Mama Knows.

My dad always loved gardening and puttering with plants. But was never a real horticulturist - he just sort of did stuff and waited to see if it worked. And when it came to pruning, he just attacked whatever it was with a chainsaw or weed whacker  then fed it all sorts of chemicals to bring it back to life. 

Sometime around the turn of the millennium, he lovingly saved a seed from an orange and threw it in some dirt and kept it at work over the winter. It sprouted and grew, and in the spring he brought it home and presented it to mom. 

She sort of scoffed and reminded him his little sprig of green wasn't really meant to flourish Northern countries like Canada. However, she did humour him by faithfully watering it for him. 

And lo and behold, if the darn thing didn't actually grow into a 6-foot tree. It dropped about a billion leaves a year and mom would get tired of cleaning them up and throw the tree out on the deck each summer, only to feel sorry for it and haul it back in for the winter months.  

Dad would half-jokingly check for buds and fruit periodically. Mom would laugh. 

Then she found a story on the internet, or in a Reader's Digest or something, about a man who had a lemon tree and though he faithfully tended it, it never produced until the year after he died. So Mom began to tease Dad about the bumper crops she was going to get from his little orange tree after he died. (For surely, we were all certain, Mom was going to outlive him by years.) 

When they moved from Kelowna they contemplated getting rid of the messy little tree. But Dad wasn't ready to give up on it yet. So the saga of the sad little orange tree dropping leaves all over the place in the winter, and perking up again on the deck in the summer, continued on in Kamloops. 

And then Mom went to heaven and left Dad on his own to tend the orange tree. And then it really became a sad little tree with Dad's inconsistent watering and harsh pruning - even though we all hoped beyond hope that Mama would pull some strings in heaven and let it flower for Dad. 

It never did. 

And when Dad passed two-and-a-half years later, in the middle of June, the sad little tree hadn't even made it out to the deck yet that year. And its leaves were sparse. It was my full intention to leave the thing in the house (or rather, out on the deck) when we sold it. But Ted decided he'd take the damn thing home and put it on his own deck and neglectfully water it when the notion struck his fancy. 

So today, as I'm casually wandering through Winners, I get this photo texted from my sister-in-law Diana to our siblings group, with the text "Holy Crap! Ed's tree grew an orange!" : 

Call me a skeptic, but my response to seeing an orange in her hand, not on the tree, was "It's a little early for April Fools, but nice try."  

They offered further proof, that although the orange was found on the floor beside the tree, it appeared to have come from the plant.  

So, imagine me, in Winner's not watching where I'm walking and texting and sort of giggling and really trying not to cry. And yet, with my Dad's blood in veins, I'm still sort of skeptical. "Check with your kids. They probably set you up."  But really, that tree has never had a growth thing like this: 

While peeling and preparing to eat the orange they wondered if it would be sweet or bitter.  

I told them it would be bitter because they never even noticed when he was blooming and producing fruit. 

And yup, they say it tasted like orange, but was bitter.

And there was one seed to plant and start the process all over again.  

Feeling marginally guilty for neglecting the poor tree and not even noticing it producing, my sis-in-law sets to cleaning it up, watering and pruning and showing some love to Ed's tree. And she lets out a scream, and sent another photo.    "There's another one!" 

Getting a bit giddy about the whole thing, yet still wanting to cover my butt from being gullible, I asked for them to stand beside the tree and send a photo. Ted sends us 'Dad's hand' with the new little orange. 🤘🏻It's true. Dad's sad little orange tree began producing after he got to heaven to start sending out instructions. 

Mama knew it all along!  I don't know how long an orange takes to ripen, but I'm hoping it it's ready to eat and sweet for March 14th, when Mama gets her 5-year pin in heaven. 

Who wants to take my addiction? It's Free.

There's probably not a person on the planet who doesn't have some sort of addiction. Or multiple sorts of addictions. Some are more obvious than others. Some are more socially acceptable than others. 

My most obvious acceptable addiction is wrapping paper. Yes wrapping paper. 

So here I am standing before you publicly declaring, "My name is Liana. I am a wrapping paper addict." 

