles!

London Diary, Day Two: A New Day Has Dawned In London Town

Deb: Woke up, got outta bed, dragged a comb across my head ... ahh, the plagiarism that England inspires.

But I did. Got up, had breakfast, and my husband and I worked out together in the gym. Or as we like to call it, the gym of no return. We could not find it forever and a day. Then after our workout, we could not get out. They finally put us on the freight elevator to take us to the lobby, gave us enough food to survive on, and sent us towards are room. Needless to say, the trek to and from the gym was a bigger workout than the real deal.

Then we met friends for lunch and it was delightful. These are friends that we only met four years ago in NYC at a lovely little hotel while we were setting the boy up in his residence. They have become dear friends and we are inspired by each visit we share with them. Isn’t that great?

Then it was off to the Apple store to get help with my ipad app: Sketchbook Pro. Waited an hour for my appointment only to be told that it is an app that has nothing to do with Apple. But the genius who helped (meant to be literal, not sarcastic) knew the app and steered me towards a youtube help video which I am about to consume.

After leaving our London friend and my husband, I may have inadvertently wandered into some stores where purchases were forced upon me. I bought the best coat that I have had ... since the last best coat I bought. And shoes that can only be described as liquid metal slide slippers. If only I played the guitar one would think I was born wearing them. One funky wool vest and a white smocked shirt later (my weakness)––OH HELL what isn’t?––I was done. But in a funny little way, my fave purchase of the day was my tiny iphone 4 cover by Cath Kidston who is so girly, so flowery girly, so “I enjoy being a girly”  that that she makes me want to burn anything brown or taupe. I love her. Love. Her. And her stuff.

Enclosed is the iphone cover. Are you kidding me? Do you soooooooo get it?  Girly London Bliss! 

Oh and by the by, feeling better. Not perfect. But better. What more can a girly girl ask for? 

I AM NOT A THIEF!!

Deb: I am not a thief and I won’t be treated as one. There is a new “solution” that some

retailers have embraced to stop theft in their stores. The store Over the Rainbow in Toronto takes your bags and puts them behind the counter until you are done shopping, causing you to have to wait in line until a salesperson is free so they can return your packages when you want to leave. This is particularly annoying if you’ve only been looking and have no purchase to wait in line for. I have hated it since the day they started it. It reeks of unfair and insulting.

I am not a thief and will NOT pay the price for those who are.

The chain store Aritzia has gone one step farther in their witch-hunt. They take your purse and lock it in a drawer. THEY TAKE YOUR PURSE AND LOCK IT IN A DRAWER.

First time they did this I was flabbergasted, but like a good polite little Canadian I took it on the chin and surrendered my purse. SURRENDERED MY PURSE even though I AM NOT A THIEF. A friend said to me recently that after being asked to surrender her purse she said, “Well, how do I know I can trust the employees with my purse? How do I know you are not going to steal from me?” Well, the young girl looked at her like she had been struck and said defiantly, “I don’t steal”, and my friend said, “Well, neither do I, and I will NEVER set foot in here again.”

The other week I had to go in there and get a gift certificate for my niece for Christmas. All I wanted was to go straight to the cash and receive said certificate, but I was informed that to do so, I would have to first SURRENDER MY PURSE. To which I replied that I would need my FUCKING PURSE to make said purchase. She got the manager who didn’t even have the decency to be red-faced about it. She said that taking my purse was a precaution in case I wanted to “look around”. I said that I did not and that I would never “look around” in this store again. I purchased my gift card, shaking and fuming and marched out, never to darken their doorstep again.

I understand that stores are having theft issues, but that is NOT my problem. I may have mentioned this before but I AM NOT A THEIF! Hire security, put those wiry ropes on merchandise or ask your staff to watch for theft instead of chitchatting.  YOU DO THE WORK. IT’S YOUR FUCKING STORE!

And one more thing ... get your hands off my purse!

P.S. I am now officially boycotting any and all stores that do this and I am taking my letter to the papers, minus the “fucks”. This has gone too far. We are far to accepting of these insults. I am mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore. Hmmmmmm–catchy phrase!

Barbara: Wow. I’m glad I never went into these stores this mad season. That is abominable! And shocking. And just plain wrong. I will join your boycott.

PS on a happier note: my younger daughter woke me up at 2:45am last night so we could go out on the front step and watch the lunar eclipse together. It was magical. The sky was completely clear with crisp points of starlight, and in the centre, the big, high moon, blushing red from solar shadow. First full-moon lunar eclipse on a Winter Solstice in over 300 years!!

We sat and stared for 10 minutes before we got too cold (and tired) and went back inside. There’s the goodness of this beautiful world. And no one tried to steal anything from us.

Parting Of The Seas

Barbara: This is a phenomenon I notice all year long, but I notice it particularly at holiday time

(is “phenomenon” the right word?) and I couldn’t resist asking if you’ve ever noticed it yourselves.

