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Peonies make me happy. Almost as much as lilacs.
I treated myself today and got a bunch of peonies to keep me company at the office. By 5 pm I was almost drunk on the fragrance of summer.
When I was in grade twelve, I was on the Grad Committee and, along with my friend Jenny, charged with decorating the barn-like room (albeit on a lovely golf course) which housed our grad reception.
Since our budget was modest to say the least, we decided to go wandering around the neighbourhoods of our lovely little town of Okotoks looking for peonies in people’s gardens. Then we’d knock on their doors and ask them if they would kindly donate their peonies to the Class of 1995.
I can’t believe I actually did that. I’d totally forgotten about it until I started writing this.
What’s more, would you believe that I still have a vase at my parent’s house which holds five papery-thin dried out old peonies from that grad ceremony thirteen years ago?
I’m sure that tomorrow all I’ll be able to think about is my grade twelve grad. How funny. And what a long way we’ve come.
I have an Anne of Green Gables calendar pinned to the wall of my cubicle at work.
I bought it in P.E.I. last summer. I’m sentimental, I know.
It serves as a daily reminder of the dream-come-true holiday that my boyfriend (now fiance) whisked me away on… and that I’ll never ever forget until the day I die (and probably even afterwards).
I don’t know if you realize the importance of that trip, even if I spent a whole day trying to describe it to you. Let’s just say it was years and years and years worth of day-dreaming come true.
According to that calendar on my cubicle wall, almost twenty years, in fact. Twenty years since I fell in love with Anne Shirley of Green Gables fame.
And TODAY, it’s been one hundred years since that red-headed snippet was ‘born’.
June 10, 1908 – that’s the day that Anne of Green Gables was published.
At least, according to my “official” Anne of Green Gables calendar, that is. According to this article,
“She arrived on the Island on June 20, 1908, not in a carriage from the train station, but in a small parcel from the local post office, postmarked “Boston.” In it was the first copy of Anne of Green Gables [...]“
Whatever the actual date, the fact remains that Anne turns 100 years old this year. One hundred years of delighting girls and boys, women (and possibly even men) all over the globe with her enchanting ways and beguiling charm.
I, for one, have been fundamentally affected by the writings of L.M. Montgomery. Reading those books… living them… has, in no small way, defined the woman I am today.
It gave me great satisfaction to be able to tell Lucy Maud this last August, as I stood over her grave in Cavendish, P.E.I.
I like to think she knows.
At any rate, the evidence of it is in my heart.
I dedicate this month to Lucy, and to Anne.
I have much to say about both, so stay tuned.
For many, this weekend was the weekend of sex… Sex and the City, that is.
I actually am not one of those gals who have loyally followed SATC four years as they negotiated the waters of life and love (and yes, that ‘s’ word too). It’s not for lack of interest—I’ve fully enjoyed the few random episodes I’ve caught here and there but I could never really figure out when it was on and on what channel and it just seemed like a really big commitment I wasn’t ready for at the time.
But I get why SATC is more an obsession than a hobby for some.
For those people, having another chance to gorge themselves on the exploits, riotous conversation and drool-worthy Manolos of Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte after they (the fans, that is) had been forced to say their tearful goodbyes for—what they thought would be—ever at the series finale, it must have been too exquisitely joyful for words.
At least, that’s the kind of reaction I was expecting from the hard-core SATC fans in the audience on Friday night.
As we lined up outside the theatre doors I had my misgivings.
The theatre we ended up at (Cavendish in Montreal… hey, tickets were really hard to come by and Katie and Jenna—or was it Mark?—were desperate) was pretty ghetto and didn’t exactly attract, ahem, girls for whom SATC was a style bible, ifyouknowwhatimean.
But once the lights went down and the first few notes of the SATC theme song came bouncing out of the speakers, I got the reaction I was looking for. The theatre heaved with a collective gasp and a few girls couldn’t hold back their squeals. The true appreciation of these fans was obvious.
I must admit, it was quite cute. Heart-warming, almost.
As the movie rolled along, it was punctuated with our reactions—bursts of laughter (that Charlotte scene is forever etched in my mind), groans of despair (don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for you) and—I couldn’t see but could FEEL it—tears of anguish and of joy.
It was a great movie, even for a non-SATC addict; maybe especially for a non-SATC addict. Since I didn’t have any preconceived notions as to what should happen or expectations as to its fidelity to the TV series, I could enjoy it for what it was: a fun story with endearing characters who delivered witty lines with panache, both metaphorically and physically (some of those clothes really were to die for)… and who made a lot of girls very, very happy this past weekend.
I totally envied them.
Now can someone please magically unearth a ninth book in the Anne of Green Gables series so I can experience the same delicious thrill?