I'm not even sure where it started. Probably somewhere in the early 90's when gift bags made an entrance. While they were a Godsend for the uncreative crowd, there were those of us who could never fully embrace them, feeling like using one was somehow 'cheating."  On who or what, I don't know. 

And so began my wrapping paper journey... 

Well, let's back up a bit. As gift bags eliminated the dilemma of what to do with a misshapen package, I, not willing to cave to the gift bag craze, began to collect boxes of various sizes to put misshapen gifts into before wrapping.  When we sold our previous house almost 13 years ago, I had a floor to ceiling stack of "perfect boxes" waiting for the perfect opportunity to put a misshapen gift into before wrapping.  I couldn't really justify packing up a stack of boxes and moving them. so they became fire starter for the giant "redneck-we-lived-out-of-city-limits" bonfire.  And since moving, I have refused to collect boxes. Yay me. 

However, I still refuse to wrap misshapen gifts as is. But I no longer save and collect empty cardboard boxes. Now, I don't like to put confessions in writing, but I may or may not have gone out and bought a new pair of shoes a time or two simply so I'd have an appropriate box to wrap a gift in. 

In my obsession, not only do gifts have to be rectangular in shape, if there are more than one, they must coordinate. Each year at Christmas, all my gifts have a theme. Well, the gifts aren't themed but they are wrapped in a theme. In rectangular boxes. 

And this has led to a new addiction: wrapping paper. Every January I buy a ridiculous amount of themed wrapping paper for the following Christmas. And if I change my mind before November, those purchases go into storage, and I buy more. 

I'd like some input here... how many rolls of gift wrap do you have on hand? 

Moving along... 

With our current renovation, I feel like I have a new home. A beautiful non-cluttered living space. And we over-calculated the flooring purchase. So we have enough flooring to cover the concrete basement floor in the laundry/storage area. ( I do publicly confess that it wasn't really an "over calculation" on my part but a bit of an intentional buying enough so we can actually finish the unfinished part of the basement) 

And as such, I need to clean off the "junk shelves" so we can move them and install the flooring. 

Cleaning out this area of our basement has meant going through my boxes, bins and random stacks of wrapping paper, ribbon other assorted paraphernalia associated with gift-giving. 

Oh. My. F.... fancy frickin' flip. 

I shocked even myself. 

How many rolls of "curling ribbon" do most people own? Please tell me it's somewhere over 40. 

How many rolls of wrapping paper do you have? Is it nearing 100? 

Oh gawd. I think I have a problem here. 

And gift bags? I don't even use them!!! Why would I have dozens of wine gift bags?? I don't use gift bags! And I sure as hell don't give wine away!!!!! 

But in my purging of the basement, I drank the wine. And sorted. And got ruthless. 

I kept about 30 percent of the wrap. Less than 30 rolls. (Gawd, that still sounds ridiculous as I type it out) 

I couldn't part with more than 25% of the curling ribbon. Do I really need 30 rolls of ribbon, including 6 shades of purple? Apparently. 

I put the remaining ribbon, bags and rolls of paper - some partial rolls and some still new, into boxes for "donation." 

My track record for actually donating crap I no longer want is rather dismal. Generally it sits around for a couple of months till hubby does the next dump run. 

So... if you want my addiction, it's yours. If you ask and pick up before the next dump run. Please. 

I can't even say why I need this stuff or how/when I will use it. 

Kind of refreshing to know that all my wrap now fits in one rubbermaid bin. 

It doesn't look like that many rolls of wrap, but most have other rolls inside of them. 

I'm offering it all for free ... IF you take it all. No sorting, peeking or  picking.  

Fancy Schmancy I Am Not.

Fancy-Schmancy I am not. 

You can count on one hand the number of times a year we eat a meal sitting at the dining room table. We belly up to the island bar or sit in the leather theatre seats in front of the TV.  And we eat from Corelle, which is a step up from Chinette. I love Corelle. It's not heavy, it stacks neatly in the cupboard and the dishwasher, it's resistant to breakage and easily replaced if need be. But it ain't fancy. 