First, let me set my phenomenon-question up: I have this thing I do whereby I “ask” for a parking space if I need one and it never fails: a parking spot appears where and when I most need it (I remember discussing this phenomenon on one of your blogs recently, but dang it if I can remember which one). Anyway, I’ve become rather “famous” in my little circle for my Parking Fairy miracles. Don’t ask me who I think I’m asking. It’s not God. If I believed in a super-deity, I would NEVER waste his/her time on my parking dilemmas. But whoever/whatever it is, it/they are kind and benevolent enough to grant my parking wishes. (Okay, I totally remember comparing parking fairy stories with Hollye, am I right?—and her question, which is another of my own, is why don’t I feel entitled to ask the Publishing Fairy or the Casting Fairy or the Producing Fairy for their help. Anyway, I digress…)

So, this Parking Fairy goes around sprinkling her fairy dust and I believe with all my heart that she/he manifests some kind of universal control. Which brings me to my actual question:

When you’re out and about, rushing to and fro, trying to get chores done, trying to get home on time, knowing there are a million things at home that also need tending, have you ever noticed that sometimes the seas of cars or people around you either part to make your journey easier, or they merge in your path to make you stop, hesitate, and wait? I notice this happening all the time and it kinda freaks me out.

Let’s say I’m grocery shopping. I’m wheeling my cart down and around aisles like a possessed amasser-of-goods, and everywhere I turn, someone appears out of NOWHERE wheeling their own cart which they stop RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME so they can examine the plethora of cereal boxes with fixed and determined concentration while their cart blocks the ENTIRE AISLE and I have to “excuse me”, “uh-hmm”, and “do you mind” for a seeming shopping-hell eternity before they realize I am fumbling madly, which causes them in turn to (absolutely mortified and apologetic) finally scoot themselves and their cart out of the way. And this happens not just the one time that day, but literally every aisle I need to navigate.

Or conversely, I am in the same grocery-shopping-mode, but the opposite happens: every person around me elegantly and magically moves out of the way. Like we are part of some elaborate, synchronized shopping choreography. Every item that I want and need is in stock and, on my drive home, every light turns green as I approach.

Both scenarios require effort and work on my part, but some days are satisfying, effortless-effort and some are maddening, frustrating, slow-me-down challenges. And just as I noticed this phenomenon, I began to wonder if those “frustrating” days aren’t somehow a good reminder that I might need to slow things down a bit and welcome the hesitations and waiting. When you think about, there’s nothing essentially wrong with “slowing down”, is there? Especially in these crazy times.

So what do you think? Grand scheme or random luck?

(And what if this same question was applied to life in general? Sometimes every light turns green and things roll along smoothly, and sometimes, seemingly apropos of nothing, everything blocks your way and nothing happens the way you want or need it to. So when your way is blocked, are you being guided to slow down, take a breath, and reassess?)

Deb: When I was a “younger” girl, my Dad and I would be driving from, say, downtown and he would announce that we were going to make every single light. And I would marvel. How I would howl with laughter when my Dad would start to slow the car down to a snail’s pace from a mile away if he saw that the light ahead was red and even if we were going one millionth of a mile an hour he would not actually have to stop. I thought of how difficult that would be today and how people would be all over our asses honking and cursing. I have to honestly say that I have not thought of that in 35 years, Barb, and your story prompted the memory, so thanks.

Me, I think I have mentioned before that I have great shopping karma. It always works out for me. Parking lot karma has not been granted. I am out there with the rest of the slobs taking my chances. Sometimes I get the best spot and sometimes I drive in circles, desperate and searching.

And if I am frantic and hurried, do I slow down and take a breath and let fate have its way with me? You bet I don’t. I use every dirty word strung together in the most imaginable way. Get’s me through it, yes it does. 

Disneyfy Me!!!!

Deb: Last week, we were in NYC, our adopted home. For my money, there is nowhere like New York during the holidays. Everything is shiny and festive and larger than life. And that’s just the people.

Cartier 5th Avenue

I won’t lie to you, I did some shopping. So filled with the festive spirit was I that I felt buying gifts for others would just be too cliché. So I shopped for me. Just me. All me. Me.

It was glorious. Not just because I had brand new things that were coming home with me to live in my house, but because of my shopping experience.

Fendi 5th Avenue

Ahhhh, American service. I have been serviced in the U.S. from coast to coast and it is always a delight! But New York service, are ya kiddin’ me? Crazy great!

Now I know that some people find the “Disney-have-a-magical-day” service to be fake and or tedious at best.

But I say to them ... What? NO! COME ON! You can Disneyfy me, baby. I’ll take that magical day and raise you a “thank you!”  Thanks for the greeting and the smile and the help. Fake, you say??? So the fuck what? I am spending my hard-earned money here and I would love it if you gave a damn, so yeah I will have a nice day, you betcha!

What’s that you say? Thanks for shopping with us?  You are SO friggin welcome.

Did you find everything you were looking for? Yes, thanks for caring!!!

