It was meant for me

Wow. I just watched-nay, experienced!-the movie Amelie for the first time last night. My only sadness: that it took me so long to discover it (thanks Heather for owning it). It feels like the movie was made for my taste. It's witty, charming, poetic, refreshing and many more good things. I love love love the lines in the movie. A couple of the subtitles that remain mulling around in my gray matter this morning include: "He used to collect footprints", "Times are hard for dreamers", "Psychos are the last straw", "Vive la France! You scalded me!", "Without you, todays emotions would be the scurf of yesterdays". There are so many more that I can't exactly recall right now but just know that you should probably watch Amelie. It's a good thing.

The Meanderings of a Quarter-Century Woman

Today is the day. The quarter-century has arrived. But I must admit that, for the most part, my lamenting has grown into a spirit of thankfulness and awe. It's no longer a giant centipede in stilettos chasing me down the beach but instead feels like an old friend of sorts and me walking in the breakers and laughing, sighing, and crying "remember when..."

I've been thinking back over some of my fondest memories and realize more and more that it's the people in my life that make my world. The experiences have been amazing, the adventures always welcome, but out of the memories that have come to mind over these past few hours I struggle to find one that involves only myself. In the midst of foreign lands I recall the people I met and the people I went to see and the way they still impact my life. In my everyday adventures at home I think of all the mayhem and of the miracles that have occurred in the comfort and confidence of my friendships here. I look in disbelief and awe at the ways God has carefully instrumented my family and friends in my life. How He, through them, has shaped me into who I am today and will continue to use them to shape me into who He has designed me to be. 25 is feeling good.

I know I've said this to some of you at one time or another, but know that each time I do it's the bona fide truth. I thank you for blessing me with the presence of your life in mine. Here's to another 25!

Cheers Darling!

This one's for you anonymous...Cookoothama Shiraz is fantastic. (I mispelled it in the previous post.) It's from Australia and I discovered it while dinning at The Sandbar last weekend and it was then that I knew I needed to own an entire bottle of the goodness. But don't take it lightly...it's not for the faint of heart (or should I say palate...). I'm no sommelier, though I'd like to be, so I'll just let some others do the describing (all quotes taken from websites):

-Deep crimson in appearance with youthful purple hues. Attractive rich toasty oak supports the ripe cherry/plum fruit aromas. Great intensity of flavour with excellent fruit weight, balancing oak and a supple tannin, alcohol and acid foundation. A long and rewarding finish.

-A good, dense red with plenty of spice and stuffing making this wine sturdy enough to stand up to your food matching skills, but still gentle enough to sip into the evening after dinner.

-Complex aromas of spiced berry, plum and cherry. On the palate, rich flavours of blackberry, chocolate and earth are enhanced by well-integrated vanillin oak and velvety tannins.

If this wine were a man, I'd be interested in persuing a committed long-term relationship involving a proposal and ring. Personally, I'll just say that the things that rang true for me were the berry, chocolate, and oak flavors, great intensity, and long and rewarding finish. I look forward to many more good times with Cookoothama, great friends, and-no Lindsey toast is complete without it-bad girls. Cheers darling!

Cookoothama

This past weekend I needed to visit the grass on the other side of the fence because I was nearing my breaking point and all it took was for Heather to mention the island and I headed there. Saturday, I hopped onto the 5 o'clock ferry to Departure Bay and whelst I rode the ferry I had a seat with a coffee and read my book, which was mostly a disguise for people-watching as I made up a life story for everyone I saw.

The next day we headed to Chemainus (aka Chemainmain, as one dear friend informed me she calls it). Let me say that high tea is just about as good as it gets. More so even than "good times and noodle salad". So good, infact, that I believe God must do it at least twice a day even on a busy day. Finger sandwiches, scones and heavy cream, dessert, and 2 pots of tea can't be beat. Especially after you've been wandering around the city and your friend has blisters and shin splints. We took pictures with the Chemainus sign after. If you go there, don't get too excited as you approach the signage. By order of the Rotary Club, you can't climb on the sign which significantly decreases all the good picture ideas you have. But still worth going to Chemainmain.

As we headed back towards the ferry we saw a wine route sign and decided to follow it. Word of warning: check these sort of things out. Eventually we came upon a pile of brush on fire that was positioned under some larger, bare trees, along with a '"Leaving Nanaimo City Limits" sign and a man tending the fire while sitting on a propane cylinder. Then we arrived at Chateau Wolff. Somewhat abandoned looking, creepyist winery ever, and gates closed. And when I say gates, I mean a tall chainlink fence on wheels. We promptly pulled a u-turn.

We headed for a beach to play guitar on and this is the story of "How Heather Made Lindsey Bleed". My guitar was in a soft case and Heather grabbed that out. She then tried to get her guitar-in a hard case-out but somehow it got wedged in all crazy like. Heather then proclaimed "And this is the story of How Heather's Guitar Got Stuck in Lindsey's Car"" and I replied "Forever!". Then Heather said "Hey Linds, catch!" and proceeded to push her guitar case towards me. At that moment, Heather had a freak physical reaction to the ocean air and turned into the Hulk. Good thing I stopped the guitar case with my face or that could have turned out badly. My lower lip was bleeding-as it's apt to do when your tooth cuts it-and Heather was laughing so hard she was having trouble breathing. We played guitar on the beach until it was so cold that we couldn't feel our fingers and by that time the gash in my lip had started to clot and we were on our way.

