The Wednesday night before my Thursday flight I awoke at precisely 2:07 AM to the sound of a car alarm. At roughly 2:07:51 AM the lady in my digital answering machine spoke up and said to the darkness: “Please record your message.” I heard a click and my alarm clock went black. Another click seconds later and the numbers appear again only this time they flash 12:00. 12:00. 12:00. 

I witnessed a two-second power outage. Why is this so significant? Well… if the car alarm had not woken me up, I would have never experienced the power outage, I would have never experienced my alarm clock resetting, and most likely would not have woken up on time. So from about 2:09 AM on I tossed and turned trying to reassure myself that this was not a warning to not board my flight. That it wasn’t the Universe’s way of telling me to not fly. It wasn’t the Universe’s way of trying to make sure I sleep through my wake up time.

I boarded the next morning anyway, said a little prayer to whoever/whatever was controlling the Universal events of that day, checked the wing beneath me for cracks or loose screws, and entered the atmosphere with a roar and Margot at my feet. The Green Mile, some cute Canadian short films, and several crossword puzzles later I was in Ottawa at the baggage claim sending Kenny some exhausted “Where are you?” text message which really meant that I was kind of bummed that I didn’t see a familiar face waiting to greet me. I’m such a sucky suck. He was there though, just outside, and frankly didn’t notice me until I was 10 feet away from him and then he smiled and mentioned something about me being a bag lady, then hoisted my goods into his trunk.

Day One, Thursday, I had dinner at The Works with Kenny not too long after landing and getting Margs all settled at my mom’s. Not even three hours after this I found myself in bed, barely coherent by 8:30 PM EST, which in actuality was 5:30 PM for me. Justified? Ya, probably. Although it could also have been the concoction of anti-histamines, decongestants, and Gravol I ingested in the first leg of my trip as well.

Friday morning was visit with my dad, pick up my Czech citizenship, take photo for my Czech passport, drive to Belleville day. I skipped over to my dad’s really early in the morning (okay, it was 9:00 AM) where the two of us enjoyed a quick little breakfast, some coffee, catching up, and five or six rough copies of what he was going to write in my brother and his wife-to-be’s wedding card. 

I was less than pleased with my passport photo. My first inclination that this was going to be a photographic disaster was that the “passport photo room” is a stark white closet with two bright, white, fluro lights running vertically along each side of your face mounted to each corner at the front to my left and my right. A lighting nightmare. This set-up ensures that there is no dimension to anyone’s face because it literally blanches out curves and contours. So my face might as well have been this oval, flat, glowing thing with two eyes plugged into it. Thankfully my photographer enabled my perfectionist, anal-retentive, self-deprecating, never-happy-with-anything-personality (which only comes out as a package 17% of the time, for the record) by snapping four photos of myself which, okay, okay, looked exactly the same every single time. My face was captured almost exactly like this. In fact, I’m quite proud of myself for how accurately this turned out:

Thankfully, I was distracted from my disgust and sheer embarrassment of my passport photo by the nifty fingerprint device that was next on the list of things to do in the passport process. The Czech passports are so hi-tech.

As a side note, sometimes I feel lucky that I deal with strangers who are tolerant of just how questionable I can be sometimes. Although, I will also admit that my discretion does play a part. Not everyone is privy to such sides of me. There is a screening process within the first minute of our interaction. 

Where was I?

Yes. Just before leaving I asked the Czech consulate, who by this time must have just wanted me the hell out of there, if I could take with me a poster commemorating the Czech Republic’s regional integration into the European Union which he graciously gave me; which I might add, is still sitting in the kitchen at my mom’s to this date. At least I hope it is. Muzzy? In the end I think I made up for it by putting the háček ( ˇ ) over the wrong letter when printing my last name in Czech. I think he got a good čuckle out of it at my expense, so it was the least I could do.

That afternoon my Auntie Carol and I made the trek to Prince Edward County, the hub of wedding events that weekend. One big bag of chips each, a coffee, a bottle of water, and two hundred (not mine) cigarettes later we had arrived at this most pristine and glorious five bedroom, five bath cottage my family had rented for the weekend that overlooks Lake Ontario called Wellington Place.

I have to tell you, it felt so good to be around my family again. And, so many of them under one roof. That’s one thing I can miss about being so far away from home; the accessibility of my family. I imagine it was especially fun for my dad who was a) the only male for the first 24 hours and b) surrounded by his ex-wife’s/mother of his children’s family. Everything was synchronised perfectly, though. See, there’s history there and it was nice to see everyone catching up on old times. It was comfortable. My parents were comfortable. Everyone still gets a kick out of my dad’s hilarity which was unique to observe. He’s as welcome now as he probably would have been when my parents were still together. So that was nice.

