What is it about the Holidays?

Well, Chanukah and Christmas are over for another year and I’m sure I’m not the only one for whom this season triggers many memories.

Christmas wasn’t a holiday we celebrated when I was growing up, we didn’t have a tree or exchange gifts, but we certainly got into its joyful spirit. Ours was a close family, and we spent just about every day and evening together for that week. Good times, good food and much laughter is what I remember.

Like all kids, I looked forward to being out of school for a

Now it’s my turn to go under the microscope …

I love watching people and trying to figure out what makes them tick. It’s something I’ve always done. Except when it comes to myself. At least not that deep exploration that really digs way beneath the surface to find that “stuff” we’re all so good at burying.

Until now.

Because that long, wonderful, illuminating conversation I had recently with a friend has made me curious about myself — and

The first man in my life …

Yes, that’s me in the photo. With my dad, a very long time ago. Hard to believe I was ever that tiny. Oh, how I adored him. We were extremely close, up to the day he died, 30 years ago. Hard to believe that, too — that it’s been so long. I still think of him every day and still miss him like crazy.

He was an amazing dad. For that matter, he was a pretty amazing human being. Kind, thoughtful, open-minded, generous, loving, loyal, honest as the day is long.

When I needed advice it was my father to whom I turned, always, even as an adult. His friends and my friends often turned to him as well, as did many members of our family. You could always count on him to be fair, objective and

My first best friend …

I must be pretty desperate for content if I’m willing to share this photo with you. It’s me, at about two years old sporting the worst haircut ever! How could my mother do that to me? I particularly love that curl that seems to have a mind of its own. Reminds me of the poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

There was a little girl,

Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.

The day the picture was taken, I was being

The last thing I expected from blogging …

I’ve been blogging since 2008. Originally it was an easy way to keep in touch with all my friends and family while I was on a month-long trip to India. I also thought that some day it might be fun, and interesting, to do some travel writing so I did have a bit of an ulterior motive — it was like a dress rehearsal of sorts.

Once I returned home and found myself back in the daily grind, travel ended up on the back burner. But I was hooked on blogging and tried several — I blogged about advertising, I blogged about my experiences as a

What really matters …

Sometimes it feels like we spend so much time on the things that don’t matter we lose sight of the things that do. I was reminded of what really counts last Sunday.

It was my birthday. I don’t make a big deal of it. I never did. My mother used to tell me that even as a child I

What a treasure trove I found (metaphorically speaking) …

Back in September I wrote about how I was finally attacking my closets and drawers and cupboards and pantries and shelves and papers.  Long overdue it was.

Well I’m happy to say I’m done.  Mission accomplished.  And you may find this hard to believe but I actually enjoyed it.  So much so I seem to have become obsessed with order.

I now wake up in the middle of the night and go through stuff and purge.  While I’m watching TV or reading a book I suddenly get the urge to reorganize what I’ve just organized; and I do it!  In slightly under two months I’ve gone from thriving in chaos to being OCD.

Clearly I am channeling my mother who is, of course, loving it.

Speaking of my mother, when I moved her out of her apartment and

Never to be taken for granted …

A friend’s grandson just turned 1 and I went to his birthday party.  I was talking to her daughter’s (the baby’s mother) father-in-law and Ellen (my friend) said to him, “Fransi and I have known each other all our lives.”  He was intrigued and wanted to know more.

Our mothers met in the laundry room of the apartment building where they both lived, in Montreal.  I was an infant.  Her parents were newlyweds.  The

It’s actually a bit spooky …

It seems I’ve got supernatural powers.  Well, not across the board.  I do have my limitations.  But I seem to be able to conjure people.  People who magically appear (or re-appear) into my life after long absences.  It’s nothing new, actually.  I’ve done it for years — never intentionally, mind you.  It just happens.

Last month it happened twice, within days of each other.  Which is extraordinary in and of itself, don’t you think?

The first time freaked me out I don’t mind telling you.  I’m still talking to myself.  There’s a gal I’ve known most of my life — by which I mean, we first met when I was about eight or nine years old.  That’s most of your life, right?

She, her three siblings and their parents, lived a block away from where I lived, in Montreal, with

My new favourite way to start the day …

I’ve always been a gizmo/gadget kinda gal.  I’m not ashamed to admit I like them; and am always willing to make room for another one.  I’m not necessarily the first in line to buy the ‘newest’ thingamabob on the market, but it’s pretty damn close.

So it’s been sort of surprising, to all who know me, that I’ve been so resistant to buying one of those one-cup coffee makers.  You know the ones I mean.  You fill the cylinder (or whatever it’s called) with water whenever it’s empty,  insert one of those already-filled-with-pre-measured-coffee doodahs in the appropriate place and presto — a steaming, freshly-brewed cup of your favourite java in mere seconds.

It’s not like I don’t know they exist.  All my friends have them.  And years ago, when there was only one kind on the market — at least here in Canada — an early-adopter business partner of mine bought one and raved about it.  Like me, she’s single and loved the fact she could have a cup of coffee without having to make a pot — the balance of which usually gets tossed down the sink.  And there’s no muss, no fuss.  No filters to throw away, no coffee grinds all over the sink, nothing to wash out when you’re done, except your cup.

She couldn’t convince me.

Neither could anyone else, even when they demonstrated and served me the most delicious little cup of espresso,