Keira-anne.com

Last week I took some time off work and escaped to Vancouver Island for nine days. Much of that time was spent wearing stretchy pants, watching HGTV, sleeping in late, stuffing my face with all kinds of food that’s bad for me (my skin was hating me for doing so), drinking beer, BBQing, baking and catching up with friends. I managed to squeeze in a day of going through old boxes with my mom and aunt, hoping to find a lot that could be given away or recycled.

I discovered far more spiders and mice than this city girl is kosher with, but also learned that apparently I used to be a major pack rat. I saved everything from tees to receipts and even hotel shower caps. However, among the overstuffed boxes laid a few gems and memories that I thought I’d take the time to gratuitously share with you all.

My summer of 15. Taking trips to Vancouver, sans parents, was always a thrill. We never had shops like Underground in Courtenay. Plus, I knew I’d never get to see Trainspotting if my parents had anything to say about it.

When I did find myself in the city with one or both parents, a Vancouver Canucks’ hockey game was almost always on the agenda. Anyone raised in BC will certainly remember the 1994 playoffs and the legendary roster.

Apparently there was also a NBA team that called Vancouver home at one time…

I also found my old diary…

… and somewhere in the boxes was my baby book.

I’ll never forget my first concert. My dad took me to see U2′s Zoo TV World Tour at BC Place when I was 11, and I still remember the butterflies I felt while stepping off the Skytrain. I was crushing on Bono – hard.

There’s no better way to hear Achtung Baby than live and loud.

(Yeah, I don’t get it either.)

These belonged to my mom and aunt when they were little girls and got passed along. Somewhere there’s a hipster dying to own them.

Remember a long, long time ago… about 24 years ago? There was a little exhibition along the waterfront at False Creek in Vancouver and people came from far and wide to share in the cultural experience. Expo ’86 brought the world to our slice of the planet for five months in 1986, bringing with it iconic legacies that are still part of Vancouver in 2010.

I went through a phase in junior high where I collected everything and anything I could get my hands on from the world fair. At one point I even found a stuffed, life-size Expo Ernie (the official mascot), but he sadly succumbed to dirt, dust, mice and water damage. A few items remained in near-mint condition.

“Something’s Happening Here” played during the evening fireworks display. What I wouldn’t give to be able to digitalize the tape and play it here for you all. It’s the epitome of “epic”.

Though I was incredibly young at the time, I still have a few fond memories of the trip I took with my family across the water and into the colourful, musical, creative gates of Expo ’86.

Purple velcro shoes? Check.

Somewhere in the memorabilia boxes from Expo ’86, I also found a ton of buttons. I suspect the aquarium buttons were from way back when it was still okay to keep whales and dolphins in captivity. Oh wait…

Last, though certainly not the least, comes one of my most treasured pictures. For reasons unbeknownst to me, at one time there were lions and tigers (yet not bears) on display at the Driftwood Mall in Courtenay. My dad paid to have a Polaroid snapped of me holding a tiger cub. I’m guessing that he’s not so cuddly and cute anymore (and hopefully not still in captivity either).

While more than half a dozen bags and three or four boxes were bound up for the thrift store and recycling bins, I’m not cutthroat enough to get rid of any of these items. Who knows when my eighth grade medal for basketball sportsmanship will come in handy?

Not joining: it’s what I’m famous for. I’ve always been more content to strut to my own beat rather than go with the flow. I often resist change and will purposely avoid jumping bandwagons simply out of principle.

The same could not be more true of my relationship with social media. I was one of those straggling converts from MySpace to Facebook years ago. For the longest time I held my ground over Twitter, unable to see the point in “micro blogging”. However, as this blog gains the structure and focused content it’s been featuring lately, I find myself with less opportunities to share personal thoughts in more than 140 characters. Isn’t that always the chagrin of Twitter?

