El camarero, más sangría por favor

J, C2, my mum and I returned on Tuesday from four glorious days in sunny Barcelona, Spain. The sun and warmth was particularly welcome after a miserably cold and wet Spring in Geneva.

We packed a lot into those 4 days. Our perfect little hotel was on the carrer de Pelai, just off of the Plaça de Catalunya, the central square of downtown Barcelona, and one block from Barcelona’s famed Las Ramblas street. On our first day, we walked Las Ramblas to the harbour and back again, stopping only for lunch in a tiny charming square on a winding side street, and again for gelato. We had delicious tapas and an outstanding bottle of rioja for dinner at restaurant Sinatra (courtesy of the Millers’ October visit).
We spent most of our second day touring the celebrated Sagrada Familia cathedral; Antoni Gaudi’s enormous roman catholic church, which began construction in 1882, continues to this day and is only scheduled for completion in 2026. It is fantastical, mystical and visually irresistible. We waited in line patiently for 45 minutes to ascend one of its’ magical spires topped unexpectedly with passionfruit, figs, and grapes. Mum took the lift back down but C2, J and I descended the 300ish steps. The first 150 were fine, the last 150 rather terrifying as one misstep would send one tumbling hundreds of feet into a void. I held one hand on the banister, kept my eyes on the wall and muttered to myself as C2 tended to J.

Dinner that night was Paella and an utterly delicious jug of Sangria at restaurant Cullera de Boix. J loved our long late dinners. I don’t get it, he barely lasts 10 minutes at a normal dinner table!

C2 and J headed to the Barcelona Aquarium and Barceloneta beach for our third day, giving mum and I ample time to participate in Barcelona’s famed shoe shopping experience. Halfway down Las Ramblas, we stopped in at Café de l’Opera, a Barcelona institution and well-frequented haunt for a much-needed mid-day shot in the arm of Sangria. Dinner on our final night was again for authentic tapas, double pitchers of sangria and the best flan I’ve ever tasted at restaurant Los Torereros.

We spent our final day at the Barcelona zoo where J watched his first dolphin show. We headed to the airport in the late afternoon and strolled into our front door a couple of hours later– amazing! Coming from a country as immense as Canada, it never fails to astound me how much of Europe I can travel in so short a time.

An Awareness Moment

Do you know that one woman in 68 over the age of 40 will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year and that over a lifetime women have a one in 8 chance of developing the disease. It is also the most common cancer among women[1] Many of us have heard these numbers tossed around, particularly if we know someone who has battled this disease. They are fearsome statistics and every woman must take care to protect herself with all of the tools at our disposal.

The key to surviving breast cancer is early detection and treatment. According to the American Cancer Society, when breast cancer is confined to the breast, the five-year survival rate is close to 100%. The early detection of breast cancer helps reduce the need for therapeutic treatment and minimizes pain and suffering, allowing women to continue leading happy, productive lives.[2]

Beginning at the age of 40, all women should have annual mammograms, receive clinical breast exams each year, and practice breast self-exams every month.

I had my annual mammogram this morning and today I celebrate the fact that my breasts are real and healthy. I urge every woman reading this blog entry to do the same.

[1] American Cancer Society Cancer Incidence, Mortality and Prevalence Worldwide
[2] http://www.imaginis.com/breasthealth/

From the Mouths of Superheroes

J and I spent the day earlier this week in Bournemouth, England with our friends Lisa and Arthur and their kids M and S. The reason for this day-long cross-channel-and-back-again journey?? Lazytown LIVE of course!

Most North Americans are unfamiliar with this popular Icelandic children’s television show. In a nutshell, the main character is a superhero named Sportacus who along with a disturbingly upbeat pre-pubescent girl named Stephanie urge and cajole the normally lazy louts living in Lazytown to eat healthily, exercise regularly and to believe in themselves. They are remarkably positive role models and their acrobatic dancing combined with catchy show tunes have captivated most English-speaking European kids under the age of 8.

So after an enthralling 90-minute live stage show, we took the kids to a park to work off some of the steam built up after a plane ride and the stint in the theatre. Arthur overheard this exchange while the boys were tree-climbing still clad in their Sportacus costumes:

S: “Help, I think I need help climbing this tree”

J: “No you don’t, you’re Sportacus, you’re a superhero and superheros don’t need help climbing trees!”

