When are you old enough to start feeling haggard? I had a moment the other day when I posted a profile picture on Facebook from my university days and someone commented "wow, you look so young here!". Was it really that long ago? (counts backwards) Hmmm. I am turning 27 in two weeks and decidedly had a moment with my mirror to inspect the damage. I have wrinkles. Smile lines. Sun damage. These things just sneak up on you I guess. I checked for jowls. They're there when I frown really hard, so I will do my best to keep from looking too unhappy...or smiling too hard for that matter. But I am not one of those women that are afraid of aging. I didn't start using anti-wrinkle creams when I turned 21 or using SPF 60 when I go out in the sun. I enjoyed my 20's and now that they're coming to an end, I am looking forward to the next milestones: A family of my own, becoming an Aunt, creating a home with a man that I love.

My sister is expecting her first child and I feel like I have been waiting for this moment for 100 years. I am the youngest member of the Matthews or Humphreys lines (excluding second and third cousins) and my family desperately needs new life to revive it. I know the prospect of having a tiny person that will rely on me has revived ME.

Since it has been so long since my last entry, I will do my favorite short-answer summaries for updates:

My current sorrow:
My best friend has just moved to a different province to pursue a live interest. My social life will suffer, but I am happy for her and I love her and wish her the best.

My current hope:
I am hosting my birthday at my cottage for the first time ever. I am hoping it goes smoothly and the weather is good. My cottage in the rain can be pretty miserable.

My current struggle:
Back pain. I have developed a chronic herniated disk and muscle sprain that leaves me immobile for days at a time. I am in treatment, but it is a long and painful process.

My current success:
I changed my hair. Small miracle it worked, but it will keep me going for a while. Chocolate brown underneath and white on top. Am I too old for this?

My current find:
I was looking through my computer JPEG's and found a CLASSIC Jamie-style paint drawing:

I just thought I would share that because it is much more exiting than my depressing self-portrait from above.

My current loss:

I would like to say weight, but I enjoy my summer patios too much. Oh well, there is always the fall for concentrating on weight loss. For now, enjoy the end of summer and summer sun everyone.

Until next time, loyal blog readers...

My Last Letter...

It’s impossible to know how you will handle the loss of a loved one until you are faced with it. My Grandma’s birthday would have been on Tuesday April 3rd. I think it is possible for people to lose a grandparent and not be particularly affected. Life carries on as it always has and you feel sad for a while because the idea of anyone’s life ending is a sadness, but the impact is minimal. I don’t feel like I have lost the little old lady that I would see on holidays, I feel like I lost my friend and confidante.


Growing up, my sister and I spent weeks at a time living with my Grandma and I attribute a lot of my raising to her. She lavished affection on me (including gifts) but if she thought I was getting too spoiled, she would give away all my toys to a needy family.

She inspired my love of art by fawning over my drawings and taught me to paint pottery. She helped teach me how to swim and dance and fostered my love of big band music. When I got older and didn’t see her as often, she was my faithful pen pal. We sent hundreds of letters back and forth over the years. She was the BEST kind of pen pal because she would put funny little presents in my letters. Stickers, confetti, earrings, needlework, gum, loonies…you name it. When I was at University and having rough time, she sent me a hand sewn handkerchief in the mail. She kept every letter & drawing I ever sent her. Even when the arthritis in her hands got so bad that she couldn’t send many letters, she still tried. The words would be barely legible and slanted down the page, but I loved them nonetheless. And eventually she wasn’t able to fill them with goodies because she couldn’t get out to the store, but she would doodle flowers and happy faces on the pages to keep them exciting.

In second year University I noticed that her mind was starting to falter and so for a school project, I borrowed a voice recorder from my sister and spent several hours interviewing my Grandma about her life and memories and opinions. It was the best idea I have ever had. I have her voice forever etched in stone. I have a true record of her professing her love for me and my family and most importantly, I have her optimistic view on life. She says “You can’t take life too seriously. You can’t spend all your time worrying about being sick or in pain. Life is too short. You just have to be happy.” I played the recording for my family after she died and we sat together laughing and crying at her (sometimes) outrageous comments. We sorted through hundreds of pictures that delineated her life. She was always so happy.

