Hayley + Allan

What a lovely couple of days enjoyed with a lovely couple of humans.

Hayley Barry is an extraordinary hand lettering artist from Provo, Utah whom I happened upon on Instagram about two years ago. I was immediately in awe of and inspired by her intricate and pristine works of word art.

A year ago, when it came time to revamp our Panic-Free Pricing book into an e-course, I suggested to my co-author, Becca, that we include Hayley as a guest contributor, sharing her wealth of knowledge on the subject of pricing for mural projects. She was a complete delight to work with, writing an entire chapter and providing amazing video to support her material.

This past August on Instagram, Hayley asked her audience where she should host her next Hand Lettering workshop. I (not so) jokingly sent her a message reply, “How about Ottawa, Canada!?”

You can imagine my squeals of delight when she replied, “I’d love to! If you can secure a minimum of 12 participants, I’ll come!”

After working out the details, and selling not only the minimum of 12 spots, but selling out all 25, Hayley booked flights for her and her husband Allan to spend the weekend in Ottawa, starting with our workshop Friday night. Not only was this to be Hayley + Allan’s first trip to Ottawa, but their first trip to Canada!

The anticipation of this weekend has been not unlike that leading up to Christmas morning. Waiting for them to arrive at the airport yesterday morning was like waiting for Santa! My heart was racing and my palms were sweaty! We all did a little happy dance upon first recognizing each other—them at the top of the escalator, me at the bottom. People must have thought we were long lost cousins, or completely bonkers!

After their overnight flights, Hayley + Allan were just about ready to ground themselves in their AirBnB, so we headed that way taking the scenic route, stopping along the way for quick hellos with a mutual friend, and a bite to eat in trendy Hintonburg. While they rested, I headed to ALE—Amberwood Lounge + Eatery—to set up. (Handy that I work there part-time as the Event Administrator!)

Hayley + Allan arrived with Becca at 4:30pm, followed by 16 of the 25 workshop participants for an early dinner. The workshop began at 6:30pm, and was jam-packed with hand lettering knowledge, tips, tricks, and techniques—sprinkled with Hayley’s charm and humour to keep everyone giggling.

By 9:30pm we were all exhausted and ready for bed. Becca drove Hayley + Allan home, and we confirmed plans to meet up this morning for a full day of Ottawa sights.

We started this morning at the National Art Gallery, followed by a stroll through the Byward Market, landing at The Aulde Dubliner for Hayley + Allan’s first taste of Poutine! We then visited The Original Giant Tiger, as a bit of a gag—before taking her calligraphy business full-time, Becca worked in the Interior Design department of GT, and had requested Hayley take a selfie, should one cross her path.

To rest our legs a bit, and take full advantage of the season, I drove my guests to Gatineau Park. We made it to Huron and Champlain Lookouts, where Fall Rhapsody did not disappoint!

Farewells were bid at about 5pm, as I left them at their AirBnB with suggestions for places to explore during the rest of their time here before heading home Monday morning.

Our bittersweet hugs goodbye felt so much more connected than our excited hugs hello. Time and memories shared brought the three of us closer together as friends, and Utah has officially been added to my wish list of travel destinations!

I have been reminding myself constantly of the magic in this entire experience—from admiring a young artist’s work, to saying hello, to collaborating on a project, to inviting her to travel to lead a workshop, to touring them around my beautiful city, to becoming friends.

Some people frown upon social media for the lack of connection and withdrawal it seemingly causes in real life relationships. And while I don’t necessarily disagree, I also see and embrace the opportunities it offers for connections I wouldn’t have imagined without it—real, intimate, authentic connections.

What a lovely couple of days enjoyed with a lovely couple of humans.

Wordless Wednesday | Cuba 2019

xox
Joanne

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this story. Feel free to leave a comment and let’s chat!

Hola!

Tomorrow at this time, Quinn, Jake, and I will be on our flight to Varadero, Cuba.

This trip is a promise I made to my boys way back in 2010—the last (and fourth) time I travelled to Cuba. I promised them the next time I went, it would be with them—just the three of us. They were nine and four then, now 18 and 13.