Over the years it was a running joke in our family, especially between my youngest sister and I, to lay claim to the things in our parent's home that we wanted to inherit. We'd often use masking tape and a marker to write our names on the bottom of things in the china cabinet.  

And it was all funny. Until we had no parents and it was actually time to inherit the stuff. 

Suddenly I wasn't so adamant that I needed the crystal pickle dish with celery etched into it. And great-grandma's full set of fancy dishes with 22k gold trim. And the ancient blue bowl. The crescent shaped candy dish... 

However, I did end up with the pickle dish and my siblings insisted I take home the rubbermaid container of 8 place settings of carefully wrapped gold trimmed china and matching glasses. 

I use the pickle dish regularly and the bin of fancy dishes has been in my garage for 2 1/2 years. 

With our current renovation nearing completion, I decided to bring the dishes out of hiding and put them on display. Just like my mother had them on display. I don't remember them being used in all the years they were in her possession. (I might have used them at my wedding 36 years ago - I can't quite recall.) 

It is a set of eight large plates, small plates, cups, saucers and bowls and a few serving pieces. And 24 glasses - 8 each of 3 different sizes. All pieces are there, with no chips or cracks and no fading of the gilded gold edges, so I suspect my grandmother didn't use them any more often than my mother did.  

As I unwrapped each piece the other day to put on the shelf, I realized the newspaper they were wrapped in was a March 2006 Kelowna paper. Those beautiful dishes have been sitting in the dark in a rubbermaid container for nearly 12 years. And for what? Seriously. 

What is the value of owning stuff that has no useful purpose? So that I can dust them twice a year until I get tired of it, and then wrap them and store them in a dark place until one of my children takes them home to dust and protect until it's time to pass them on to the next generation?

No, I decided. Life is too short to put the fancy stuff away until the elusive 'right occasion' comes up. I don't live a life of 'right occasions' and fancy celebrations. If I'm gonna dust those suckers off, I'm gonna eat off them.  And use a fancy, albeit paper, napkin. And I will light the fancy-smelling candle with my initial on it. 

Yes! Here's to living life! Not saving the good stuff until it's too late to use it. Crack open that $25 mini bottle of ice wine that in five years you haven't had 'the right' occasion to sip. Eat the red smarties first. Pick the bugles out of the nuts 'n bolts.  Wear your diamond earrings to the grocery store. Sleep under your mama's last quilt. You have one life. Live it. And leave your Christmas lights on until March if it makes you happy - who cares what the neighbours think, chances are they are jealous you live with such abandon. 

If I am going to amass and hoard fancy things, those fancy things can darn well enhance my life. 

Here's to grilled cheese sandwiches served on china! Let's hear it for mango-citrus candles just because it's Tuesday! Wearing diamonds in your ears somehow makes you feel like you can afford those 40-dollar-per-kilogram steaks that you would somehow justify even if you wore your sweats and slippers to the store. 

I have no idea the age nor the value of my heirloom china. But in my opinion, it's worthless if it's useless. 

Never having eaten off china in my Mama's home, I'm not schooled in appropriate layout of a place setting.  "Put it on the table and eat off of it" works in my world. 

Corn Chowder and grilled cheese never tasted so fancy. But that ain't no ordinary cheddar sammich. Layers of brie, apple slices and fig sauce take things up a notch.  

There's nothing more worth celebrating than people you love! Eating an ordinary lunch on an ordinary Tuesday. 

Bark. Bark. Bark bark bark.

Isn't cinnamon just ground up bark? Why does it have an expiry date? And does the expiry date really matter?

Cuz, like, I make pretty fantastical cinnamon buns on a fairly regular basis. They always taste quite yummy and I've never had anyone refuse to eat one (occasionally people will pick off the raisins but never refuse to eat the bun.)

And yeah, after Maeve and I made bread and cinnamon buns today I was putting the cinnamon back in the cupboad and happen to notice the expiry date. Umm... October 2015. 

Poor little Maevey innocently adding 3-year out dated cinnamon  and 2 cups of Demerara sugar (but NO raisins) to her dough creations. 