Saturday was wedding day. We all eased into the morning having coffee on the patio over the water. Eventually my mom, auntie Diane, and I went for a successfully under-skilled canoe ride before the rest of the cottage dwellers arrived. It had been ages since I was out in a canoe slicing into the stillness of Lake Ontario. And, like the good Brownies we all once were, we even sang Land of the Silver Birch to keep our strokes in sync. 

My best-friend, soul mate in our next life, and date for the wedding, Shannon arrived with my cousin, Andrea (yep, Andrea), Andrea’s boyfriend, and family friend Mary. And, at that moment it felt like a day for a wedding. 

The wedding was under an apple tree. The day was perfect. The sky was blue. The venue shared the same property as the apple tree which was great. After the ceremony there was a table set up with a rickety sign hanging off the railing behind that said “Scotch n’ Cigars.”  This is where the fun really kicked up a notch.

We filed into the hall shortly after all the photos to eat one of the best wedding dinners I’ve ever had. The entire meal was made up of local and organic food and was scrumptious and familiar in that kind of family dinner way. Two of the dishes were actually family recipes on Heidi’s side that the chefs cooked up.

I should rewind a little bit. Just before the dinner, as with most weddings, the parents, wedding party, and bride and groom are introduced. First duo out were Heidi’s parents. The music blasted and out they came shaking their booties. I sat at my seat, clapping and cheering, and I realised at that moment that there was a very good possibility my parents were instructed to come out doing the same thing. I thought to myself Noooo, they would never and out they shimmied. I was stunned. My mom had this kind of dance/clap/side-step thing going on, while my dad did the off-beat hip shuffle and threw up his arms on every opposite beat. It was the most fantastic thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life and I remember at that moment I reached some form of euphoria as my heart heaved with the kind of unobstructed elation toward everything around me and my existence at that moment in time. 

Shannon and I were feeling it drunk by the time the dance floor opened up. People were high, happy, and energized from either alcohol, the vibe, or most likely both. My auntie Cecilia, into her 80s, nodded off at the table sitting up with a very peaceful smile on her face. Her eyebrows were even arched, frozen at the moment she probably tried to open her eyelids and fell asleep milliseconds thereafter. She is notorious for that and it makes me want to pinch her cheeks.

Like this in a way:

I spent most of the dinner observing the room and watching my brother kiss his new bride on the temple or back of her hand every so often. I did this primarily because I was due up for a speech/toast and had decided that morning that I was just going to wing it. So I found myself getting lost in my little brother, who was now someone’s husband and thinking back to how much fun we had as kids. I had the feeling of missing it in a way but this thought process gave me some good material and my toast came out easily except for the part when I referred to my brother’s wife by his ex-girlfriend’s name.

Just kidds! I’m so funny.

My brother gave a really adorable speech which I know he was really nervous about. He is so intelligent and expressive but he can also be very quiet and humble. He really amazed me when he admitted he lost the first two pages of his speech too. Seeing the two of them up at the podium together, expressing their love for each other and their friends and family was surreal and very happy. They both said some really lovely things and it felt incredible seeing them each have such an appreciation for each other as people. Which I feel is important. You can get caught up sometimes in the grandeur of marriage but as long as you can “get” the other person, even the aspects of them that are ingrained and will chap your ass until the day you leave this earth, if you can handle that too, then I believe you’re fine. They seem to understand that about each other which is nice to behold.

After the speeches, every age group hit the dance floor hard as is usually the way early on. Eventually though most people were winding down at the back of the room talking quietly, filing out, or standing outside to cool off. Shannon and I were the stalwarts among a few other second-winders. Shannon even turned down the first trip back to the cottage with those whose regular bedtime had long passed. “No ffffugging wayyyyy Lorraine, we’re going to party all niiiight!” She exclaimed to my mom (at least I think those were the words her tongue was trying to get around). It was funny 35 minutes later when she closed her eyes while sitting up and breathed into my shoulder something along the lines of “I’m just going to go lie down outside okay?” Fifteen minutes after that my dad came back to the reception to pick us up, just like after a Grade 8 dance. 

We got our second wind after we got out of our big-girl clothes and transformed into fleece pajama bottoms and hooded sweatshirts and crawled into the king-sized bed laughing and talking until Shannon fell asleep mid-sentence. I haven’t had a sleepover in years. Especially with my little Shannon.

And with that the wedding had come to an end. The next day we’d be heading home. Shannon back to her kiddies and Ben, and me back to my mom’s to spend the next three days catching up with all my old friends.

So, I’ll end this post and will continue the rest of my trip in the next couple of days. Here are the photos for the people I know will be anxiously waiting for Andrea’s Crazy Ones. I mean, you have a professional photographer when you need to look normal. But for the times when you’re not normal, that’s what I’m for.