Even when her mind started to fade and the letters stopped, I still faithfully wrote her. I started to put little presents in HER letters. Earrings, loonies, Tim cards…you name it. She would show my letters to everyone at the nursing home tearfully and proud. My last letter to my Grandma sat unsent on my desktop the day I got the news and that is one of my biggest regrets.

My Grandma got to be at my sister’s wedding and it will always be a great sadness to me that she didn’t get to see mine. I still feel moments of overwhelming sadness, like when I look at my dresser and see the funny little gifts I gave her for Christmas only a few months ago. But that’s the funny thing about life. It DOES actually go on. And sometimes you have to grab hold of something to slow it down for a couple of seconds so you can reflect on your losses and remember. I thought my world would crumble when she actually died, but it didn’t. And as Grandma would always say, God doesn’t ever give you more than you can handle. And I think you can’t know true love, until you’ve known loss.

I didn’t get to give her the last letter, but I can give it to you loyal blog readers…

I'm a knife Wielding, Road Rage Conquering, Country Rambo-Chick!

It's amazing how the most unusual things can happen to a person doing the most mediocre of tasks. It's equally enlightening to find out how you would REALLY act in a situation that you have never been in. I didn't surprise myself. I knew I would be kick-ass in the face of a threat. What DID surprise me was the reaction of my partner in crime (or innocence in this case) in all his 6 foot tall, 200 pounds of glory.

We were on our way to pick up some groceries from Bayview Village Lowblaws and we were cut off by a blue minivan leaving the parking lot. Stuart (of course) laid on the horn a little over-zealously and we went on our merry way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Blue van had pulled an erratic u-turn and was zooming through the parking lot at break-neck speed in an attempt to cut us off before we entered the underground parking lot. We parked the car and waited to see if the blue hell-van  followed. Sure enough, it slowed and parked a couple rows over. We waited to see what the driver would do, but he didn't get out; he just sat angrily staring out the front windshield until we got out of the car.

We slowly walked to the front of the grocery store and paused at the entrance to see if he would follow. He didn't. At that moment it occurred to me that my car was in danger of having the tires slashed, windshield smashed or of getting keyed. I encouraged Stuart, being the great mediator that he is, to go over to the blue van and try to diffuse the situation and find out what what the guy wanted. He vehemently

 refused to approach the van and tried to convince me to ignore him and go get our groceries.

I decided that I wouldn't do that without getting the license plate of the minivan (just in case). I walked as close to the van as I dared (being nearsighted that was about 100 meters away) and turned to give the plate to Stuart so he could record it in his phone and realized he hadn't followed me. So I shouted the plate numbers out to him (and in doing so) attracted the attention of the psychopath.

"Do you have a problem?!" he asked me, as he slowly got out of the drivers side of his van.

"Ya, actually I do- Why did you follow us here, do you make a habit of following everyone that honks at you?" I asked.

"I can go wherever the fuck I want!" and he started moving towards me.

At that moment I decided it was time I turned into country-girl-rambo and I pulled out my knife (which is completely legal at just under 3 inches of length and is a button trigger- NOT a switch blade).

"You crazy bastard!" I yelled, " I have your license plate number now so if you plan on doing anything to my car..."

"Why don't you go inside and find out!" he threatened.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Stuart finally convinced me to abandon the confrontation and go into the grocery store. As I was walking away, the kind man reminded me gently to buy lots of salad while I was in there to combat a potential weight problem (however he may have worded it differently).

Where was big Stuart during this confrontation? Behind me somewhere? Sitting quietly weaving intricate needlework? It's possible. Turtle! That is all I have to say about that.

I didn't report him to the cops because (as Stuart pointed out later) I didn't know the number for the police station and he didn't think the incident warranted calling '911' because it didn't quite fall into the 'emergency' category. I somewhat beg to differ...and when I retold the story at work (at LEAST 10 times) it just kept getting better and better and I am FULLY convinced now that my life was in danger and I am practically a gladiator for standing up to a 10 foot tall giant!

Until next time, loyal blog readers...