No-one has died. No one has gagged on one. I'm marginally embarrassed about it. And I did go to Costco this afternoon to buy steak (and they were super yummy Ribeye with lots of marbling for $26/kg - wished I woulda picked up a couple of packs) And I bought a replacement cinnamon while I was there.

Maybe 3 minutes too long in the oven - I'm still getting used to my new convection oven.

303 grams in a jar. That's the most bizarre measure I have ever seen on a food item.  Thinking it must translate over to a nice even number in ounces, I googled it.  It's 10.688 ounces. WTF?? Who decided it should be 303 grams in a bottle? It obviously wasn't someone with OCD. 

So yeah, the old cinnamon is off the landfill (probably for no good reason, other than  for me to  publicly save face) 

The new bottle expires in November 2019. If I offer you a fresh baked cinnamon after that date, you might wanna check my cupboards as see if I've used up 303 grams of cinnamon by then. 

Toasty fingers and frozen ass. This is my job.

Tonight was my first art party of 2018.  Can you believe it's 2018?

Actually I have no problem adjusting to the fact it is 2018, but I seem to have lost 2017 somewhere.  I know it's 2018, but I feel like 2016 was last year. Whenever I see something posted online as 2016, I totally see it as being last year.  Kinda like the 90's being "a couple of years ago" I suppose.

About an hour before time to leave to instruct my Wine and Paint Night art party, my (oh-so-smart) hubby says, "Maybe you should open your garage door and start your granny-mobile for a bit, it's pretty cold in your [unheated] garage."

Even though I know the mobile has been parked since before New Year's Eve, I replied, "Last time it was -30, my garage was -6, so it should be good."

Fast forward to time to leave:

I activate 2 "Little Hotties" hand warmers for my gloves (can't show up to a paint party with frozen fingers) I kiss hubby goodbye, head to the garage to load painting supplies for 18 wine drinking artists, and casually comment, " I hope parking doesn't suck too bad." There's lots of construction downtown and the usual parking lot across from the Twisted Cork has been fenced off.

I go to open the back hatch, and it's locked. I press the key fob and it flashes but I hear no click. Damn. I guess the fob needs the battery replaced.  I manually unlock the mobile, open the door, and the interior light doesn't come on. Yikes! It's time to leave for my art party downtown at the Twisted Cork and the granny mobile is dead. D.E.D. Dead.

"ALBERT!!!!" (Screaming this always fixes things in my world)

Long story short, I piled my art supplies into Bruce, the monster truck (which I have driven less than 3 times in the 2 years we have owned it) to head downtown.

I  have to summon my hubby to figure out how to turn the headlights on before I leave the driveway.

As I'm driving I try to play with the unfamiliar-to-me on-dash screen to put the seat heater on. I end up with the seat A/C on.  I arrive at my party location with toasty fingers and a frozen ass.

I park in front in the "loading zone" and unload my supplies, and move the truck to park two and a half blocks away to avoid getting towed.

Blah, blah blah, ... 2 1/2 hours later after successful art party ... I make the first of 2 trips back to the truck with a suitcase, wooden apple box and pail of supplies.

I still can't believe this is my "job."  I am so blessed. 

As I leave the truck after adding the first load to the back seat, I am approached by what I assume is a street person.

Sniff. Sniff. "Is there smoke coming from you?" The bundled up slightly-intoxicated street person inquires of me.

"Nope. No smoke here," I reply.

"Oh, I can smell someone  smoking."

I respond, "There's a couple of restaurant servers around the corner taking a smoke break."

I remember the "Little Hotties" hand warmers still activated in my coat pocket. I reach for them and offer them to the woman standing on the minus 20-something street. "I activated these hand warmers a couple of hours ago, but they are still warm. Do you want them?"

"NO!"

"Um, okay then." I walk away towards the Twisted Cork to pick up my second trip of art supplies.

She grabs my shoulder. "Do you have any cigarettes? Or some cash?"

I want to respond with anger. You don't wan't the warmth I offer, but you want my cash. Or my smokes - neither of which I carry.

But instead I wish her well, put the the Little Hotties into the back pockets of my jeans and walk away.