Wellington Place:

This is Riki, my brother and Heidi’s puppy.

But if you crop the photo like this, doesn’t he look like a bearded, scruffy man?

At the dinner rehearsal:

Moi et Auntie Diane.

Wedding Day:

(Auntie Cecilia on left, my nana on right)

Like, is my brother handsome or what?

After the ceremony:

Shannon and I may or may not have stolen a cupcake before it was cake time. But that was only after a little boy did first.

In my opinion, everyone needs an Auntie Carol…

Dancing Queen:

It got a little raucous from this point on:

“I love youuuuu.”

Sleepy time. But first…

Shannon would look at this photo and say: “Oh my God, hammerrrred.”

“Lemme try your glasses on!” “Okay yeaaaa Andreaaa!”

The End.

Of Part I.

Tired.

Jet-Lagged.

Partied last night until 3:48AM, which is really 6:48AM Ottawa time.

Oh silly me.

Will blog soon.

To keep you company: Depeche Mode – Enjoy The Silence (Live)

My engagement ring. Kenny and I decided it needs to be back in his life.

We had a separation agreement when I moved to Vancouver that I’d keep it safe. Something to remember us by. “It’s yours, bébé,” he’d say. “You take it.” So I did. I find it amusing sometimes that I have all the gear to get married at a moment’s notice. The only thing missing is a 2nd human being. 

So I talked to Kenny the other day and we decided it was his turn to keep it safe. I told him to just sell it and pay off the debt he owes on it. He says, “I’m not ready to do that yet, I just don’t know.” I figure he’s taking primary custody of it now, so he can really do what he wants with it.

It’s a little ring. A beautiful ring. Something that symbolizes so much between us. So much of my life, and his life, all in this little smooth, round ring. 

While I was packing tonight I tried to figure out the safest way to transport it back to Ottawa. I debated putting it in my checked baggage, but then thought that just our luck my bag would be the one stolen, or set on fire, or the one to roll off the trailer. 

Then I contemplated keeping it in my purse. But then I imagined I’d be the one to be mugged or robbed, and that wasn’t any good either.

So it’s on my ring finger now. I figure the only way this thing is going to go anywhere is if I fall into a vat of Vaseline or I somehow have my finger amputated. Neither of which is likely. I’m looking at it as I type this. I remember staring at it for so long when it first ended up on me. I’d watch the light hit it at different angles, watch my hand movement in the reflection of the mirror…

Now the only reason it’s on my finger is to ensure its safe arrival in Ottawa.

Anyway, okay, so that’s about it.

… Don’t you find it fun when you type “about it” really quickly and it ends up like abou tit? That just happened.

Aren’t you glad I told you that?

Working on my brother and his future wife’s slideshow.

I’ve been working like a crazy person.

I have a lot to write about.

And, will have even more to write about soon.

I just don’t have the time yet.

There is more procrastinating to be done.

I’m days away from the vacation that my mind is already on.

It’s like I’m on shrooms.

But I’m not.

I’ll write more soon.

Probably when I’m in Ottawa.

Here’s your Sunday Jammin’ Song, on Tuesday…

This one is for quicker-paced jammin’. You know, when you’re just over-grooved and need to get it out of your system fast. Or maybe… maybe it’s just one of those nights.

Electric Light Orchestra – Last Train To London

If you had to, which one would you choose to jam with? The year is 1977 if that makes things easier.

I’m going home in T minus nine days. I’m going home for my little brother’s wedding. My little brother who can get engaged and actually follow through to marriage. Unlike his big sister. It’s going to be strange in some ways I imagine. I mean it would be odd enough to have my little brother get married before me, his big sister, but to also get married before his big sister who could have been married before him.

Oh how different my life is from what I imagined it’d be like at this time when I was in my mid-twenties. Sometimes I have to remind myself I’m in my early thirties. Maybe that’s part of the problem. I haven’t entirely experienced the last eight years, I was really just floating. Then I wake. I look in the mirror and I see little wrinkles around my eyes when I scrunch my face. I’m not twenty-five anymore. That was almost eight years ago. EIGHT YEARS? Eight years might as well be ten years. How do I stop this?

Where was I?

Oh yes, maybe floating isn’t really the right word. If I had floated then I would have never become so self-aware and introspective. I would have never developed such a sense of my self or an understanding of what it is that I truly want out of life. I would have never developed guts, or inner strength, or conviction. I would have never developed this constitution. I would have never learned that in order to get ahead you have to look behind you. 

No, okay … no. I didn’t float. At all. I just became a little misdirected from the path I thought I’d be going on. I guess sometimes because I’m all of the sudden in my thirties, when I swear last week I was celebrating my nineteenth birthday passed out on the floor of the front hallway at 3:AM with my feet hanging outside.

