Perhaps a better question would be to buy or not to buy? If I’d posed that puzzler to myself oh, say, anytime over the last thirty years I wouldn’t be lost in a labyrinth of packing boxes now.
How much crap can you collect in three decades? Way too f***ing much.
Have you ever noticed that what you consider a prized possession given enough time becomes junk? Or is that just me?
We’re two weeks from D-Day and I’m still walking around the house, picking up random stuff, and asking myself if I need this in the new house?
Answer: I didn’t need it in this house.
What I buy and what I need are two totally different animals. Impulsive? Guilty. You’re talking to a woman who’s gone into a toy store with her grandchildren and come out with a stuffed animal for herself. More than once.
To be fair, I did buy the kids something too 🙂
Lesson learned, right? No cluttering up the new place. Less is more.
Mercedes hasn’t had it easy. Adopted by a street vendor in Bangkok after being abandoned by the driver of a Mercedes Benz car—hence the name—she then lost her second home when her new owner died.
The local vendors took to feeding her, which sounds like a great idea, except they didn’t know when to stop— and neither, of course, did Mercedes.
She gained so much weight, she couldn’t walk. Her helpful friends, apparently missing the big picture, then brought the food to her.
Mercedes eventually found her way to a foster home where she lost 27 kilos, half her weight, but the resulting excess skin caused bladder issues.
Enter Geneviève Smith who raised the money to bring Mercedes to Canada and a vet in Ottawa who will perform the surgery. Dacey Traill, a volunteer who’s had her own weight problems, is taking care of Mercedes until she’s ready for her tummy tuck. These days Mercedes is learning to love the outdoors and going for walks. Something she hasn’t been able to do for years.
Tomorrow morning when the alarm goes off, and I have to crawl out of bed to make my Weight Watchers meeting… Totally worth it 🙂
Historically, if you could afford to repair or replace your shoes, you were doing okay. Well heeled became synonymous with affluent. It’s not an expression we hear much anymore. Probably because most of us, at least on this side of ocean, spend our days in high tech running shoes whether we actually work out or not. Europeans, I notice, manage to do casual without looking like they just left the gym, but I digress…
In Saskatoon, Saskatchewan where the average house sells for $400,000, what makes a home worth $4.6 million?
The open concept 4700 square feet of living space? Possibly.
The spa, games room, home gym? Could be.
What about the magnificent view of the University Bridge spanning the South Saskatchewan River? Enticing, but…
Personally, I think the house’s hefty price tag has a lot to do with the bathtub.
Yeah, I hear you. A tub, is a tub, is a tub… Not so. Not in this case.
What kind of cash would you plunk down for a house that comes with a tub shaped like a shoe?
Embarrassing, but true. We all vent a bit about things that aren’t much more than minor annoyances. You know the type of thing: OMG, my Kindle died., or That freaking GPS took me to the wrong address., or my personal favourite, What? I have to pay for Wi-Fi on the the cruise?
I’ve been known to weep and moan when the internet goes down, but the award for Best In Class Whiner goes to my husband. He walks around the house, saying really rude things to our Google speaker.
Just between you and I… I don’t think Google likes him.
She answers his requests with a “Sorry, I can’t help you with that yet.” She refuses to let him add anything to our shopping list, telling him that she doesn’t recognize his voice.
To be fair to my husband, Google can be a bit of a princess. She’s moody and mercurial. Some days, she’ll accommodate him, be all sweetness and light. She’ll even let him add to his calendar. The next day, she won’t acknowledge his existence, telling him that she’s not authorized to answer his request.
Totally frustrating, true. Every second day, he’s in the Google Home App activating voice recognition—again. I sympathize…really.
I’m filled with admiration for his determination. He won’t admit defeat, won’t give up.
God forbid, he goes back to tapping appointments into his phone—gasp!—himself.
It’s a slippery slope, one becomes two, becomes a collection, becomes … oh, my God, when did I buy all this stuff?
I’ve fallen a time or two myself so I understand the climb. It’s starts out innocently enough with one particular object or interest. One of my falls down that slippery slope began with a book, a biography of the actor, Montgomery Clift. Within a matter of months, I had collected every movie the man had ever made and had a drawer full of absolute necessities like a Montgomery Clift watch, cuff links, and license plate frame.
Fickle creature that I am, eventually I abandoned Monty and moved on, but some collectors are more faithful than I.
Andrea Katelnikoff has been collecting Barbies since 1988. At last count, she had over 3,000 dolls, all stored and displayed on the second floor addition to her house purpose built for the dolls.
Collectors don’t subscribe to the philosophy that less is more, but when, I’m wondering, is enough enough?
No offense to Barbara or Neil, but you can skip the real flowers. Bring me gelato shaped into rose petals and we’ll talk.
Cold, sweet decadence. One taste and you’re making the kind of sounds usually reserved for the bedroom. It’s that good.
If you see one of these winged cupids flying from a store front awning, count yourself blessed, and act accordingly.
If, like mine, your part of the world exists in the desert of Amorino deprivation, get on a plane, a train, a mule. Whatever it takes because Amorino artisanal gelato isn’t a dessert, it’s an experience.
I’d like to tell you that on a recent trip to New York, I spent all my time traipsing through places like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Guggenheim, but I’d be lying.
I spent an obscene amount of time on the Upper West Side, making pilgrimages to Amorino for gelato and to Levain Bakery for cookies—but that’s another story 🙂