Quite honestly, even though I have wished a thousand times I could have taken them sooner, I think now is the perfect time. They are old enough to understand the value and opportunity of this adventure, and young enough to appreciate our time together (I trust I have raised them to always appreciate our time together 😉). I am so proud to be able to make this happen—so looking forward to the laughs we will have, and witnessing the wonder in their eyes as we tour though Havana, their amazement at the sights + scenes, and their appreciation for the local culture, and my love for the country and its people since my first visit in 1998.

This will be my fifth trip to Cuba, and by all counts, the most special.
✨☀️👩‍👦‍👦💕

xox
Joanne

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this story. Feel free to leave a comment and let’s chat!

Wordless…

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Inspiration 365: Day 54

[ Yes, I skipped a few days. Forgive me. ]

Today was Quinn’s Grade 5 ski trip to our regular hill. I volunteered to join the class as a parent helper, but was {don’t tell anybody} not particularly looking forward to the outing. “Why?” you ask. While I do love skiing and the outdoors, and I love spending time with Quinner, there were a few potential issues that were making me wince a little.

1.  The weather has been so mild all week, even raining at times, I was anticipating lousy conditions. Considering I had to pay for my lift ticket, I didn’t want to be forking over my pennies to ski in slush or on ice.

2.  Quinn is considered an advanced skier for his age group. This is his eighth year on skis, and his fifth in the racing program. He knows his stuff, knows the trails, and often goes skiing on his own without supervision. Most of his school friends are hockey players, having never clipped a boot into a binding before. Two of these guys (I’ll call them A-boy + H-boy) were assigned to my group to make our foursome. While I love teaching kids and working with them, I was not sure how we would all have an enjoyable day. Either Quinn would be bored on the easier runs, or his buddies would be frustrated and not able to keep up.

Quinn and I opted to drive to the hill instead of taking the school bus (more of that good ol’ quality time). We arrived about 45 minutes ahead of the class. While we waited another NINE schools came, resulting in about a thousand kids, of various skill levels, all ready to ski.

Once everybody had their tickets and gear, we were told to go to the star test station so the kids could be qualified to ski safely. A-boy had been on skis once or twice before and, as an avid hockey player, understood the science behind weight-shifting, balance and speed control. H-boy had never been on skis, and rarely on skates. These big planks on his feet made him stumble and fall simply getting from chalet to rope tow.

The hill was clearly ill-equipped to handle so many kids. The few instructors there weren’t so much teaching as they were herding kids through tow lines, hollering at them to “Keep going! There are too many kids here to hold up the line!” Poor H-boy stumbled on his first attempt to grab the rope tow. I exclaimed to the lift operator this was his first time on skis. “Oh! Well then he should be over THERE!”, pointing to a station where kids were learning how to STOP. Oh, there is a process here! So H-boy and I went over, while Quinn and A-boy proceeded to acquire their star with ease.

After six attempts, H-boy passed his stopping test, but not before frustration and defeat set in. He told me several times “I suck” and “I can’t do this”. My heart sank, but I encouraged him to keep trying. I took him over to the Turning station for his next step. He rode the magic carpet, while I skied uphill to meet him at the top {it’s a mild grade slope, at best}. Again at the top, there was a line up of kids waiting to go down, weaving gracefully through pylons, and who were expected to make turns and stop successfully at the bottom. There was zero instruction, only crowd control. “How can you expect kids to keep going, when they don’t even know what they are doing!? Most of these kids have never been on skis before, let alone know how to turn!” I said {forcefully, but not yelling}. “Hey, I’m the only one here. I’m doing what I can” was his response. “Well shuffling them down the hill is only going to result in a pile-up and potentially injuries. These kids need to be taught.”

I took H-boy to the side and tried to show him how to shift his weight in order to turn. He just wasn’t getting the hang of it. He toppled over at every attempt, becoming more frustrated each time. You know that point, when you just feel so lousy, you don’t even want to try? That’s where he was.

