Sheryl Decterow

When I went to Anthropologie today to purchase two of these hooks for my crocheted garment photography studio, I waited in line behind a girl who was about to drop a few hundred dollars on tall leather riding boots. It was apparently her first time. As she waited for her card to clear, she moaned, “oh god”. The salesperson consoled her with encouragements to breathe and information regarding their eagerness to accept returns if the boots turned out not to be her thing.

I fell dramatically in love with these gorgeous flats while I was there, but I just don’t have $128 for them. And that brings me to the glory of this entry: the end to my winter boot hunt resulting in two pairs for, coupon activated, just pennies over $20. It’s called buying used, babies. One of the pairs is a fine, furry, wintery kind, brown with copper sequins, but the one that induced my beeline is a caramelly leather platform heel. Probably like a four inch heel. They’re terribly gorgeous. Very seventies yet sophisticated and refined. I feel like Austin Powers’ lover, and that wouldn’t be far off the mark (but Dan has very little chest hair). Anyway, here is the sinker: they both have great traction, and the boots don’t clack obnoxiously on hard floors. WHEW! The only noise that turns my hands into fists faster than clickity-clacky heels is the buses screeching as they slow down as of late.

Daniel has decided that we are eating at an Indian restaurant, so this is the end of the entry.

For a long while I have intended to make daily entries documenting the best parts of the days, to help jostle me into writing again and just because. What a pleasant thing to have a written chronicle of.

The best part of today was tied between two beverages: the first, chronologically, being a con panna Andrew insisted upon me, unlike any other con panna I’ve had – he used one of those skanky little vibrating frothers to thicken (unsweetened) whipping cream, then dolloped it into a shot. It drifted between the liquid and the crema. It was really divine. I was totally opposed at first, because I do have a cavity of a weak spot for the American con panna, but my perspective flip-flopped quickly and I have a new love. Then, I had to make new whipped cream because we do serve it (for now) and I made it supersweet and Mariah had leftover hot chocolate steamed up (dark) so I combined them and blissed out for a while.

it is the purity of the succulence of the con panna vs. the intense instant gratification of spooning sweet whipped cream into my gawking gabber to be washed down by deep dark liquid chocolate. They weigh pretty evenly.

There is a staff meeting on Monday to discuss the menu, and such things as whipped cream, decaf beans, Monin syrups and skim milk are on the table to be considered for pushing off. It’s exhilaratingly ballsy to think of, and I fantasize that customers would be appalled only momentarily and only because their conventions are being shaken. Our motivation is of course to offer them only the best product we can, in good faith and spirits, not to be just another decaf-vanilla-raspberry-2-percent latte java hut. I think as long as we are all well educated and articulate about it, it could work. Anyway, obviously these thoughts are all better suited to the meeting than the blog :)

Some people have simple things to do expensive things with. Some people have expensive things to do simple things with.

The sky was a cellulite blanket as I walked home from my unsuccessful – but I did find the most adorable plaid button-up shirt, the first plaid thing I’ve owned in years – boot hunt this afternoon. It was lovely. Today was cold and rainy, and, due to the cold, instead of calming them the rain made all the people rush to get to warm places. You have to be very careful.

All my life I have trustfully believed most of whatever I was told about the way the world works. Not anymore; now, sometimes, I call bullshit. I see when people are trying to control me with their insecurities. And I choose charcoal over them.

Calgary Transit’s buses all displayed at least one Poetry in Motion banner, which would promote the art with a small section of some influential poet’s words. The other day I saw such a banner on a Metro Transit bus and nearly cried with nostalgic glee. It said:

Don’t go outside to see flowers.
My friend, don’t bother with that excursion.
Inside your body there are flowers.
One flower has a thousand petals.
That will do for a place to sit.
Sitting there you will have a glimpse of beauty
inside the body and out of it,
before gardens and after gardens.

It is very much like my favourite Rumi poem, which is probably indeed my favourite poem, which goes:

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language – even the phrase “each other” doesn’t make any sense.

Hence such glee at reading.

We are nearly all moved in :) Daniel did a wicked job of unpacking last night. He organizes a mean bookshelf, utulizing his clever utilitarianism with stacks of books for bookends. I’m good with closets.

Going to swing up downtown while Daniel does musical errands in preparation for a recording tomorrow, then prepare our dinner which is Heidi’s slurptastic herb noodles. (I have chopped up the herbs and oh man, I just want to make a cilantro hand lotion or something!!) Daniel’s friend Nate is celebrating his 25th birthday tonight. I’ve never attended a party with a keg in attendance too, so add that to the list of growing-up milestones passed. I work tomorrow and begin training on milk this week! Very excited to work with the Synesso; its steam wand is particularly phallic.

I picked up two yards of incredible organic cotton sherpa to make some cozy winter pants, and have to get around to that soon because it ain’t too warm out yet when I catch my first bus at 5:40!

Last night we moved. THANKS, BOB, our truck tetris teammate!

I’ve been married and left my homeland and owned a condominium, but I feel far more legitimately grown up after moving into our new 1 bedroom apartment. For the first time, I share a bedroom with my husband. (the condo was a studio) This is wonderful – I close the door and can turn on any lights I want when I get up for work before he does. It has reinforced what home means, which is really cliche about hearts and things; which thus redefines itself, seeing as how my heart can be with many places and people at once. Can’t really say “I’m going home” and expect people to know whether I’m taking a bus or an airplane to get there. (Just as the speech therapist ordered – even higher demands for precise articulation!)

The wood (faux?) floors look really good with all of our wood furniture, which is surprising since I’ve always hated mixing and matching different woods. But this floor unites them. I am going to go walk around on it, putting things away and up.