Just Dance

Sometimes there are days where all you can do is dance.

We've all had those days-- those days where absolutely everything goes wrong.

Days where you lose your wallet, download a virus, and spill your coffee all over your brand new pants-- all within the first half hour.

Days where you just have to do something, or you're going to explode in an oozing mess of stress.

But why let that trend continue?

I say, dance.

Turn on your favourite music-- loud enough so that you can feel it in your chest and in the walls-- and dance.

It may sound ridiculous-- and it is, I'm not going to lie.

But it's so ridiculous that it breaks the pattern-- it ends the trend of spiralling negativity and infuses some awesomeness back into your day.

So close the blinds, shut your door-- and let loose.

The sprinkler, the hand jive, some jazz hands-- they're all fair game, as are the unnamed and time-honoured moves that many of us may not qualify as actual dancing, but reserve nonetheless for hair-brush lip-synching rockstar moments (you know who you are).

Just dance it out. Find your inner Ellen DeGeneres, and everything will be a bit better.

You can have a three-hour commute home and forget all of your important papers on your desk-- but five minutes is all it will take to have some fun.

Happy Mother's Day ♥

Today I found my Mom's old baby journal-- a diary written about the pregnancy in which I came to exist.

I read about what it was like hearing my heartbeat for the first time, and  my Mom's gut instinct that yes, I was definitely going to be a girl. I read about my parents' hopes and dreams for me, months before I was born-- about how excited they were, and how nervous they were too. She wrote about how my bedroom was the first room to be painted in their house, and how they couldn't wait for me to arrive. She wrote me letters, and so did my Dad-- just about their days, about how they loved me already, and how much they loved each other.

My Mom wrote about how beautiful I was when I was born, and how excited everyone was-- she wrote about everything, and told me that she loved me over and over.

The pages continue on over my terrible two's and three's, and the arrival of my brother into the world-- noting my toddler-like misunderstanding of why he couldn't go back to where he came from. She detailed every new word I learned, and every time I giggled and cried-- always telling me that she loved me.

Up until today, I don't think I ever fully understood what my Mom's done for me. Reading this journal, I teared up, because she's been there for me all the time, from before I was born to eighteen years later-- she's loved me the same every minute, never faltering.

So Mommy, I love you. You, and my Dad, are the most amazing people I've ever known-- and I know raising me must have been a lot of work, but I am so grateful to be able to call you my parents, I couldn't have been brought into the world by better people.

Happy Mother's Day ♥

The Mastery of Chopsticks

As someone raised on forks, the mysterious concept of chopsticks has always been intriguing to me.

筷子, as they are called in Chinese, are really remarkable when you think about it. Existing since approximately 1766 BCE, these pieces of bamboo (or wood, or plastic) are considered to be an extension of the hand while eating-- something  many people like myself may feel to be an impossible feat-- something we scoff at, while folding our hands carefully away in our laps.

To the fork and spoon lover, chopsticks may seem to require such concentrated dexterity and coordination that the multitasking required in wielding these utensils is just simply out of the question. Forget eating, it's all about keeping both in your hand at once. Or politely inquiring as to the location of silverware.

I've been eating Chinese food for years-- it's awesome. But there's always been a bit of a struggle in the department of the transferrance of food from plate to mouth. Dropping a chopstick, letting a noodle slide-- having it all end up in your lap-- been there, done that.

So imagine my joy in finally getting it right. After years of seasoned practice and valiant effort, I have now mastered the art of chopsticks.

Believe me?

The proof lies in one bowl of salad.

After swinging my head around in search of a fork after its delicious delivery upon my table yesterday, I realized that there were no forks to be found in the entire restaurant. It was just me, my chopsticks, and a bowl of slippery, dressing-covered salad.

This was it.

There was only a moment of hesitation before I picked up the utensils, undaunted and determined to succeed. My friends at my table had both seen me falter and fail before, so I wasn't about to let it happen again-- not in the middle of a restaurant.

I braced myself, and plunged in.

One successful grasp of leaf after another, I was amazing. Never have I been more proud in my life-- I proclaimed through a mouthful of salad my supreme awesomeness to my friends-- and very well the entire restaurant. Everyone knew of my newfound talent, and I was happy to have them know.