Classic.

Random thoughts on womanhood and motherhood

There have been many life experiences of which I am justifiably (or not) proud. I ran a successful consulting business for many years. I competed in a triathlon last year. I chased dolphins while sea kayaking off Vancouver Island. I dislocated a shoulder mountain biking in Alberta (that one was high on the oooh…ahhhh scale especially in the physiotherapists’ office). I have travelled from western Europe to western Canada with a pre-schooler numerous times (don't knock it if you've never done it).

However, none elicited the sense of accomplishment and extension beyond my normal comfort zone as that which I did yesterday. I correctly assembled an IKEA bookshelf by myself in under an hour. I am woman. Hear me roar!


When I was 6 months pregnant with J, C2 and I bought a glider chair and ottoman for the nursery. In the last almost 5 years, that chair has rocked J to sleep, quieted his tears, heard thousands of stories read aloud, and witnessed too-many-to-count cuddles and kisses. One of the first words J said while gesturing urgently to it with a book was ‘chair-chair-chair’.

Alas, at nearly 5-years old, chair-chair-chair no longer comfortably fits us together. He squirms, can’t get comfortable and ends up poking me in the ribs. So yesterday, in an effort to convince him that he would be happier with his new Playmobil castle in that corner of his room, he hesitantly agreed to move chair-chair-chair to the guest room being occupied by his grandma for the next 3 months.

His uncertainty at this decision grew as the day wore on. ‘This will be the saddest night ever mummy’, he forlornly told me as he climbed into bed in spite of my promises of new book shelves and a kid-size bean bag chair. I am mother. Feel my guilt!

The Dinner Party

I love food. It’s as simple as that and a good thing that I train for triathlons given my epicurean curiosity and pleasure-seeking palate. God bless the Canadian Prairies but they remain, unfortunately, something of a gastronomical wasteland. Europe on the other hand…ah Europe… The boulangeries, the boucheries, the marchés, the auberges, the vineyards, the endless restaurant opportunities. I could carry on ad infinitum but that is fodder for other blogs. This one is all about the dinner party.

C2 and I love to cook almost as much as we love to eat and thankfully most of our friends are comparable foodies. I adore the whole process - the menu planning, the wine pairings, the table setting, the cooking, and of course, the eating. I could, mind you, probably live without the washing up part. We’ve hosted many, some better than others, last evening’s was superb.

We invited Marc and Nat to meet our great friends, Kirk aka “Le Sommelier” and Melissa aka“Mrs. Jamie Oliver”. It’s always a bit dicey when you invite couples to meet for the first time, but this evening was entertaining from start to finish. It began with C2 and Marc getting tipsy on Trappist beer (given to us by friends living in Belgium) even before the appetizers were served and only got better from there.

The food was great, the company wonderful. Here’s the menu and play list for your viewing and listening pleasure:
On the Table
Flammekuche savoyard pizza
Crudités and dar vida flat breads with herbed goat cheese

MOET & CHANDON CHAMPAGNE
ALFRED ROTHSCHILDE CHAMPAGNE

Teriyaki grilled Salmon
Steamed Asian Vegetables scented with freshly grated ginger
Jasmine Rice

MEURSAULT 2005
CHARDONNAY DE BOURGOGNE 2005

Roquette & Endive Salad with shaved Parmesan, toasted Pinenuts and aged Balsamic Vinegar

Tomme de Savoie, Mellun Brie, Chevre cremier, Gruyère, and Roquefort with baguette

RIOJA GRAN RESERVA 1998

Plum, Raspberry and Almond crumble
Lemon Chocolate cake

Play list
Mark Knofler and Emmylou Harris - “All the Roadrunning”
St. Germain - “Tourist”
Michael Bublé - “It’s Time”
Soundtrack from “High Fidelity”

We did go a little later than usual.

Joyeuse Pâques

Courtesy of my local swiss grocery store. Funny, I don't recall seeing these guys side-by-side in my Safeway Easter flyer.

A Little More on the Subject of Friendship

I know that friendship seems to have become a recurrent theme through my postings but it is one of the great joys in my life. The friendships I have made since arriving in Geneva buoyed our transition and raised this amazing expatriate experience to a new level.

