July 1st

July 1st is one of my favourite days of the year (if you say you don’t have favourite days of the year, I’m sorry, I can’t comprehend that). Not because it’s Canada Day. Not because it falls during what is usually the best weather we see here in the lower mainland.

I love July 1st because it’s the first day of the second half of the year. It’s an opportunity to reflect on the year so far, and make plans for the remaining six months. It’s New Years Day without the hype or the hangover.

Six years ago, I had the best July 1st of my life so far. Less than two months had passed since my cancer diagnosis. Almost a month had passed since my second cancer surgery. I was doing my best to heal, physically and mentally. Grady was almost two years old, Shawn was off work for the long weekend, and we discovered a hose on the rooftop patio of our condo building.

It turned out that baby Grady loved being sprayed with the hose. He couldn’t get enough. We stayed outside for hours, only taking breaks to reapply sunscreen and eat popsicles. When I am old and grey(er) I will look back on July 1, 2013 as one of the happiest days of Grady’s childhood. His delighted squeals are imprinted on my heart for eternity.

Festival of Shawn

It’s Father’s Day weekend so Shawn got to pick the festivities, which is how I’ve ended up in a very small “queen” bed (seriously, this thing is the size of a double) with two sweaty kids while Shawn starfishes it solo. Poppy is a hotel bed roller so we can’t trust the kids to sleep together (why are hotel beds so high? Why are there so many sharp corners adjacent to the bed?) Usually I sleep with Poppy (and build a pillow blockade on her other side) and Grady sleeps with Shawn, but we got to the hotel late and the kids were a ball of tired emotions and wanted to sleep together. So that is how I’ve ended up here, Poppy’s feet in my face and Grady snoring in my ear. 

Tomorrow we’ll drive to Leavenworth for the car show. We’ll eat sausage in the beer garden and enjoy the sun and hopefully when we return, the sweaty bed hogs will want to sleep with their Dad. Happy Father’s Day indeed.  

Happy World Gin Day

Today is World Gin Day and judging from the notifications I’ve received from friends tagging me in World Gin Day-related posts on social media, my personal brand game is strong (and not at all concerning, thankyouverymuch).

I was introduced to the simple perfection of the G&T when I lived in England and I’ve remained loyal ever since. I love the different layers of bitter flavours in the gin and tonic, and how they play off the sour citrus flavour of the lime. Others may resort to soda to cut back on sugar (not mentioning any names, *cough* Shawn *cough*) but I refuse to deviate from my One True G&T (extra lime, fancy tonic, lots of ice but make it big so it melts slower we’re not animals).

My favourite gin changes from time to time. I love trying new blends from different distilleries, and contrary to what my social media presence may indicate, I don’t actually drink all that often, so I haven’t really had the opportunity to remain loyal to one gin. My current favourite is the Empress Gin from Victoria Distillers (a gorgeous indigo-coloured gin that changes colour when you add tonic and, uhh, also tastes great if you need your gin to do more than just perform visually).

The trick to making a great gin & tonic, in my humble opinion, is using giant ice cubes. Giant ice cubes look cool, yes, but they’re functional too. They melt slower which means your drink stays cold longer without becoming diluted. It’s science.  This is the ice cube tray I use.

Once you’ve figured out your gin and ice situation, you just need to decide what your mixer and add-ins will be. My favourite tonic water is Fever-Tree Aromatic Tonic but if you’re looking for a non-pink option that tastes more interesting than your standard tonic, their Elderflower Tonic is also great.  For my G&T accoutrement, I’m loyal to lime but I’ve been known to venture into the world of grapefruit (give me all the bitter). I’ve tried both cucumber and lemon but neither did it for me. Once I had a fancy restaurant G&T that had lavender in it and I spent the entire meal picking dried lavender buds out of my teeth. It was not a great G&T experience.

What’s your drink of choice? Are you a gin enthusiast? What’s your perfect G&T?

This post contains affiliate links. 

Hope

I’m wearing red lipstick and my boots with the high heels and the zippers up the back, and I am stuck in a bathroom. Not just any bathroom — a fancy bathroom in a trendy restaurant in a corner of the city where I don’t belong. I’ve curled my hair and twisted my face into a hostess’ mask and I’m ready to fake-it-til-I-make-it but instead I am locked in a bathroom. 

I have this tendency to go from “fine” straight to THE WORLD IS ENDING with no stops in between. I’m not stuck and then I’m stuck, and instead of stopping to think my situation through to try to find a solution, I charge ahead as though I can become unstuck by sheer force of will. It’s why I don’t do well with revolving doors or turnstiles. I’m incapable of taking a step back and reassessing. You don’t reassess when the world is ending. You plow forward and hope to survive. It doesn’t matter that sitting in an uncomfortable situation for a minute often helps me figure it out (for example, panicking when you try to squeeze through a too-tight spot between the sink and the door opening, instead of taking a step back to give the door room to open fully, sometimes results in you hitting the lock while you flail, ending in panic that could have been avoided with fifteen seconds of thinking.)

Later, after I’ve freed myself from my tiled prison and had a lovely evening celebrating the season with fizzy drinks and too much food, I drive home. It’s pouring rain and it’s late (or rather, it’s early, technically) so I’m paying more attention to the road signs than I usually do. I get on the highway and point my car toward Hope. I’ve read these signs my whole life. I’ve driven through Hope hundreds of times on the way to summers at the lake or baseball tournaments in the interior. Hope is just a place on the map but it makes me want to cry when I consider not exiting the highway and driving straight to Hope. What would happen if I charged ahead and literally and figuratively drove to Hope?

What would happen is I would end up in Hope, stuck between the side of a mountain and the river, on a strip of fast food restaurants and gas stations. Physically arriving in Hope will not make the heaviness I feel lately any lighter. Being in Hope will not change the sad to hopeful. I need to take a step back and reassess instead of plowing ahead and trying to force myself to feel happy. Fortunately, in the meantime, I’ve got good friends and red lipstick and just enough holiday joy to make the season bright.