I looked up and saw Quinn patiently waiting, clearly bummed, but also feeling sad for his friend. It was now almost noon, and Q still hadn’t even gone down the hill. I approached their teacher with the situation. She suggested she might be able to find another group of kids at H-boy’s level with whom he could learn to ski. Feeling awful about his first experience, I agreed this was the best idea given the situation.

I thought about H-boy all day, wondering how he was doing. I learned that he spent the three hours after our last turning attempt just sitting in the lodge.

At about 3:30pm, I saw the teacher at the bottom of the hill. She caught my attention and was thrilled to tell me H-boy had decided to get back out there and try again. She pointed to the top of the wee rope tow hill, where I saw him prepping himself for another run. I waved, and he waved back. From fifty yards away, I could tell he was beaming with pride.

I had promised his Dad I would take photos and video, so here was my chance. In the time it took me to haul my iPhone out of my pocket, Quinn, A-boy and Q’s BFF L-boy were on their way up the rope tow to ski with their buddy (I’ve known all these kids since they were four years old. They are all such wonderful boys).

He was so excited coming down the hill. My heart sang at the sight of his huge grin as he sailed by me. “This is awesome! I’ve never gone that fast before! Well, except for that time I was in an airplane, but that wasn’t ME! I love this!”

We were so close to the end of the field trip, and time for the kids to be hustled back on the bus. I told the boys to stay where they were, I would be right back. I headed over to the teacher and asked her if I could keep H-boy with Quinn and I, and that I would drive him home. Seeing how excited and pleased he was, how could I put an end to his fun knowing I could give him the opportunity to continue? After speaking with his Dad, she gave me permission to keep him under my wing a little longer.

H-boy couldn’t believe his ears. “Thank you!” I made him a deal that if he could come down the learner’s hill three times without stumbling, I would take him on the chairlift for a few runs. He did it.

This little boy who was so devastated only a few hours earlier, was now wishing he could ski all night, and every day until Spring arrives. I felt so proud and thrilled to be able to give him this experience.

We proceeded to go down the easiest run four times, his turning and control improving each attempt. Quinn was so patient and encouraging, cheering H-boy on as he went along. He was exactly the kind of friend I always hoped my kids would be. I was proud of him too.

It was soon five o’clock, and time to go. We all could have easily stayed until 10pm close, but I had promised his Dad that H-boy would be home by 5:30pm.

We were all fired up from this amazing afternoon. What a transformation—a brilliant display of courage, perseverance and determination.

H-boy, you are awesome and inspiring. I will be happy to bring you skiing with us anytime.

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Inspiration 365: Day 18

“Sixty!? How can you possibly be sixty!?”

Those are the words I blurted out when my Dad answered the phone this morning.

“If you’re sixty, that means I’m forty… and that’s just not right.” He agreed.
Then, we BOTH agreed to stay 26 forever.

Happy Birthday, Dad.
I soooo love you.

…What inspired YOU today?

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A little colour…

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

JoeGirl Shoots!

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to try a few things I had never done. Actually, they aren’t just things I had never done, they are things I swore I would never do.

My new friends, C + J have some fabulous property in the woods. Scattered with wildflower gardens, secluded swing sets, whimsical birdhouses and ornaments, their landscape is also home to a firing target.

Before arriving to their camp, the suggestion had been made to me that we might try shooting and 4-wheeling. Inside, I cringed. Guns, shooting, hunting… no way. Never. Not me. However, in this, my time to do something different, I threw all previous judgment and concern out the window and decided to… bite the bullet. Har, har.

J was my firing coach. It took me about two minutes to even look at the rifle, and—because I was certain I would turn to ash upon doing so, like Voldemort in Harry Potter and The Philosopher’s Stone—it took me another five to reach out and hold it.

All set. Positioned, hair tucked behind my ear, elbow up, targets pinned to the board. Ready. Aim. Fire! “Go again! Go until you run out of ammo!” Bam! Bam! Bam!