Last night I started a Tumblr account-slash-blog in an effort to bring back a personal aspect to my online interactions. From what I can tell so far, I think Tumblr may just suit my needs quite creatively because it’s essentially an online scrapbook. You don’t need to be on Tumblr to check me out – my new postings will automatically be posted to my Twitter account. So simple.

“I know a girl…
She puts the colour inside of my world.”
- John Mayer, “Daughters”

Just shy of 10 years ago, I met Ashley. Like moths to a flame, blondes are seemingly drawn to each other. Ashley and I were no exception. While our mutual love of ice cream paved the way, it took no time at all for she and I to realize the capacity of deep love we each had for the other.

She has since become one of my strongest, wisest and most genuine friends – one that has endured through many phases of my life (and many phases of her own life). Ashley has that selfless and infectious spirit that most of us can only aspire to have one day. To be able to call her a friend is a true blessing.

As another year full of achievements and adventures has passed, I wish my Ashley the happiest of birthdays. Here’s sending you all the kisses, hugs, ice cream cones (and a few little licks from Jordy) on your birthday. Here is to celebrating everything that you are and everything that you mean to those who love you.

I have traveled very little in my 20-something years. There are no exotic stamps on my passport, no photos exist of me posing in front of pyramids or the Eiffel Tower and I have yet to cross either the Pacific or Atlantic oceans. However, unbeknown to me, I only needed to cross to the other side of North America to experience culture of the international variety.

While Vancouver is celebrated as a virtual melting pot of ethnicity, it’s still relatively young. There are brownstone homes in Brooklyn that are older than this city. New York City, originally founded as New Amsterdam, was first settled in the early-to-mid 1600s and has since grown into a city that straddles the precipice between cosmopolitan and historical. So many city blocks are completely saturated with what once was and still is.

Nowhere does that seem more true than Little Italy. Wednesday, May 26th was a hot day – a day with the kind of heat that feels like a solid substance wrapping itself in and around your body. Rebecca and I donned slim-strapped sandals, barely-there dresses and gathered the hair off the back of our necks. It was necessary for survival. I love that kind of heat.

Photo: miss604 on Flickr

We wove our way through narrow city streets in Lower Manhattan – the very first part of the city that was settled upon – and found ourselves in the middle of the bustling Chinatown district. Famished from walking and desperate for substance in our stomachs, Rebecca and I diverted onto Mulberry Street. Blink and perhaps you’ll miss Little Italy, a neighbourhood that’s gradually become so small yet is bursting at the seams with dignity in its roots.

It’s overwhelming. A street that at one time served as the centre of the blood-soaked Five Points neighbourhood was now lined with brick veneers, fire escapes, colourful awnings scribed in Italian, delivery trucks providing everything from prosciutto to tomato sauce and flags flying with red, white and green. Older men bellowed at each other from across the street, wiping their hands on their aprons. Younger men bantered jokes in a language so fast and so beautiful that it mesmerized me. Tourists on the sidewalk noshed on cannolis and gelato.

We selected a restaurant on the west side of the block, choosing to sit on the sidewalk and soak in our surroundings. Rebecca and I pushed our chairs in under the red and white checkered table cloth, my back bumping up against a flower box occupied with scarlet-coloured geraniums. I ordered a glass of house pinot noir and then fell in love.

My man couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than me. Save for a few broken phrases in English, it was clear that he spoke only Italian. My man’s white shirt was chiseled around his torso and tucked into black pants that appeared to be nothing short of expertly tailored. His undershirt was traceable under his long sleeves and even in that 95-degree heat, my man didn’t break a sweat. His eyes were playful but his expression was stern and concentrated. When he wasn’t refilling our water glasses, my man was coolly leaning on a nearby parking meter with a cigarette posed between his bow-tie lips. I was infatuated and unable to look anywhere else.

There on Mulberry Street, in the middle of intense heat and thrust into old-world Italy in the middle of Manhattan, I recognized that some things never change. Forever known for their remarkable dishes, perfected wine and searing passion, the Italians also have not lost their knack for invoking love at first sight either.

