Well Hello You...

I recently discovered that there are more than 2 of you reading this blog.  There are thousands and I'm profoundly humbled.  Thank you for your emails demanding more posts.  I hear you!  There is something big brewing and there will be lots more to read, I promise.

I'm also suspecting that a lot of you are coming to this blog because you've found me through the show on Nick Jr. called "Dino Dan" where I play a single mom to two boys.  Thank you for watching!  And thank you for writing to Nick Jr. and telling them how you love me and how they should film a "Dino Dan' movie"...or you know, something like that.  And yes, those cop pants are very high waisted.  But truly, a cop uniform is a amazing.  I begged them to let me take it home on weekends but no luck.

So thanks...and you're awesome.  Click on the comment bar below posts to leave me a message.

xoxoAllana

Retirement Is Wasted On The Old

I've become increasingly jealous of senior citizens.  I'm referring to a specific age group between the ages of 63-75 (It used to be 60-70 until I saw an interview with the very sprightly Jane Fonda).   Let's call them generation: "I am going to milk the shit out of this decade and yes, I'm wearing a good deal of bronzer.  Suck it."

You will rarely see this specific generation with food encrusted on their clothing or a haggard head of hair pulled into an unwashed mass that can barely be called a pony tail.   In fact their clothes look so superbly pressed that you can't help but be convinced that they had just spent the past hour or so ironing their outfit (news flash: they did).   Necks are adorned with large chunky gold jewelery (not infant vomit)) and hair-do's look like $50 blow-outs.   They aren't going to an all inclusive for a one week stay and an all-you -can-eat buffet.  Why?  Because they own a little place down south that they frequent for 6 months year where they've learned to cook authentic Peruvian food made with fresh ingredients that they buy once a day.  And there's no apology for it either.  Why should they?  When someone comments "Must be nice" they aren't back peddling like most 30 somethings I know..."Oh well, we haven't had a vacation in 3 years, and WE ARE TAKING THE CHILDREN and the weather is supposed to be AWFUL this time of year so..."  Retiree's are just like, "That's right.  It's nice alright.  Real Nice."

Retirement is where it's at!

This isn't about not having a job either.  I love my work.  I'm envious of their state of mind.  They've done it, reveled in it, hated it, loved it and they've come out the other end knowing something that I know nothing about and will have to wait 30 years to find out.   Trust me, you won't find me hanging out with my age group at a party if I can chat up a 60 something:  They party more (no kids to wake up to)  They drink more (Liver Schmiver) and they know things.  Lots of things.  But most of all?  They've learned to give themselves one major hell of a break, emotionally and physically, which always seems to lead to a greater sense of their spiritual self.

Why isn't there a TV show called Sixtysomething?  I'd watch it.   Because for all the bliss this older generation seems to be enjoying they don't have a problem conjuring up their own set of dramas.   Recently my father-in-law suggested to my mother-in-law that they should re-do their kitchen because"they maybe only have a good ten years left."  My M.I.L saw right through this in under 10 seconds stating "If you think I'm renovating this kitchen for your second wife then you've got another thing coming!"  This could be great prime-time drama.   Of course my F.I.L laughed it off and jumped on his BMW 1200GS motorcycle which he was never allowed to ride until he hit the tender age of 60. And yes, his pants were perfectly pressed as well.

Why are we all re-inventing the wheel when it comes to how to save, live and raise our kids when there is a whole generation out there sitting pool side with all the answers?  I suddenly feel like a total idiot.

So please, if you're over the age of 60 please feel free to leave great advice on this site.  I will read it and hopefully learn a thing or two.

And before someone thinks or post this:  Yes, I will shut up immediately and enjoy what youth I have left.

p.s. Thanks for all your emails - click the comment bar below to leave a comment. xo

A Fox Broke My Heart

When my four year old was just a baby I strapped her into the baby bjorn and took her to the Art Gallery to see an Emily Carr exhibit. We hung out for a few hours in the gallery staring at art and being followed by a security guard who was clearly convinced my new baby was going to projectile vomit on "Among the Fir, 1931". There was no barfing and I left the gallery feeling renewed by the fact that I had not only exposed my daughter to some great art but that I'd actually left the house wearing an outfit that wasn't made from flannel. It was an art miracle.

I've always had a deep appreciation for art. So much so that when people refer to themselves as "artists" I always assume visual. This may have something to do with the fact that I spent an immense part of my youth at the Art Gallery of Hamilton: staring at butterfly stickers in the gift shop and looking for buttons to press...but still. To me, artists were the real deal. They looked and smelled exotic and invited you to their apartments to eat cow tongue (true story). My parents seemed to have loads of artist friends in the 70's who would send hand painted thank you cards. I now know they were all just too high to leave their apartments to go to Shoppers Drug Mart but at the time it inspired me to make my own cards which I did for years.

But I'm choosey. About art. I have to be hit on a pretty hard visceral level. I've stood in galleries feeling nothing or bawling my eyes out or laughing each and every time I look back...

And this is where the Fox comes into play. It imprinted itself on me. If I was a lady fox...well I'd probably have left my family by now. I'm slowly collecting pieces I can't live without. They are usually the size of my palm and extremely quirky. Not too expensive but original and lovely. Oh that DAMN FOX!

So fast track 4 years from my first art date with Olive to this weekend at an artist exhibit. We walked through aisles and aisles of some great art, some not so great art and finally one piece that took me off my feet. I can't even describe it to you because the pain is too fresh (drama much?) I asked the artist if I could photograph it and email it to my husband. My husband responded immediately that the name of the painting should be "Painted for Allana, 2011". It wasn't an immediate pull the chute situation because it was more than I had originally thought of spending. 100% worth it, but I had to think...

And that's when, let's call him, "other potential buyer" enters the picture. I'm not worried because he doesn't look passionate... he just looks like he wants to stick it in his basement juice bar (me bitter???). So I decide to go for it. The woman selling the painting (not the artist - he's there and great - so who knows what's up) tells me she hasn't talked to the other guy yet. I ask her if she would consider including the tax and she tells me that she'll be right back...

Suddenly I've lost the Fox to Mr. Juice Bar because he's buying two paintings. I'm at a loss... Olive is tugging on my sleeve because we have to leave to get her to swim class and it doesn't look like I could physically take on Juice Bar because he's 8 feet tall, with a giant club foot and really pointy rotting teeth (me bitter???). I decided to get out of there because I started to feel like the pawn who got Mr. Two Paintings rolling plus he's starting to foam at the mouth and turn into a glob of purple jello like in that scene from "Weird Science". Okay, I'm fully lying. I lie when I'm sad.

When we got back in the car and I had an opportunity to shed a little tear...Olive asked me "What's wrong Momma?"

I replied: "Art Olive...art".

Mr. Fox you truly are "the one that got away". I miss you already. I'm dying to know what happened after you jumped over that lazy dog.

I hope no one ever projectile vomits on you.

(Go here for the incredible thing that happened next: Amazing update)