I arrived home with a warm butt, purse full of cash, and a heart full of thankfulness.

Here's My Monumental Pile of Rocks for 2017

I can be a bit of a flake at times,  but the one tradition I seem to hold solidly to is revisiting and rehashing my year, on or about December 31st... and exposing it to all my friends and family. Thanks for playing along as I present the latest anecdotes and exaggerations in the lives of Albert and Liana.

This post actually takes me a number of days to formulate, and this year at more than one point I tried to convince myself this is stupid, you don't actually have to do this just because you have in the past.

And then I go to church on New Year's Eve morning and the Pastor speaks of God's people crossing the river Jordan and He instructs them to gather stones from the river bed to construct a monument of remembrance. The purpose of the monument is not to make an idol to hang out with forever, but to create a point of reference which can be revisited at times to show where you have been and how far you've come. And so I present you with my monument to 2017, so that I may revisit it in years to come and know that indeed, I have moved on.

We started off the year still in grief mode after losing our Barbee in December, and we've fumbled along, learning daily, to adjust our lives that she was so much a part of.

We celebrated our 35th anniversary on January 23rd. The traditional anniversary theme is coral and the modern theme is jade. We embraced the traditional by booking our first ever tropical vacation. Unless of course you count the Tropical Island of Newfoundland, we've been there. And I picked up a monumental stone and carried it with me.

Brandi and Kore and Bea made a trip to PG at the beginning February for a gender reveal party. Our 4th grandchild was due June 1st - which is Brandi and Bendigo's birthday. While my heart secretly was convinced that our forthcoming grandchild was a boy, I went out on limb to proclaim that I was on team girl.  While I honestly was just thrilled to be getting my 4th (and quite likely last) grandchild, I knew that my heart was ready to embrace whatever God had in store for our family.

However, I really love being right, whatever side I am arguing for ... as witnessed on camera:

And another stone was added to my 2017 monument.

February also had me having my wired sleepovers at the sleep clinic and confirming that once again Albert was right for all these years - at 72 apnea episodes per hour I qualified for 2 1/2 times the limit considered "severe sleep apnea." With blood oxygen levels dropping as low as 74% during the night, I think we can safely assume my waning brain function is due neither to aging nor wine consumption. I merely have had a lack of oxygen to the brain for the past number of years.


Through the spring months, I kept really busy doing art parties, sometimes as many as 4 in a week. And each time I would do one I would think, "I can't believe this is my job." It's so fun to see completely intimidated people walk into the room and watch them leave with a piece of art they are proud to have created.  The wine helps with that, of course.

It was on my bucket list to do an art party with mother-in-law and 2017 saw me check that off my list.  It was so fun... and she did great! Even without wine. :)

Click HERE if you too want to become an artist with me. It's fun, I promise.

Young or old, you CAN be an artist. You simply make art. Voila.! 

Another stone to build up my monument.


Winter had been really cold but with little snow, unlike the rest of the province - the lower mainland, island and Okanagon had a lot more snow than us. (With slight embarrassment and childish glee, I admit this was a large stone in my 2017 monument.) By mid-March the last of the snow and ice in our yard disappeared and we were itching to get back out to the cabin.

The property at Vivian Lake was purchased by new owners last year and they have decided not to operate it as a resort. However, we feel so blessed that they are continuing to welcome seasonal (and I believe even monthly) tenants. 2017 was kind of a transition year and we didn't have any parties and craziness, but we look forward to resuming our lacklustre hosting skills and seeing many of you out there again in 2018. Bring a guitar. Bring a chair. Bring wine. We'll provide fire. And water. And carry another stone to add to our monument.

In preparation for this annual post, I always look back through my Facebook feed to remind me of the incidents and accidents that made up our year, And being the FB exhibitionist that I am, I always find it a treat to recall things that my mind would have long forgotten had it not been written down. (And I realize my inclination to write and expose my life is indeed my monument of life that I may revisit on occasion and chalk off where I have been and where I am at.)

For example, I never would have remembered that in April I successfully opened both rows of stitching on the bag of basmati rice. Seriously! I didn't have to use scissors, I didn't have to swear, and I didn't destroy the zipper in the process. It was like a Christmas miracle in April.

