Sore throat Sunday

Watching the ice slowly melting from our backyard hockey rink stirs mixed emotions of bidding another winter adieu and welcoming spring with open arms. After another night of playoff hockey with the young lad and his teammates, followed by three hours of Arabic dancing on high heels at a Lebanese wedding, the old throat is in rough shape today my friends. Tea, honey, and the quilt are on the agenda this afternoon, and I can't help but think about springtime in Paris.
When Paris, when, when will we finally meet? I must confess, I've been dipping into the Paris fund, and no good can come of that. I know darn well that if this behaviour continues, my flight tickets will be farther and farther out of my reach. Therefore my dear Paris, I am committing to a new financial plan - no more frivolous spending. No more silly splurges on unnecessary items such as a milk frother, a citrus cutter, or a melon scooper. It is high time to face the global economy crisis and practice fiscal restraint immediately. Perhaps by early Fall, my dear Paris, I will have accumulated enough coins from the laundry, cash from my book sales, and holding 20 or 30 garage sales thanks to the husband's accumulation of sports parphernelia over the years, two tickets to the city of lights finally make their way tucked into my essential black patent clutch, right beside the passports, and gravol for husband when he flies.
Well Paris, my throat tells me that it's time for another cuppa tea with lemon and honey. And who knows Paris, perhaps if I continue to buy those lottery tickets, we will be together sooner than we dream. Au revoir mon cher Paris! A la prochaine! xoxoxo

Happy Valentine's Day Paris

Salut Paris! I imagine the city of lights was bursting at the seams with lovers strolling hand in hand, arm in arm, gazing into one another's eyes on this St. Valentine's Day. I suppose this would wreak havoc on the already exponential traffic situation, however, daydream if I must Paris, I am a hopeless romantic, who spent the better part of Valentine's Day searching, searching, searching the house from top-to-bottom, inside husband's pockets, desk drawers, shoes, out-of-season athletic gear, for any sign of those flight tickets I have been yearning for, the diamond necklace tucked safely into the little blue velvet box, at the very least, a love note - a romantic poem scribble in French or Italian - the languages of love, but alas Paris, I came up empty-handed. But the man does have a romantic side Paris, I swear he does. He did remember to bid me good morning and wished me a Happy Valentine's Day as he headed out the door for his weekly trip to the land of Italian grocers, followed by a three-hour "flood the backyard skating rink" session. No matter is what I say! That man has the best of intentions and he will always be the love of my life. Afterall, he is a gifted chef, and what more can a girl ask for? Why he even invited me out for drive-thru coffee and a drive into the city to explore our favorite neighbourhoods. The weather was sunny and mild, and as luck would have it, we both agreed that it was a wonderful way to spend a day. So what if it was the day after Valentine's - love has no date or time constraints, does it Paris? Paris, I've just noticed that it is well past bedtime and that means time to peel the snoring husband off his beloved sofa, pry the remote from his hand, and drag him up the stairs to his room. Bon soir my beloved Paris, we will talk soon.....

Paris in my dreams

Good evening Paris,
it's been so long since we've spoken, but that doesn't mean that I haven't thought of you at least 100 times today. I've been dying to tell you Paris, I dreamed about us last night. Yes, Paris, I was finally with you. Wandering the streets, perusing the shops, why I was in tears I was so happy! And guess what else Paris? Husband - yes the husband, was with me Paris. Can you imagine? He seemed happy too, although he couldn't figure out how we got there because he had little or no memory. No time to worry about that right now Paris, I must continue with what I was experiencing in this incredible dream. There was this shop that was selling country french furnishings, antiques, art, a dress mannequin, jewellery, why Paris I was absolutely beside myself. In fact Paris, the dream felt so real, that I woke up crying tears of joy. The reality Paris - two adorable cats were purring at my feet, and the husband was asking me if I paid the cable and internet bill. No need for sympathy Paris, for I know we will be together soon enough. I cancelled the 4-day trip to Quebec City. I decided that only the real Paris will do. I will continue scrimping, saving, and stealing to build up my secret Paris Fund.
Now Paris, I must share some more news - of the home decor kind of course. Yes Paris - a pink shabby-chic inspired sofa for my bedroom, my domain, my boudoir. I was a bit worried, mind you, that husband would take notice of this rather plump pink sofa in the matrimonial suite, however, upon his return from yet another weekend of hockey, he yawned, bid me good night, and didn't notice a thing. This morning, however, he asked about what "that pink thing" was. I simply replied that his mum and I whipped up a pink slip cover for an old sofa and voila. His reply: "I didn't realize we had an old sofa kicking around". A wife's best reaction: pretend you did not hear a word and continue to walk out the door. Enough said about the pink sofa now Paris.
It is time for a tea with honey and a seat by the fire. My toes are slowly defrosting after searching feverishly in sub-zero weather to find the neighbour's kitty. Honestly Paris, is there no end to my good works? Is there no rest for the weary? I ask you - when, oh when will we meet? See you in my dreams tonight Paris. Bon soir mon amour!