That groundhog didn’t have a chance… Wow. Beginner’s Luck? Nah… I’m just that good.

Next up was four-wheeling. J took me out to show me the trail. What a strange sensation to be able to drive over trees, boulders and through swamps (I swear this is where Shrek lives). We stopped for a beverage, then I hopped in the driver’s seat for the ride back.

Okay. THIS is fun. Once familiar with the amount of gas the beast required to make the obstacles, I was riding this bull moose like nobody’s business. I tore through the swamp, dousing myself and J with more mud than can be found on Joan River’s face.

What a brilliant adventure. Take every opportunity to Do Something Different.

Gratitude Journal

While it is not a new concept to our family, keeping a Gratitude Journal is something we haven’t done in a while. In fact, I am presently looking to locate the book we used to keep at the kitchen table to record our daily high points.

Wow. I just found it. Last entry: October 18, 2008. Oops. Time to reinstate the journal.

Here are some of the items we have written in the past:

Thursday, January 3, 2008
Quinn: “For the picnic Mom and I had on the living room bench today—she surprised me!”

Andrew: “For fish, because I like fish. It was a nice fish dinner. I don’t usually get to eat my sole.”

Me: “For spending another great day with Quinn—he helped me mop floors and we danced a LOT today.”

 •     •     •     •     •

Friday, May 23, 2008
Quinn: “Tomorrow I’m going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a sleepover!”

Andrew: “For the weekend. It always seems to take so long to arrive when it’s a short week.”

TJ (Jake): nodding

Me: “That I had a fun and silly chat with Sensei Shawna and Gerri-Lyn tonight. Lots of girly giggles.”

Keeping a Gratitude Journal encourages us to think of the happinesses of the day, and pushes the not-so-great moments to the bottom of the barrel. After a few days of this, you will find you truly embrace those happy moments, and they tend to occur more often.

Even on a day you may think was “the worst day ever”, you are bound to find even the smallest moment for which to be grateful.

Turn your face to the sun, and your shadows will fall behind you—Anonymous

Do you keep a Gratitude Journal? If so, or if not, what are 3 things you are grateful for today?

Today, I walked.

If you know me at all, you know I am not a walker.

As a kid, I always wanted to be in the stroller, on my Mom’s hip, or in the car. As a teen, I sneakily waited five minutes before leaving to meet my best friend half-way on the path that joined our two houses. Recently, I cringed at the idea of incorporating walk-runs into my training schedule, but with time, I have come to enjoy them, and even challenge myself to beat my best pace time.

Today, I needed to walk out of necessity. Andrew had the truck (we are picking up our new-to-us second vehicle tomorrow), and I had a hair appointment at my local salon. Not too far—only about 2km, but oh, what a chore to have to walk there. Alas, off I went for my 10am date with Wayne, my stylist.

As I walked, I was astounded at how quickly my attitude changed.

As I walked, I thought to myself “I am one of them. One of those walkers I often admire while I whiz by in my gas-guzzler”.

As I walked past the little house on Main Street which was, in my childhood days, The Children’s Shoppe, I remembered with a sheepish grin, the time the store owner called my Mother to ask if she knew my older sister and I were buying candy there every day on our way to school.

As I walked, I looked across to the school I attended for Kindergarten and Grade One, and remembered the time I tried to sharpen my finger in the pencil sharpener. The time my older sister kicked the metal latch off of my Snoopy lunchbox. The smell of rubber cement, and the feel of that glassine paper we would cut and fold into wonderful creations. The coolness of the gym mats we would rest upon during quiet time.

As I walked, I tried to place myself back thirty years into the body of my seven-year old self. I have no idea what I looked like then, but I remember being carefree and probably somewhat silly, as I am today.

As I walked, I reached up into the leaves which dangled above the sidewalk, and reveled in the glorious nature I held in my hand.

As I walked, I smiled one of the biggest, most heartfelt smiles I have felt in a while. The smile came from allowing myself to feel like a child again, and not think about anything else but the sweet moments and memories that changed with each footstep.

What a wonderful walk.

