Not a day goes by …

Sunday was Mother’s Day. I’ve dreaded it ever since my mother passed in 2007. But this year was a bit different. I realized that the “official” Mother’s Day, the second Sunday in May, is just one of 365 days in every year when we can, and should, honour our mothers, thank them, appreciate them and love them.

Really, the only difference between Mother’s Day and any other day is, the florists and restaurants are super busy and Hallmark does a booming business.

I think of my mother every day. I miss her every day. I miss her belly laugh. The glint in her eye. Her sunny

Day 257. Real Heroes

I am going to be uncharacteristically brief in today’s post. There’s no need for me to go on and on. There’s just one point I want to make. I have to admit I love the irony.

Yesterday morning I wrote about the extremes we go to, when it comes to celebrities. How we idolize them, put them on pedestals and treat them like heroes. Actually, we don’t just treat them like heroes. I think we believe they are heroes. Misguided as it is.

But little did I know, by last night, we’d be seeing real heroes in action. When teams representing local, state and federal law enforcement caught and captured Dzhokar Tsarmaev, one of the suspects believed to

Day 243. The End

I’ve loved movies since I was a little girl.  I came by it honestly.  My mother loved them, too.  I grew up hearing her stories of how, every weekend, she paid a nickel to see a movie and a show, when she was young.   A vaudeville act, a singer, a tap dancer, whatever.

Movies were her passion her entire life.  In fact we were planning to go to a movie the afternoon she fell, and broke her hip.  An event she never recovered from, unfortunately.  So it shouldn’t surprise anyone to hear I could go to the movies every single day.

Which is why I can’t let the week go by without mentioning Roger Ebert.

In my opinion, he is as synonymous with the film industry as the 45-foot high Hollywood sign situated on Mount Lee, in the Hollywood Hills area of the Santa Monica Mountains, in Los Angeles.  In my opinion, he is as synonymous with the film industry as the actors, themselves.

A phenomenon I bore witness to, every year at TIFF (Toronto International Film Festival).  There he’d be, with his wife, holding hands as they walked from one theatre to the next.  And wouldn’t you know, amid the hundreds and hundreds of critics, reporters and journalists who were also there, he’s the one who always stood out.  He had as

Day 204. A Confession

Yes, yes, I know.  I recently ranted about award shows.  Said I most certainly wouldn’t be watching last Sunday night’s Oscar telecast.  And, at the time, I meant it.  But I’m a woman, after all.  I’m not ashamed to admit I like fashion.  I’m not a slave to it, but I like it.

Guess I’m trying to find a way to tell you I have no resolve.  Because  I caved.  I watched the Red Carpet.  Okay, I’m weak.  What can I say?

Truth be told, I also watched the show on and off, as well.  But I’m only going to talk about the clothes.  Except for these three comments:

1. I thought the addition of the musical numbers helped relieve the tedium.
2. I thought it was sweet when Dustin Hoffman looked up, up, up, up at Charlize Theron and told her she was a good dancer.
3. Why can the Brits always manage to say “thank you” briefly, eloquently and elegantly, while the Americans blather on, incoherently, forever?

Back to the clothes.  Personally, I was disappointed.  As I have been, throughout the award season.

Frankly, I long for the good old days.  Before stylists got in on the act.  Before designers got in on the act.  Before ‘stars’ were

Day 197. One Left

Are you as sick of award shows as I am?  I don’t know about you, but I feel like they’ve been going on forever.  But after this coming Sunday night’s broadcast of the Academy Awards, I think we’ll be done.  Thank The Lord!

I am SO bored with them.  Bored with all the promos.  All the commercials.  All the contests.  All the articles.  All the ads.  All the speculation.  All the talk.  All the gossip.  All the guessing.  The lead up, in other words.  It feels like we’ve been leading up forever.

I am bored with the vanity.  And the egos.  And the name-dropping.  And the ass-kissing.  And that’s just among the on-air personalities.

I am bored with the breasts.  The butts.  The backs.  The ‘leg’.  The shoes.  The bags.  The hair; and why it’s wrong.  Or right.  The make up.  The lips.  The lashes.

Really, I don’t care which designer dressed which star.  I don’t care how many millions of dollars worth of