We hope to see you very soon. You bloody well will!

It is perfect service. American’s have honed it. They greet with a smile and then ... THEY LEAVE YOU ALONE ... until you are even maybe thinking of maybe needing help ... and they appear as if by retail magic.

May I start a fitting room for you? YES, YES YOU CAN!  And THANKS.

Me in New York heaven, Barney's bag in hand

 Then they reach into your laden arms, take your possible purchases and hang them up.

I start to tear up at the very thought of it. “Thank you, Becca, my arms were starting to hurt and then you came––at just the perfect time!

And how did I know her name was Becca?? Because she introduced herself, that’s why! What a concept. The woman gave me her name like I was a friend or a dinner guest. 

Are they there to take your money? You bet. But they and their employers have got a grasp on the otherwise precarious notion that being in a service industry means service.

And did my service end after the exchange of currency?  No, no it did not. I made my purchase at Barney’s and my associate, Taj, wanted to make sure that I knew that I could also wear my new skirt as a top (don’t ask) and proceeded to walk me over to the mannequin to show me. Why? Because he gives a damn. Fake? I don’t think so. But even if it is, WHO CARES? And yeah, okay he was gay so of course he cared. I promised to send him a photo.

I think that the first lady of fashion, Lady Liberty, said it best when she stated:

Give me your shoppers, the rich and the poor,

Your hurried masses who search for size four.

Send me the Homesense, their quest I’ve seen before

I lift your lamp to your car, as you walk out the door.

Barbara: I don’t get to shop a lot in the States, but I have to say that I’ve noticed this very thing. It’s beautiful.

Service me, baby, and I’m all yours.

Window at Bergdorf's

Clothes Dork

Barbara: The other day, Deb and I took a little road trip down to Buffalo. The impetus was a business meeting with dear Annette (of our latest 3-way), but we couldn’t go all that way without also checking out the local piece de resistance. Nirvana in all its glory: the American outlet mall.

Shopping as it was meant to be: good, assorted, and seemingly endless.

As we told you a long time ago, I’m not much of a shopper and Deb is not much of a “sale” person, but we found ourselves in a perfect storm of opportunity. Mine being that I’d received an unexpected check JUST BEFORE WE LEFT THE HOUSE. Do you hear me, people?! About to walk out the door and a not-insubstantial, completely unaccounted for windfall appears in my mailbox … just in time to wink its sly eye at me and say, “Going to the land of plenty, baby? Well, go for it. You deserve a little indulgence.” (I know, I know, my windfall sounds a little like a cheap whore in a tattered corset. Anyway…)

So there I was amid a veritable cornucopia of women’s wear and I begin the time-honoured pilgrimage enjoyed by many women (and men) everywhere: eye, choose, pile, try on. And all the while I know a sweet, enabling cheque is just burning a hole in my wallet, just begging to help make me gorgeous and happy.

As I pull on the first outfit, I’m fairly daring it to disappointment me. I mean, for once I am karmically ALIGNED to conquer the clothing and return triumphant. But as I stare at my reflection, all I see is a tired, lumpy, misshapen (middle-aged) woman. Um, I am NOT tired, lumpy, or misshapen. At least I wasn’t the last time I looked! But it happened again with the next outfit. And the next one. 

And the next one and the next one and the next one and the next one.

It was as if I’d got caught in an endless dressing room loop of bad Woody Allen impressions. And I was the bad impressionist.

Me, trying to rock my changing room look

S’okay. I blame the clothes and not myself (even if I was the arse who picked the wares).

Deb: There is no possible way in the universe that Barb could be a dork or an arse, least of all a clothes-picking arse. Everything she chose was wonderful and stylish.

But I have the answer to why nothing worked on her. It was just NOT her shopping day.

It happens to everyone. Not to me. Everyone. Not to me.

I have never had a “not my shopping day” day in my entire shopping life.  Would that I did once in a while, says the voice in my husband’s head. I have ALWAYS been blessed with great Shopping Karma. Even way back in the Barbie days. I would go to the store with my Mom and I would concentrate on Barbie Geisha with the black lacquered geisha slippers and removable headpiece or Barbie Picnic with the straw hat and little velvet trimmed straw bag and they would both appear as if from nowhere, last ones on the shelf!

I can be insecure about many things, but never ever my Shopping Karma! I would not do that to something that has been so true to me all these many purchasing years. It has been my stalwart friend.

Yesterday was only a small example of what my Shopping Karma is capable of. This  trip supplied me with not only what I was looking for, but fab fun bonus items too! I have to say that even in my shopokarma haze, I was obsessed with Barb finding something wonderful and kept encouraging her whenever she picked out something lovely and chic.

But ... she just didn’t have the Shopping Karma in her pocket. It happens. Not to me. But it happens. I LOVE new things SO much. I think I give off that scent in the store. I mark my LOVE TO SHOP territory and the merch virtually lands in my lap, just to have a sniff.