I like the colour grey. Usually. Not so much when our weekend plans sit under a pile of rocks on the Sea- to-Sky highway. And not so much now that my winter clothes have begun seeping back into my day-to-day wardrobe. Oh well, better this side of the fall than under it. With luck, we’ll all continue to avoid the ground zeros around us. I can take the rain and watch the the whole city curl into its dry, brown self as long as the summer passes without an earthquake of any proportion. And I mean, literally, an earthquake. They seem to be moving north.
As for tonight, I’m looking forward to a welcome injection of colour.
Everyone needs a sacred place. Ash and I talked this morning about how I am meant for a studio life. You know, the little studio in the backyard where creative endeavours flourish and champagne is taken midday, mid-word, mid-serenity. I love how he indulges me. The photos above are artist Shanna Murray’s personal indulgence: a small studio in light seaside hues whose walls are papered with the pages of Pride and Prejudice. I love that. What book would you choose to surround yourself with? I can almost smell the soft, dusty perfume that all those old pages would add to the room. Beautiful.
So, what does this all have to do with Champagne? Nothing really, except Ms. Austen’s title got me thinking about the various feelings of pride and prejudice I hold about Champagne. For instance, the lovely bottle of Italian champagne that continues to claim real estate in our wine fridge. We just can’t seem to bring ourselves to pop it. As if something would be lost instead of gained. I hear this a lot. Whenever I explain Champagne Wednesdays to someone new, they always says “yeah, we have a couple bottles in our house. Don’t know what we’ve been saving it for.”
What’s the pride in having champagne on hand? Ever-ready for celebration, with no celebration ever good enough. What are you saving it for?
I hate when I venture onto someone’s blog only to find a long, chastising post about how they are such a bad, bad blogger for not writing lately. This lady (who’s eerie/beautiful photos and funny anecdotes keep me bookmarking) is a bad offender. No apologies necessary, seriously. I hate to think (but know too well) what kind of odd self-imposed guilt (read: importance) holding a blog can impose. Even though I do sometimes find a blog that so transports me to another world that I refresh incessantly, just hanging on for that updated account of yesterday’s stroll or today’s thought on art. Anyway, this is all to say (ha! I am just as bad) I am not apologizing. I was just excited by a recent comment from her that reminded me I should get back to blogging! Because there’s good company out there. Because I like it. And because it’s fun to see one’s own name in lights, even if I put up the sign.
Now for what I came here to say:
We can all dream for a little while before it’s time to go to work, to feed the kids, to run, to grocery shop, to wash your hair, to be someone different than the person who is just having her coffee and thinking of buying this house. Click here to change your mind about Portland.
Hot Rocks. Heart shaped rocks. Filing through rocks on a beach called Sombrio.
For today’s Champagne Wednesday, I’m raising my glass to a homemade red.
Yes, all those of you who’ve suffered through Uncle So-and-So’s special bathtub brew, go ahead and cringe now. But I swear it – one of my dearest life-friends, Jaimie, has been trying her hand at homemade wines too. And they’re pretty darn good.
Ash and I were lucky enough to sample her first, Gypsy Spit, on our trip to Victoria to see Cirque de Soliel. Now, the Smith-Windsor clan is relocated to Prince Albert and (not to spare a minute Jaimie and Al!), I’ve heard word there’s a second edition. A red wine named Sombrio.
How much fun to name your wines with all the memories and places that you slip too anyway on that second or third or fourth glass? Here, Jaimie, is your label:
This weekend was our official launch into engagement! We celebrated with a brunch at Hart House on Deer Lake surrounded by all the family and friends we love! And how many empty bottles of champagne was that I counted at the end? 3? 5? 8?! Thank you everyone for coming out in your Sunday’s best and toasting to love.
These little rustic organs brimming with their blood red juices are the object of my current (and deepest) food desires. Replacing fresh dill, and so nicely matched by Ash and I’s new weekly forays into the world of fancy cheese. I will try to take a picture of our next Sunday afternoon patio lunch. There’s just something about my rectangular white tray pilled high with labouriously selected food treasures from Rapers…I mean, Capers. There’s just something about it that brings me such peace (Note: Ash thinks it might also be the bottle of Dirty Laundry’s Hush 2007 which induced said “peace” feeling).
Back to beets. Try them:
…tossed with champagne walnut vinegar.
…in the roasted beet salad at the Libra Room on Commercial Drive.
…on a pizza like food designer Sweet Paul did. No no has made a beet look better.