Truth be told, I was never much of a fan of dressing for the hot months. Jeans, boots and cozy sweaters have always been more my thing, but lately I’ve been embracing Summer-savvy style. The vibrancy of sunshine and blue skies is the perfect excuse to unleash splashy colour, while wearing less clothing leaves room for more accessories.

While I’m holding tight to a budget and saving most of my clothing cash for Fall and Winter, I could help but add a few essentials to my warm weather wardrobe on my recent trip to New York City.

The one must-have item that I didn’t want to be without was a romper and it was instant love when I found this silk-blend one-piece at Diane von Furstenberg’s studio flagship. The psychedelic tribal design caught me – hook, line and sinker. I wasted no time in wearing it while out and about in the city that never sleeps.

Sunglasses are a no-brainer and in more ways than one. Often times I’m mindless when it comes to sunnies and end up losing them in no time, so it’s one accessory that I don’t invest a lot of money in. $10 aviators from H&M do the trick and are essential for the beach. Swimwear is easy to stock up on without damaging my wallet, so when I found this nearly neon ruffled bikini at Victoria’s Secret for the price of a couple deluxe cocktails, I couldn’t refuse.

Canada’s best-kept fashion secret isn’t so secret anymore because Joe Fresh is graduating from Superstore and moving into it’s very own department store in downtown Vancouver this September [source]. These cork-soled sandals set me back $9 last summer, so stocking up on two pairs made the most sense. I’m a big fan of the gladiator sandal trend, but simple will go much further than elaborate in terms of design and versatility.

Jewelry is another accessory element that can’t be overlooked. I snagged this ring, also from H&M, for $3.95. Frappuccinos cost more.

I’m starting to sense a colour theme here…

I’m a big bag girl. Yes, I’m big on bags generally, but what I really mean is that I need room to play. Small handbags and clutches have their time and place, but I need the ability and space to toss some extras in when the occasion calls for it. This Summer I’ll be switching between this berry-coloured Marc by Marc Jacobs hobo that I found in Arizona with its price slashed by 90%. Yup, 90%. My other go-to carry-all is also brought to you by the fine folks at Joe Fresh for a whopping $5.

Just because it’s the off season doesn’t mean I can’t and shouldn’t represent. I was blown away by the two-storey NBA Store on 5th Avenue and picked up this vintage Phoenix Suns tee for me and a Steve Nash toddler tee for my niece. That little girl’s got too much Canucks gear.

My plans for the coming weekend included a mani/pedi until I weighed out the options. Shell out $50 for a once-in-a-while luxury or spend a fraction of that for new colours that will last all season long? The answer is obvious. From left to right I’d like you to meet Brisk Blue, Mango-Get-Em and Lickity Split.

Crown braids started to trend last summer and they haven’t lost any steam. It’s an easy way to keep my hair off my face while showing a little attention to detail. The same attention to detail can be said for this sweet, strappy and silky Quiksilver Women slip dress. The neck tie-up slays me.

Always one of the last and never one of the least is my pièce de résistance. I stalked it online, admired it from afar and gazed longingly at photos of it for months. The maxi dress is as crucial as they come for easy and effortless style while remaining entirely comfortable in the heat of July.

The Vertias maxi dress, also from DvF, is charged with romantic details and thoughtful design. The slight hem lift in the front allows the gown to bustle and flow rather than create the billowing effect that most maxi dresses fall victim to.

I bit my lip while trying to decide between the maxi dress and the romper, even though I knew they’d both be practical and that I’d wear each item a lot over the coming months. However, it was Rebecca who tipped the scales for me.

“How often are you in New York City, in the Meatpacking District, at your favourite designer’s studio?” she asked. Good point.

No matter what you find yourself wearing – or not wearing – over the coming months, there’s one item no one should be without. Sunblock is your best friend. Practice safe sun because, though her designs are legendary, no one actually wants to look like Donatella Versace when they’re 55.