One highlight of the year, that I do not need a written monument to remind me of, was heading off to Kamloops in May in anticipation of Little Miss Sissy C's arrival. I will never be able to adequately express the honour it has been to be the birthing coach for all four of my grandchildren. I just thank Jesus that both my daughter and daughter-in-law were birthing rockstars and speedy ones at that. God knows that I just don't have the stamina to endure days, or even hours, on end of the glorious trauma that is birth.

I gave birth myself twice on June 1st, missing my Grandpa's birthday on May 30th by two days. I was hoping that baby would arrive on either one of those dates. But little Daphne Maureen decided she was her own person and wanted her own date. She arrived in the wee hours of May 31st weighing a whopping 9lbs 12 oz. They make 'em solid in that Connolly family. All told, it was 13 hours from the time we left the house until we were back at home with our sweet little babe. Our hearts burst with pride for this perfect, smart and beautiful bundle of joy.  9lbs 12oz translated into the biggest stone of my 2017 monument.

Hard to believe Daphne is already 7 months, has her first tooth, says "Mama" and sleeps through the night for months now. 

In June Little Miss Maevey graduated from preschool. She is such lovely girl. No really, she is. She is very social and finds it easy to make friends, but also has a bright academic side to her as well. Kindergarten has been great for her and she is learning to read and is a fabulous little artist. She has known all her letters and sounds for a couple of years, but on one trip to the library, while her brother engaged in piles of books, she announced, "Granny, I'm just not into books that much." And off she skipped to captain the library's pirate ship filled with newfound friends she made.

Xander continues to excel in reading and math and bring joy to our hearts. He is in grade 3 at Spruceland Traditional School. Even after spending 31 years with Jed showing us the reality of each person being unique, we continue to learn and grow and expand our horizons and get a glimpse of just how vast humanity has been created.

There is no personality quite like him. And he fills my heart. 

Jed continues to live with Devin and Shayne in his home share program. And while life with Jed will always be, well, life with Jed, we are so grateful that he has really settled into his routines there. We thank God daily for Devin's patience and kindness and his role in Jed's life.

After a couple of failed attempts at owning used ATVs, Jed managed to save  enough for a downpayment on his new Arctic Cat that he has affectionately named Kaylee. 

July 2017 was deemed "the year of the fires" with many areas of our province burning up. We've known this was likely going to happen eventually after the pine beetles swept through the province about 12 years ago. Prince George and the close surrounding area were actually spared a lot of immediate danger and even the smoke, although terrible on a few days, was not nearly as bad as it was in other areas. Brandi and the girls were essentially house bound for most of the summer in Kamloops.

Prince George became an evacuation centre for many thousands of people, including a family who lived in Ken and Jade's RV in their yard, and we were proud to call it home, and added another rock to the pile.

We were thankful to God that the smoke that socked in Kamloops for weeks lifted in mid-august the day before Beatrice's planned third birthday pool party. Our beautiful and kind little (well, not-so-little, size of a 5-year-old) three-year-old girl got to host her Fabulous Flamingo party.

The September Long was deemed "Ziemer Mini Reunion Weekend."  With the family currently rounding out at a cool 226 members, including spouses, nothing can actually be termed "mini." We held a celebration in honour of Grandma Grace turning 89 years young and the birth of her 100th great grandchild - who just happens to be the one and only Miss Daphne Connolly. Another pile of rocks in the monument.

Daphne and Great Grandma even had a great 2-page write-up in The Citizen newspaper. 

Great Grandma Grace posing with most of her 100 great grands. 

This year we were blessed with our first ever grand-puppy when Ken and Jade added Snoopy to their family. This little Walker Coon Hound is about the cutest dog you'll ever see. And in keeping with their family traditions he is super smart and oh so loveable. He arrived at less than two months old and was immediately house trained and he loves his crate.

Snoopy is so good with the kids and he fits right into their family - even the 3 cats. 