In Canada, I left behind a network of loving and loyal friends who valiantly nurture our long-distance connection. I am incredibly grateful for their effort. My relationship, thankfully, with my immediate family is extraordinary. I would have chosen every one of them as friends even if they weren’t family!

Among the many thrills that living in Europe has given me is the now close proximity to my oldest friend, Sheila, who has lived in London for the better part of 20 years. We met at age 14, grade nine, at Riverdale High School in Montreal.

As best friends, we shared adolescence, high school, braces, university, first loves, first jobs, marriage, children, wanderlust, braces again, and great distances for almost 30 years. After she met and married her lovely English man, we still managed to communicate regularly and visit every couple of years. Now we exchange visits every couple of months!


She was in Geneva this week for a few brief but blissful days. We had a leisurely laughter-filled lunch with Nat on Thursday at Geneva’s elegant Hôtel les Armures. Over cabillaud, crème brûlée, and conversation, we marveled at the forks and turns of life that brought all three of us to that table.

Good Friendship and Good Fortune

We got some great news a few months ago. Two of our oldest friends Marc and Nathalie were moving to Geneva with the Royal Bank of Canada. While living in Calgary, we passed many, many happy hours together walking our beloved retrievers, sharing long dinners, and playing cards. They are Murphy’s other family and the only dog-sitters she had ever known.

Nat is my super-stylish girlie-girlfriend. She’s the one I went clothes shopping with (she’d always tell me if my bum looked too big!), drank frozen bellinis with, and faithfully perused the annual In Style ‘100 Best Products of the Year’ with. In spite of her poise, she was (and is) as crude as a dockworker and made me laugh until I peed…her antics at Calgary’s El Sombrero restaurant remains the stuff of legend.

As native Montrealers, we also shared a similar history. We understood their pining for the Plateau Mont Royal, and they understood our affection for the Monkland Village. We all attended Concordia University at various times in our lives, and could all wax lyrically about les chiens chauds and poutine from La Belle Province.

When we moved to Geneva, leaving friends like Marc and Nat behind was wrenching. Our friendship, however, forged over years of shared experience and much mirth endured. We all had familiarity nurturing long-distance friendships.

Marc and Nat arrived in Geneva about a month ago, and the smile hasn’t left their faces (or ours) yet. From the pleasure of restaurants and shops welcoming separation-anxious Ben (did I mention their 100+ pound Labrador?), to their fabulous new apartment in Geneva’s old town, to our renewed long retriever rambles; their experience so far has been nothing short of fantastic.

Nat and I have lunch together every Thursday in a different part of Geneva and together we toast to good friendship and good fortune.

(No) Sense and Sensibility

I never used to consider myself particularly sentimental. My pragmatic sarcastic side was usually dominant. But sometime around 5 years ago something changed and now without notice, I find myself reduced to a weepy undignified heap on an uncomfortably regular basis.

Films like The Notebook, or An Affair to Remember are lethal. Oh and don’t even get me started on my behaviour during a climactic scene of Grey’s Anatomy Season 2 “I know you’ll be fine…but Denny, what about meeeeeeee?”- wrenching stuff.

I once fled the room shrieking (I’m not kidding) during a Walt Disney movie about a yellow Labrador who fell off a bridge trying to protect his young master (the dog was fine and swam to safety, my bemused husband later informed me).

But nothing quite compares to last night’s mortification. I was aimlessly flicking the television remote control whilst waiting for my toenail polish to dry and happened upon the schmaltzy classic ‘Love Story’. It was the definitive scene. With the music at a crescendo, a dying Jennifer bravely tells her young husband “it doesn’t hurt Ollie, really it doesn’t”. My eyes welled. By the time she called him “her god&!#@ stupid preppie” (a timeless line if ever spoken) and gracefully slipped off into that good night, I was into unprecedented full body convulsions.

I guess motherhood did this to me (damn hormones). I didn’t see it coming but I have to admit “my name is Cxxxxxxx and I am a schmaltz junkie”.

Winter in Geneva

Snowdrops and crocuses February 17, 2008

Do I miss brisk 6-months long Canadian winters with -30 temperatures and frigid winds - uh not so much!

Mr. Clean or is that Monsieur Propre?

Scene: The cleaning products aisle of the grocery store.
Characters: 4-year old J who rarely accompanies 40-something mum to grocery store.