Chopsticks, really, are just so much more entertaining than standard forks and knives. It's been a rough battle, but I've come out on top-- they may not yet be an extension of my hands (a la Wolverine), but I feel that I may be close.

Victory is near, my fork-loving friends.

Walking-- Everywhere, All the Time

Try to imagine what a bridge feels like with construction drilling its way through the middle.

If you've only ever been on one in your car, then you wouldn't know-- but to a pedestrian it feels like a vibrating foot-massager set on fifty times its recommended setting. It's actually kind of fun.

Now imagine your local park. You've been walking for just under an hour, and, creeping forward as silently as possible, you not only see a few deer in passing, but also a raccoon, a beaver, and an incredibly adorable bunny.

I think you'll find that even the quietest of cars won't stand up to this feat.

With your dog, your friend, your thoughts, or nothing other than just a sense of adventure-- walking is a step easier than running, and is infinitely more enjoyable than driving, giving you time to see everything that there is to see along the way. Giving you time to see that baby caterpillar and that scrawled graffiti-poem-- time to see what's around that corner and time to let it sink in.

Walking gives you a chance to really see what's around you-- to really feel what's around you. It gives you the opportunity to find out what you've been missing every time you've stepped into your car and every time you've decided that you're too tired to go out.

Yesterday I travelled 13.2 km on foot, but I still think that walking's awesome.

Believe me, fourteen (!!) deer-sightings later, I didn't regret it.

Delightfully Decadent Desserts

Not to continue on a food-related trend or anything, but dessert is perhaps the most amazing thing currently in existence on this planet.

After determining that my lunch today would be a belgian waffle larger than my face-- topped with strawberries, hot fudge sauce, whipped cream, and a veritable snowball of vanilla ice-cream-- I've seen the light that is the ridiculously indulgent pasttime of eating incapacitatingly delightful desserts.

I'm not talking like a Mars Bar or half of a KitKat-- I'm talking full-on regret-it-when-you-realize-you-have-to-run-twenty-kilometres-to-burn-all-of-it-off gooey, sugar-coated, and chocolate-melted awesomeness.

There's just something about the supreme decadence of a plate of dessert sitting in front of you-- the anticipation it builds, the satisfaction it brings, and the happiness it leaves long after you've finished.

Yes, I prescribe to the notion that moderation is key, but sometimes there's a need for oversized, overindulgent, and overly-ridiculous servings of sweetness. Sometimes there's a need for piles of ice cream to come from two containers-- not one-- and sometimes there's a need for waffles to be bigger than their namesake countries.

Dessert is a wonderful thing, and deserves recognition. So skip the calorie-counting and eat-- let the sugar flow in your veins-- smile in contentment.

Because really, who doesn't want any?

Every Breakfast is a Breakfast of Champions

Breakfast is so awesome.

Honestly, it's underrated. People either skip it, or claim that they eat it-- eating half a banana and chugging three cups of coffee before they run out the door.

But that's not breakfast. That's just wrong.

Breakfast is the sizzle of eggs hitting a hot frying pan-- the smell of syrup colliding with warm pancakes, perfectly fluffy and fantastically circular. Breakfast is taking half an hour to make cinnamon rolls, brewing the perfect pot of tea or coffee, and just sitting-- musing over the possibilities of the day ahead.

Breakfast is the masterpiece of  morning-- it's not about cold coffee and mushy cereal-- it's about celebrating the day with the best of the best.

It's about saying "Yes, I will add cinnamon and sugar to my toast this morning," just because it's awesome.

A Little Serendipity

ser·en·dip·i·ty

[ser-uhn-dip-i-tee]

–noun

1.

an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.

2.

good fortune; luck

3.

the most delightfully frustrating movie I've ever seen.

Yes, this may be a little delayed-- the John Cusak and Kate Beckinsale film came out in 2001. But it's the sort of movie that appeals to the most blindly faithful of optimists-- and in consequence is undoubtedly and most assuredly one of the best movies I've seen.

There's something about the concept of accidents leading to good fortune that brings up a smile-- who hasn't made a mistake, and then had it lead to something remarkable-- something even better than what was originally intended?

There's a reason this word exists in the English language.

Things happen, and things go astray-- but regardless, things work out.

All we need is a little confidence, a little good humour, and some spontaneity-- some trust in the world to be there for us.

So I know what my new favourite word is.

Do you?