By September, we were more than 12 years into the "5-year-plan" for this crooked l'il ol' house we bought in 2005, and it was time to take the plunge and just do it. Our basement suite had been empty since March, and although we had a few requests to occupy it, as hard as it was to kiss that bit of extra monthly cash goodbye, we really feel like we can use the space more than the money at this point. And we moved into it ourselves.

Demolition is always fun yet labour intensive for menfolk, and I just stayed out of their way, cooking steak and barking orders from afar.

Gone were layers and layers of floor, wall and ceiling.

And after a month of working hard Albert, Jim and I flew away to Maui with Brandi, Kore and the girls for reprieve, and to cash in on that coral anniversary we'd committed to back in January.

And it did not disappoint. I was feeling a little guilty about sorta coercing Papa into coming to Maui to help me "nanny" the girls. However, he fell in love and, sadly I didn't get it in writing, while there he agreed to make it an annual event. However, I am the financier of the family and suspect that maybe biennial is a little more realistic. Either way, it is our full intention to return.

Maui was a fabulous break, but I soon had Albert and JimE back at it when we returned. I had my sights set on Christmas dinner in my new kitchen and my hard working crew assured me they could deliver. And deliver they did.  Pile up more rocks in the monument.

Approximately 72 hours before the turkey hit the oven, I moved the cutlery, spices and frying pans to their new forever home. And even those skeptical of my "Mica Black, Crayon Green, Icon Grey and Pacific Blue" colour palette agree, me and my boys pulled it off.  I'm so pleased with my "new old home" that even though both Albert and Jimmy offered more than once to treat us to dine out for my birthday on the 28th, I opted to dine in - it truly feels like I am vacationing in my own home. I am so blessed. And thankful. And appreciative. And somehow I will figure out how to pay the bank back. I doubt they'll take this pile of stones I've collected. Alb had better continue his dedication to his 2 jobs and I'd better make more effort to create artists out of wine drinkers.

We plan to have some sort of open house sometime in the New Year and Albert has a dream of having a house concert weekend with famous recording artists. He thinks we can cram 50 guests into our newly-renovated-but-still-the-same-square-footage space. Perhaps if we all cram in like a pile of rocks we'll fit. And we'll become the foundation of the 2018 monument.

Happy New Year to each and every one of you who took the time to read through this and add a stone to the A&L monument of 2017.

Maeve Jade Xander Ken Liana Daphne Albert Jed Kore Beatrice  Brandi
My heart bursts with love and pride for each of these souls we have been entrusted with. 

I blamed the daycare

Periodic traffic jams in my quiet residential neighbourhood in all sorts of weather.

Currently it is somewhere around -30 degrees and there is a traffic jam on my quiet residential street.

The house across the street, next to the park, was home to a successful daycare/preschool for a number of years. And by successful, I mean one that had a lot of kids attending. And with a lot kids comes a lot of pick-up and drop-offs through the day, and traffic jams on our residential street every day at 9am, 12-1pm and 3:00pm. Many times I had to wait to get out of or into my driveway as parents would park right across the end of the driveway "for a quick sec" while they dropped or picked their kid up.

I tried not to get too grouchy about it as I know decent daycare can be hard to find. Other than the traffic and the incessant screaming and general park noises, the daycare wasn't too bothersome.

Well, the daycare became so successful, it actually moved and took over the Child Development Centre back in September.  Yet still, we periodically get random traffic jams on our quiet street. This perplexed me. So I started paying attention to what it was all about.

It probably averages about once a week - that I notice anyway. There is a sudden influx of vehicles. Everyone sits in their vehicles for about 5 minutes or so. Then they all jump out of their cars at the same time, with their phones in hand. They scurry about for a couple of minutes, then muster together in small groups to chat for a moment or two, and just as quickly dispense from their groups like a cluster of baby spiders after you step on their mother. And they drive away.

I am completely guessing here, but it appears to be a game of Pokemon Go. I am not familiar with the game much, other than I know it was a bit of an obsession for people a couple of years ago. Do they still play? To this degree? Seriously. These are not bored teenagers with nothing else to do on their Christmas vacation. These are grown-ass adults in expensive cars. There are currently no less than nine vehicles in front of my house. And did I mention it was minus 30ish?