Like, I’m in Vancouver now. I would have never imagined myself solo in Vancouver with Marshall & Otis. At thirty years old I was entirely on my own for the first time in my life. My entire twenties were spent in two relationships, 5 years each. One almost ended up with me down the aisle. Imagine that. 

So I reflect, like I usually do – that’s nothing new. And I reflect upon growing up alongside my little brother who’s going to be someone’s husband now. I look at how he’s less my brother compared to when we were kids, and now he’s someone’s partner. He’s entering a new phase of his life now.

It’s strange but very enlightening and revelatory. I don’t mind it. I don’t mind the deviation. I don’t mind re-routing. I know there will be plenty more detours in this life of mine. One might even find me in Europe. Working in a little caffè and running along cobblestone roads. I can do it easy. Because it’s just me.

There are perks, you know. When it’s just me.

Yeah.

I don’t feel like writing much. I’m in a weird mood and all that will come out is gobbledegook. So I’ll spare you. I will offer you two Sunday Jammin’ Music songs though. This will make for double jammin’ time…

These two transport me to somewhere else when I listen to them. For optimum listening your setting should either be darkness, or a sunny day where a breeze blows. Your mood has to be completely open or at the very least ready to be open. If you’re anything like me, you’ll get somewhere great with either of these playing around you. 

I’ve got Gipsy Kings, in recognition of their amazing concert Sherene and I had the privilege of seeing at the PNE on Friday night. Frig, I love the G.Ks. Talk about music that moves the spirit. My spirit at least. 

Then I’ve got Chris Botti. Chris Botti because Michael just informed me today that this miracle trumpeter is coming to Vancouver. I’ve been waiting with bated breath for this moment to come. A moment I didn’t think I’d ever experience in the near future. But it’s here. And I’m so happy. I bought two tickets before I even asked someone to come with me.

Close your eyes…

Gipsy Kings: Tu Quieres Volver

Chris Botti (hot babe): Indian Summer

Here I am. Where isn’t really important. I’m just here. Here with my readers and fellow bloggers, and you strangers too.

It’s Wednesday now, half way to the weekend that I feel like I just came from. Strangely enough, I actually worked on Tuesday and Wednesday, but here I am Wednesday night and I vaguely remember spending 8.5 hours at work on either of those days. I put in a lot of extra time after work too. My caseload is piling up and I just want to karate chop it out the window. I think I counted seven sticky notes on my monitor before I walked out of my office. Sticky notes I’m going to have to deal with in nine hours from now.

I went through this little funk where I retreated from the Internet again. It’s funny how sometimes I just hate the darn thing. What it is, what it’s become, what it’s done. I even resented the seconds it took to have to wait for my Safari browser to load. So instead I painted. I painted for hours this weekend. I had such a creative flow of free imagination that I couldn’t stop. I watched three movies on Sunday. In order of viewing they were: 

Calvaire  - Brief Review: What the ffffffuhh…hhoh my f’ing God. What? Gah! Holy shiii. What … what is thaaa. Jesus! 

Synecdoche, New York - Brief Review: Charlie Kauffman’s directorial debut. It’s provocative, deep, slow, depressing, sad, genius, quiet, miserable, witty, and touching. 

The Diner – Brief Review: “All I did was I parked the car on a nice lonely road, I looked at her, and I said fuck or fight.”

Needless to say a lot can be accomplished when all you want to do is stay inside alone and do whatever you want. I had no need to exit my place – I did though, just for health and sanity and sat against the cool bricks of the front of my apartment and read. Which reminds me… I’m on the last chapter of Roots which means I am now allowed to start a new book. This one’ll be a quickie but it’s magic so far. Jack Kerouac’s The Subterraneans … sigh I just want to jump in my car and drive to San Francisco again. It’s typical Kerouac style and if you’re not familiar with what that is just imagine if I left out all signs of periods, paragraphs, and ignored the rules of grammar entirely. What fun that would be. He did it so beautifully. 

Here’s your Sunday Jammin’ Music song on a Wednesday. 

Leonard Cohen – Dance Me to the End of Love

You’re in a dark, empty room with elm floors and a wood coffered ceiling. Scattered candles flicker in the corners of the room casting twinkles in the reflection of the arched windows. A gramophone loops the sound of a low, ticking scratch, and Dance Me to the End of Love begins. La luh, la luh, la luh, la luh, la la luhhh… Allure enters the room at this point; a gentle soul with a tender touch and you forget how you got to where you are because it really doesn’t matter now. A candle burns out into the melted wax on the floor and smoke streams slowly around your interlacing forms in the middle of the room.