It was 4:30ish and we had to wait for the 7 o'clock ferry. I intentionally started an arguement with Heather about rolling her window down. Or up. I can't remember, I was delirious with boredom. Then we finally got to pay. I almost ran a ferry man down. Twice, but neither time on purpose.

All in all, it was a fantastic time and I'd do it all over again this weekend if I had the chance.

Would you like some nasal spray with your wine?

Nothing says Happy Valentines Day quite like Starbucks, karaoke, nachos and $2.99 glasses of wine. Ahh, the ancient art of karaoke...that uncivilized sound that I love. From Avril and Elton to Outkast and Maroon 5 and everything inbetween. Long time listener, first time singer. The girls and I ripped it up.

As a post-Valentines gift to myself I just finished splurging $75 on antibiotics and prescription nasal spray for a sweet sinus infection that I have. It's my very first sinus infection. I'm excited.

I bought a rose for my friend yesterday. I sought it out after I finished work. Mayhem like that may only be comparable to the Tickle-Me-Elmo and Furby crazes of recent decades. And all around me: men. I was the lone woman in a sea of testosterone and normally I wouldn't have minded so much but yesterday it came just short of ak-ward! As I waited in line at the floral counter I became drunk on the fumes of Axe body spray, Old Spice deodorant, a miriad of colognes, and choch-ness. When asked if he'd like his rose wrapped, the man behind me-a fellow in his late 20's/early 30's with an excess of hair gel-announced to the line-up that he would be wearing the rose in his mouth...only the rose. This elicited a mild giggle from the other testosterone bearers in the line. His follow-up comments demonstrated to me that he was desperate for approval and that he was more than a little nervous. Being the person infront of him, and recognizing that the other males were just as in-over-their-heads and not going to offer their support, I turned around and said "Well, I hope that works out for you. If not, boy, will your face be red." He over-laughed my comment and that's when I recognized that he was in that rough of shape and lamented over the fact that I wasn't a psychiatrist so I could slip him a valium or such.

All you need is love!

I got sunshine

Ahh, not much to report as of late. Highlights have included the last Manor Party, singing for the first time at my church, my first Super Bowl party, and going to the beach a few days ago...at 10pm. Talk about cold. Today I am loving the sunshine. L-o-v-i-n-g it. High of 14 low of -2. February, very unlike January, has been rocking the kasba.

February is pregnant with possibilities and potential mischeif. Single's Awareness Day is coming up in t-minus 4 days. I have to admit that I'm actually feeling pretty unphased by the impending V-day. It's mostly just a good time to be part of a made-up holiday-Single's Awareness Day, that is...I fully recognize the institution of Valentine's Day that turns a cute $12 bouquet of a dozen roses into the monstrosity of $30+ to buy a dozen roses that represent one's undying love. FYI for all you men out there: roses are not even my favorite. Although, if that's what you come up with, I'm definately not oppossed to receiving them:)

And my Quarter-Century Crisis is more quickly approaching. This event was formerly known as my birthday. That's before I was about to turn a quarter of a century old. I haven't been so affected by a birthday until this one. It's like a giant centipede charging at you in stiletto's down a beach. It's exciting and frightening all at the same time. Exciting because that's a lot of shoes. Frightening because, hey, it's a giant centipede.

In any case, "Celebrate, I will. For life is short but sweet for certain." (ohhh Dave)

Beware the propane

I'll chalk this experience up to the "It Only Happens To Me" category of my life. Those of you who know me well know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this category is one of the largest that exists in my life.

Enter Saturday. No rest for the wicked, I had to work both jobs. I call Heather after work because we're heading off to church and after the service we're staying to hear this guest preacher from Texas talk about terrorism but I can never remember what time the Saturday night service starts. She tells me that there is spare steak in her fridge and invites me over because, hey, I'm a chick who can BBQ.

I arrive at her house and she starts on making potatos, baby carrots, and some amazing asparagus amandine. I walk out the sliding glass kitchen door and proceed to open the propane on the BBQ. I hear a hissing noise and lean down towards the grill to give it a sniff and the faint smell of rotten eggs travelled to the olfactory center of my cerebral mass. It was dark and I fiddled with the knobs a bit. Although I recognized that familiar smell of propane I thought "Hey, maybe this is just what this BBQ does" and I attempted to light the sucker.

It was at this point that a fireball the size of the BBQ itself lept forth from the Toews' Family BBQ with an amazing "Poof!" noise and singed off some of my right arm hair. I did not make a peep. Heather, who only heard the grandiose fireball, screamed. As I ran my arm under cold water she, being a good friend, checked my eyebrows and hair for signs of further singing. That's when I informed her that I was almost as scared at that moment as the times when I almost fell off a cliff without a rope. Praise God that it's a funny memory and not the story of "How Lindsey's Face Melted Off".

The rest of the night went off without a hitch and we even sat with the movie star crush (see Heather's blog for more details) at church that night. You also might want to check out Heather's blog for her version of this grand tale. From the BBQ babe who (once again) defeated death, Happy BBQ-ing!