PS: Here’s my new hair.

Wordless Wednesday: My Boys

Instant Recognition

I was leaving a shopping mall this afternoon, and as I passed through the door, a gentleman was coming toward me. I recognized him immediately, and felt confident enough to exclaim “I know you!” He looked at me with that puzzled look one gives in moments like these, so I continued, “Ski patrol. Mont Ste. Marie. I’m Lincoln and Sharon’s daughter, Joanne!”

I still couldn’t place this fellow’s name, so I asked. (I won’t say it here, but Mom, his initials are D.P-ovich. Really handsome, dark hair, moustache.)

“YES!” He was amazed I recognized him so easily, as I was only 9 or 10 years old during the time I knew him (27 years ago—ack!). I replied “I have a thing for faces”, when I perhaps should have said “You must have made an impression on me!”

We exchanged a few quick updates—mostly of my parent’s current whereabouts—then he had to dash off to work. I handed him my business card with an invitation to pass along some hellos to my folks, and was off.

The whole way home, I recalled those silly crushes I used to get, and fondly remembered swooning over Mr.P as a girl.

I never forget a face.

Ten years.

On September 26, 1998 I married my true love.

The Autumn colours were exquisite—reds, golds, dark greens. It was a hot day—Indian Summer, I suppose. I remember standing in the church vestibule waiting for my moment to walk up the aisle. As the custodian opened the colossal wooden doors, our 200 guests stood and turned their heads to me. Those nearest the door heard me gasp. It was a moment I will never forget. I can feel it now, in my gut, in my throat and in my heart.

And there was Andrew. My true love. The calm to my storm. The serious to my silly. The anchor to my wings. My favourite everything.

Andrew, I love you.
There have been so many moments in these first 10 years with you as my husband, that I have had to gasp. You take my breath away.

Happy Anniversary, Bun.

When bad parents purge good stuff

In my 36 years, I have owned many precious things. Regrettably, many of those things have long disappeared. Where is all of the stuff I loved as a child, adored as a teenager, or created as a young adult? Being a bit of a pack-rat in earlier years leads me to the assumption that these cherished items were purged by parents (an act I am admittedly guilty of now that I am a Mom). Were they lost in moves, sold in yard sales, pitched on garbage day?

When I do secretly sort through my boys’ belongings, I try to purge items they really show no, or very little, interest in. Of course I would never toss their favourite stuffies or books, board games or artwork. But really, how can we ever be sure we are removing unnoticed—and unwanted—items? I suppose there is no true way. Best defense is to be prepared for them to notice, and have a darned good alibi.

If I could snap my fingers to retrieve them, here are a few items I would want back in a heartbeat:

My Fisher-Price Castle. My boys would have loved it. How could my Mom throw/give this away? I remember playing with it for hours and hours. Where the heck it is now? Geez, just seeing this picture from eBay brings back so many crazy castle adventures.

My DuoTang Full of Floorplans. I don’t recall exactly when it was, but at about age 13 I started drawing floor plans for houses and phenomenal mansions. I would swipe ask my Mom to bring home pads of graph paper from her office, and they would be filled up in no time with pencil sketches of complete homes. Kitchens and bathrooms designed for optimum efficiency and storage, furnishings arranged, even landscaping planned out. I remember pouring over every detail, and dreaming of seeing these homes built in real life. If I could put my hands on this collection, I’m certain I would be one of Canada’s—heck, North America’s—well, in that case, THE WORLD’s—highest paid, and highly regarded architects.

Andrew’s car keys. Okay, I don’t really care if we never see these keys again. We don’t even own the car they belong to anymore. They’re just one of those things that I put somewhere for safe-keeping (I take full responsibility)‚ and have never seen since. Since losing these keys in 2001, we have moved houses, searched every corner before leaving, and have unpacked each and every box. In their memory, we use these keys as a joke response to the frequently asked question “Hey, guess what I saw today?” Damn, I wish I knew where I put those. So unlike me. Really.

What do you remember from days gone by that you no longer have, but wish you did?