Jack wanders the aisle absently but face suddenly lights up when spies a familiar bottle...

J: "Look mummy, this promises to remove rust and limescale".

Mummy: confused look, mouth drops open

J carries on down the aisle, face lights up again when spots a familiar pink box...

J: "Look mummy, this will leave our washing crystal white".

Morale of the story - reduce number of hours of BBC viewed by 4-year old or pre-register him in marketing program of local university.

If a Tree Falls in the Forest...

...and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? It was the sound heard around a village. Our lovely village is surrounded by several country paths frequented by joggers, dog walkers and folk out for a stroll. One in particular we use regularly. It is the start of my run, it is Murphy's daily walk, it is J's favorite quick bike ride.

During a fierce wind storm a few months ago, a majestic 200-year old oak tree fell along that path and our village mourned a lost friend. Villagers trooped out to visit the felled giant, letters of poetry were left among its shedding bark. Children swarmed over its exposed gnarly roots and gentle arms. We dubbed it 'the climbing tree' and it became a destination. But what happened next was both unexpected and quite magical.

A local wood sculptor arrived with chainsaws, woodfiles, varnish and an overflowing bucket of talent. Slowly this amazing man transformed that hunk of deadwood into a work of art. He lovingly crafted images of all creatures beholden to an oak tree. A tapping woodpecker, a squirrel eating an acorn, a proud owl, and several oak leaves, acorns and mushrooms adorned the tree trunk. A rabbit shyly peaked through a hole. A frog crouched in a corner. A beetle burrowed into the wood.

Throughout this tiny wooden community, the sculptor fashioned benches and a small winding stairway to a tiny arena of oaken seats for an audience to contemplate the surrounding fields, vineyards and alpen views.

Our 'climbing tree' has become something of a local celebrity. A constant stream of people and cars arrive to marvel at its loveliness. Its majesty once more restored, this proud old chene tree is having a happy ending.

When I grow up, I want to drive a SnowCat

Jack, Will, Maddie, Adam, Mattie, and Evelyn

Life was pretty good at 1172 meters too!

Yesterday, I was so caught up in the joy of skiing that I neglected to mention the joy of eating and the joy of friendship that is also part of the the annual Mxxx-Hendricks ski holiday experience.

Let's start with the evenings of blind champagne-tasting contests. Melissa and Kirk kindly transferred this New Year's Eve tradition to our ski holiday. Last year's winner was a Bollinger, this year's a Moet & Chandon. The champagne is almost always followed by outstanding bottles of wine from our respective caves (ie bomb shelters) in a continual effort at one-upmanship.

Melissa and I planned the menu weeks before our holiday in painstaking detail with ample sophistication to appeal to the adults but also varied enough to interest our younger set. Our evenings were raucous with much laughter though puncutated by the inevitable 'stay in your seat', and 'don't speak with your mouth full'.

Our kids, 4-year old J and Mighty Mouse, and 7-year old Emma the Brave are the greatest of friends. They loved racing back and forth between our respective chalets to play, and spent many hours trudging as a trio faithfully up our sledging hill and screaming with delight back down it. The girls were J's real inspiration to ski...he wanted to keep up to them.

Skiing together was the perfect puzzle. Sometimes the two families stayed together, sometimes we strayed. Sometimes the men sped toward some distant trail together, sometimes we followed but regardless, Melissa and I always had each other's back.

In the mid-18th century, Boswell wrote "Friendship, the wine of life, should, like a well-stocked cellar, be continually renewed". Well, same time... same place... next year.

Heaven is at 2002 meters

We just returned from a week's ski holiday at Les Gets in France with our friends, the Mxxxx's. With J having just figured out how to ski, we were hoping for a good week. We got an exceptionally great week!
Less than one month ago, J was still balking at snowplowing down the bunny runs. Yesterday I chased him down reds. (For you other North Americans, red runs are after the blues and before the blacks). Skiing as a family down long sugary runs in the mild air listening to J's whoops of joy was an incredible experience.

I remember a conversation with my best pal Sheila. While lamenting J's of enthusiasm for skiing, she said to me..."be patient, the day will come when you spend all your time skiing after him hollering to slow down and turn". I doubted ever seeing that day. Well, I did a whole lot of hollering yesterday.


