Well, this is it. My last blog post as Miss Hargreaves. 

Today, Bill, the Facility Manager at work (not to mention, the loveliest Scott you’ll ever meet - perhaps, even, a gift from my Nanny) - brought me a very offical nametag reading “Jennifer Wilson.”

Yes, I am beginning to feel like someone new.

I’ve written and erased about a hundred sentences trying to capture the sum of experience for this medium. But those thoughts will stay in the journal beside my bed. Instead, I’m taking Frost’s sage advice. 

See the door on my little atelier?

It says, Ferme. 

And if you’re lost enough to find yourself

By now, pull in your ladder road behind you

And put a sign up CLOSED to all but me.

Then make yourself at home.   

Here are your waters and your watering place.

Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.

Hasta Luego,

Jen

Like poetry, sometimes places or people ring true in the depths of you. And that is how you know.

It’s how I know one day I must go to Little Sparta’s Garden so my soul can keep growing.

It’s how I know to marry Ash this weekend and claim my glimpse of the sea.

And it’s how friends know to send notes like this one on the eve of a life:

“Work must be KILLING you this week. All my good hair/skin/nail thoughts are with you. I just ate some salmon and dedicated all the fish oil to you.”

Thanks, Alice.

Enough champagne to last a lifetime of Wednesdays

(and sometimes Sunday mornings mixed with Orange Juice)

Jen

And I can post a sickening number of headshots if I want to. And I do. We were looking through old photos last night (sipping on a tidy, piccolo of Henkell) and we found so many pictures of us that we haven’t seen in ages. Do other people like to sit at the kitchen table and watch flickr slideshows of their trips? Is that normal?

Oh Paris! I am busty in this shot! Thanks for the lift, Ash!

And, of course, my other true love. My eternal sidekick, Whiskey, who perfectly balances me in more ways than I can say. As excited as I am for Mexico, I already miss her. She loves her new dad.

And finally, my favourite shot from the summer:

Who doesn’t love a man who can appreciate a nice baguette?

Jen xo

I would love to write something not related to the next 5 sleeps.

But I can’t.

I’ve got one thing on my mind.

He’s tying his tie in the hallway mirror.

Jen

xoxo

PS: Photos of postcards contained in The Little Box of I Love You, currently for sale at Chapters for $15.95 and now, our guest book.

…Champagne Wednesday as fiance and fiance , we plan to spend alone. 

I suggest you go to the Libra Room and listen to live Jazz over a Roasted Beet Salad with Boursin ($7) and a bottle of Il Mionetto ($18!).

As Ash tells me people in the smoky underground Chicago Jazz clubs say: 

That’s it Charlie. You got it Charlie.

Jen

There’s a lady in California who writes a blog I’ve been reading lately. You can visit her here if you like.  On her far right coloumn, she left this little quote:

“You don’t really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and why his parents will always wave back.”

- William D. Tammeus 

What a sweet image.

The photo is from here. This weekend, my mom told me never to make a loaf of bread. What kind of motherly advice is that?! Probably good advice. Anyway, it inspired me to start searching around for an easy bread recipe and I found this one. I am bookmarking it here for the New Year.  Between bread-making and dance classes, I’m sure going to be a busy wife.

Domestic Reflections

Building a little house by the big woods

Have a quiet and reflective Remembrance Day,

Jen

The view from Seymour Mountain in Vancouver. This was in July. Within 30 minutes of leaving the snowy parking lot, we were laying on the beach in Deep Cove. I woke up with this day on my mind. I am so glad we took pictures.

This morning, the leaf mobile found a friend. I’ll show it to you in a second. First, you should know, I’m listening to this song and drinking Nespresso on the floor in front of the fireplace. Whiskey and I are wondering if the rain will lighten up long enough to go for a walk before work. Ash is gone to Orlando. Well, not quite. He’s at the airport. Probably holding an Americano and an Economist. Ash loves the airport. It’s his place. Travel overwhelms him with a sense of stillness that daily life does not. He sleeps with a fierceness on holidays that I love. Except, this is a work trip and he doesn’t seem that happy about going. Last night, I came home and found him reading the newspaper, waiting to surprise me with this:

A care package. Are you crying because you’re happy? he asked. Yes, because sometimes a busy heart can find its calm in the care of someone who loves it. Someone who would stroll through the aisles of Meinhardt and pick all the things you love off the shelves and make the sales lady wait to wrap it until they got back with this: can you see it? It’s right there in the heart of it all…

Veuve Cliquout. And what you don’t see (because milk doesn’t take a very pretty picture) - the litre of Island Farms in the fridge for my coffee this morning and the note on the counter that tells me the next time he gets on a plane it will be to Mexico as my husband. Sigh. I feel it all. Now back to the leaf mobile:

I borrowed the now-crusty leaf mobile to show you our Rehearsal Dinner invites. Every Jot and Title did the handy-work of creating two silhouette tags (she even included the string), customized with our rehearsal and dinner information on the back. Wouldn’t this make a great wedding invite too? And they were seriously inexpensive. I loved them so much, we did a photo-shoot, as I often and oddly do with my mail these days:

What is love but a messy string between two people and the resolve to tie a million knots to keep it strong?

An endless row of knots for you, Ash.

Mine heart is full.

Remember when I bought you that lamp?

I should have waited and let you open the box yourself,  then it would have seemed like more of a gift.

Lamp from Poetic Home, the shop of Grace Light (could there be a prettier name?). 

Grace has a blog too.

And now I have light.

My mom and sister gave us a Nespresso Cube for a shower gift. I actually screamed when I opened it. Ever since the day we went to register at the Bay and stopped by the Nespresso concept store, Ash and I have been dreaming of mornings with this sleek machine. And I am not, by nature, a pod kind of gal. I like grinds. I like the simple work of a bodum. But this is no Tassimo. The Nespresso makes real espresso. So this morning, please don’t call. I am not at home. I am at a cafe in Amsterdam. I am also a little dizzy. We can’t stop trying all the pods.

As for George, well… he’s the crema.