The End of Summer....

Photo taken of a corner on my back deck.

Last night after we finished eating supper, I was sitting at the dining room table looking at the view out of our new sliding patio door. This little vignette caught my eye so I grabbed my camera and took a picture of it.

The black-eyed susans are a tell-tale sign that summer is on its way out. School starts on Monday and if that doesn't scream 'summer is over', what does?

I have had a MARVELOUS summer. But I'm still sad to see it go.

An Uplifting Experience

Before the fun began at Carmelle's Lingerie Boutique.

Gals....here's a really fun thing to do with your BFF. Go bra shopping. Trust me. You'll have a blast. Mind you, it's best to go to a lingerie shop with a certified bra-fitter. She will measure you perfectly and find the bras that will not only make you look great, but feel FANTASTIC!

Such was my day yesterday when I went with the BFF and her sister to Carmelle's Lingerie Boutique. After we were measured for the correct fit (even that made us laugh out loud) Carmelle brought us bra after bra to try on. We pranced around the shop half-naked proudly modelling our bras for each others approval. Such silliness! Such laughter!

Several photos were taken, but were all too risque and incriminating to post here. (Or anywhere for that matter.)

All three of us came out of Carmelle's Lingerie Boutique smiling and carrying bright pink bags full of our purchases.

If you need a lift, either physically or emotionally, bra shopping with your girlfriends is where it's at.

This Is Where I Live

The view of Howe Sound from the rock quarry high above Britannia Beach.

Ever since moving to 'Sea-to-Sky Country' sixteen years ago, I have driven my kids nuts by always forcing (I mean encouraging) them to look up at the natural beauty that surrounded us. "This is where we live!" I'd exclaim. "MOM," they'd groan. "WE KNOW!" Well, I didn't think they did know, so I was like a dog with a bone constantly pointing out amazing views and vistas. I got so insufferable that my two daughters moved to Vancouver and haven't looked at a tree since.

That feeling of awe came over me this morning after I hiked straight up 'The Britannia Grind' and came out at the rock quarry high above Britannia Beach. The hike to the quarry was pretty much vertical on a dry, dusty forest floor. I even felt like I had vertigo a few times. But the panorama view over Howe Sound was the reward for such an arduous walk.

I just wish my kids had been with me to experience it.

Travelling and the Garden

A thicket of weeds under my John Cabot rose bush.

I am slowly coming to the realization that travelling and gardening don't mix. Unless one is retired, I am at a loss as to how both can be done well.

I have been abroad the past three summers out of four and I am totally overwhelmed by the depth, breadth and thickness of the weeds in my flowerbeds! I cannot keep up.

And the last thing I want to do with my jet-lagged body is get on my hands and knees to pull weeds the day after my plane touches down. Or even four days later.

I must admit my passion for gardening a big piece of property is waning. When we moved to this house 16 years ago, the yard was a blank canvas. With Joe's muscle power, I created large garden beds full of trees, shrubs and flowers both in the front and back of the house.

It took me a few years to do it, but I was (and still am) pleased with the result. I do love to sit under my gazebo and gaze out at my creation on a summer afternoon. Or snooze in the hammock under a tree. Or pick a bouquet of flowers to bring in the house or give to friends. That part I love. The toil/sweat/back-breaking labour part? Uh, no. I have definitely lost the lovin' feelin' for that.

So my plan is to down-size my garden this fall. I'm going to dig most everything up and push back the beds to a more manageable size. I'll have fewer flowers and a bigger lawn, but that's okay. It's easier to mow the grass than it is to pull weeds.

Going Home

Waiting for the shuttle van to pick us up and take us to the airport.

I don't know what it is about going home after I've been travelling. I just never want to do it. Don't get me wrong. I love the home I've created with Joe for ourselves and our children. There's no other place I'd rather be. Except when I'm travelling.

I guess it's because I have no worries when I'm away. No responsibilities. I don't have to work. I can just play and play and play. And learn new things. And see new sights. And appreciate new ways of doing things.

Our flight home from Paris didn't leave until 8:30pm on Monday night. I thought, "This is GREAT! It's like having another whole day!" Joe asked me how I'd like to spend the time. I thought about it a moment and said, "Let's go to Luxembourg Gardens. That is my favourite place in this city."

I wish I could report that our last day in Paris was spent romantically walking hand in hand through the streets, taking one last look at that marvelous city.

Uh, nope.....

We walked to the gardens and I immediately fell quiet. I looked around at the flower beds, fountains, trees, and statues, and all I felt was sorry for myself. I could feel a lump growing in my throat. Tears were burning at the backs of my eyes. Pathetic, I know.

We sat on a pair of the metal green chairs that dot the garden. I looked around at the other visitors with their maps and guide books clutched in their hands and felt jealous of them. I looked down at my feet and said to Joe, "Let's go."

So back we walked to our apartment. Actually, I didn't walk. It was more like a trudge. I laid down on the couch with my book while Joe took on the task of strategically packing the suitcases with our clothes and his loot. I put myself out of my misery by falling asleep.

The shuttle van picked us up at 5:00pm, our flight home was uneventful, and we drove into our driveway at 12:30am Pacific Time. We hauled our gear in the house and promptly went to bed.

Sigh.

But I'm okay now. I've talked to all of our kids, looked at my 1,496 photos eleventy-million times, have fielded calls from friends asking about our trip. I know how blessed I am to have a husband who will take me on surprise trips like these. I am grateful for every minute I spent in Paris this summer.

Lucky me......

"We'll Always Have Paris"

Sunset on the Seine. (Self-portrait taken on the Pont des Arts.)

When we were signing the apartment papers at the end of July with the rental agent, he asked us how long we were staying in Paris. When we told him, he said, "Is there enough to do in Paris for three weeks?"

My stomach did a little lurch when he said that. What if 3 weeks was too much time in one place? What if we got bored? What if there wasn't enough to do?

Well, I am here to tell you that I could stay in Paris for 3 years, never mind 3 weeks. We were on the move the entire time and there are still things on our 'to do' list. We ate, we drank, we walked. We soaked up the art, the architecture, the music, the fashion, the history. We laughed, we were moved to tears, we met new people, saw old friends.

We'll always have Paris.

We leave for home this evening. I'm hoping to get to my beloved 'Luxembourg Gardens' one more time this afternoon before we have to bid adieu to this amazing city.

I can hardly wait to come back.

Gallows Humour

A plaque commemorating Oscar Wilde at L'Hotel, 13 Rue des Beaux-Arts.

On one of our many walks around Paris, we came across the hotel where Oscar Wilde died. Wilde was a broken man when he died in a scuzzy hotel over 100 years ago. (The hotel is very up-scale now.)

On his death bed he remarked, "Either that wallpaper goes, or I do."