J proudly earned his Flocon medal from the Ecole de Ski Francais and wore it like a hard-won badge of honour. Congratulations buddy, well-done!

Spinning out of control

If I have to hear my Spinning instructor say "Encore Plus Dur!" "Encore Plus Vite!" "ALLEZ GO GO GO", one more time, I might just have to fling my water bottle at her oh so perfect head! Okay, I'm recovering now...just a momentary vent :)

Just Do It...and don't forget why!

I went for a run today. My legs were leaden at the start protesting after a full on ski day yesterday. I breathed raggedly and wondered why I was pushing my 40-something bod through this physical trial. Fifteen minutes later, my breathing eased; I settled into a comfortable pace and turned onto a trail winding through a vineyard. The bells of a nearby church tolled the noon hour. I carried on through apple and kiwi orchards and the enticing smells of Sunday lunch from a nearby Auberge wafted over me.

Airplanes left criss-crossing con trails though an azure blue sky and the sun reflected off the snowcapped peaks of the Alps and the Jura mountains. Acknowledging the warmth of this January day, I removed my gloves, unzipped my windbreaker and let the fresh air wash over me as I grunted up a hill.

Running clears my mind and focuses my thoughts. I plan my day, my week, my life. I embrace hope...like salvation in Darfur or a Clinton/Obama presidential ticket. I look forward to new days and new experiences and feel empowered to take on anything. Strong in mind and body, running is my holy grail.

I left my sunny open trail and headed into the shady Bois du Jussy. Streams of melting snow rushed past me, a mourning dove crooned its' plaintive song, and a woodpecker tapped a rhythm on a nearby tree. I exited the woods near the quiet rural village of Lullier. Tall cypresses guarding the stone entrance of a house acted as sentinels reminding me that I was on the back stretch of this run. My arms and legs pumped purposefully as kilometer after kilometer disappeared beneath me.

Finally turning toward my house, I slowed to a walk and let my heart return to a resting rate, endorphins racing wildly through me. As I opened my front gate, the question of why I keep doing this flashed briefly in my head...ah yes, I remember why.

By George, he finally got it!

J and I went skiing yesterday with our great friends and fellow Canadians, the Mxxx's. Their daughters, Emma the Brave and Mighty Mouse are J's 2 best friends. Now, you know the saying "you can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink?".

Well J is as stubborn an equine as was ever born. We've been skiing with him for over a year, and he is always so excited to get equipped, to get up early, to drive to the mountains, and loves the tele-cabines, tele-sieges, and tele-skis. What he doesn't like is to actually ski.

For a year now, we have coerced, cajoled, threatened, begged, enrolled him in ski school and private lessons and generally exhausted every technique designed to get that boy down the hill. Until yesterday, he steadfastly refused to descend by any means except between our legs.

Well yesterday on a glorious day on a glorious mountain, a glorious thing happened. J figured it out and then there was no stopping him. Even a fatigue-induced meltdown of near epic proportion at the end of the day couldn't put a damper on this monumental day of accomplishment. Enjoy the video of this stellar moment in time, Kirk is filming...that's me skiing beside J in the red jacket.

Human Kindness still exists (in Geneva anyway)

It was a rainy Saturday today, and with C2 winging his way to Dubai, I decided to take J to our favorite Italian restaurant downtown for lunch. We wrangled our way though the busy streets and failing to find street parking finally parked in a large underground lot.

I was about 3 bites into my Rucola Margarita pizza when my heart stopped as I realized I had left my wallet in my home office while paying a bill that morning. Feeling like an idiot, I immediately beckoned the attention of one of the managers who was very busy with the teeming noonday crowd. I explained the problem, and he presented me with a huge smile and a ' mais ce n'est pas grave madam'...don't worry madame, it's not serious, pay the next time you come. Huh? I have lived most of my life in big cities and was quite prepared to leave J as collateral in order to run home and retrieve my wallet.

We finished our lunch and an hour or so later, I geared myself up to explain our situation to the large impersonal parking lot attendant. However, he too, smiled broadly and wished me a good day as he handed me a complimentary parking pass. Huh?

I admired the beauty of Mont Blanc and the French Alps which were peaking out of the clouds and into the sun on our drive home, all the while trying to explain to J the meaning of karma, paying it forward, and the importance of kindness. It was a good day!