You tell me: what are your summer must-haves? Wish list items? Which items will you be stocking up on for Summertime?

Despite its abundant natural beauty, there is one fame that Vancouver cannot claim. Only on very rare occasions do I find myself staring at the night sky and see stars winking back at me. It’s a luxury afforded only by those whose homes are on further reaches.

There are two things I do every single time I leave Vancouver and visit Vancouver Island. The first I accomplish the very moment I step off the ferry: breathe. Unspoiled air tinged with sea salt and pine fills my lungs.

The second happens at night. I step outside and take in the spectacle of stars, gold dust scattered across royal velvet. They shine brightly, they twinkle and they are quiet. It’s visions like those that seem to be created just for me in that moment.

Photo: Supernumerario on Flickr

Not long ago, I found myself on an airplane. I was caught at a point between Pacific time and Eastern time, somewhere between sunset and sunrise. The sound of the plane’s engine had reached a humming plateau, the cabin lights were low and apart from the crew, it seemed that I was the only one still awake. Leaning my head in the crook of the tiny cabin window, my eyes were met with a mirror image.

The stars scattered across the molasses-coloured canvas were reflected against gently flickering lights from tiny towns of the mid-west below. Waukesha, Warsaw and Warren were still fast asleep. With nothing but darkness to see, I closed my eyes for what felt like only a moment or two. It could have been more, it could have been less, but I was unprepared for what was painted before me.

Without warning, tomorrow’s sun showed its face, ripping across the horizon and flooding the indigo sky in screaming reds and oranges. The glimmering stars had not moved, pinned against the dome of night. What I saw was a battle of beauty that no one but the Creator could create. In a few minutes the sun would rise higher and the stars would disappear one at a time. But as I sat, silently suspended in the middle of that masterpiece, there was only one thing that I knew for certain. What is real and true is never very far, but the onus is always on me to press pause and open my eyes to see it.

When I’m not making the conscious decision to eat healthy food, it takes very little time for the habit to catch up on me. Believe me – few things go down as easy as a PayDay bar, a piping hot Americano or a bowlful of sour cream and onion potato chips. However, within a week or two – and sometimes just days – the effects of my poor eating choices start to stare at me in the face… literally.

The first tell-tale evidence is my skin. It’s not as soft and moisturized as normal, instead feeling oily and appearing entirely lacklustre. Going make up-free is most definitely no longer an option.

Second to the skin is fatigue. The psychological cause-and-effect of eating well translating into feeling well becomes crushed by the crash of sugary treats. And further, my body starts to feel squishy and bloated.

I recently found an article outlining some of the problems with processed foods and the benefits of giving them the boot. I know from experience that, once I’m able to bust through the bad habits that build up, my body rebounds in huge and healthy ways. Hair and skin glow, energy levels rocket through the roof, muscle tone becomes more apparent and I become mindful of what I put in my body.

The hard part is sticking to it for long periods of time – particularly because I’m always on the go. Meals for one can quickly become lazy and uninspired and I am normally clueless as to what to do with any and all leftover ingredients. British Columbia is abundant with tons of fresh, local food and finding healthy (and often organic) eating choices is a cinch. Between sustainable farmers’ markets and health-conscious grocery stores, this really shouldn’t be a difficult endeavour for me, but it is.

Your turn: What are some of your favourite on-the-go recipes that are both healthy and delicious? What helps you stay focused on healthy eating habits – or getting back on track?

Someone once told me that there’s no experience like riding the New York City Subway. Over 650 miles of tracks snake and slide their way deep under Manhattan, reaching out to four of the five boroughs. It’s impossible to descend the steps into any station and not be instantly overcome by the sensory experience that awaits.

The stations are hot and stuffy. The still air is a fragrant tonic of charred street meat, diesel and urine. The noise is deafening as trains rocket in and out of stations, sparking over the rails with an unmistakable squeal. The paint is peeling off steel beams, the overhead lights flicker and buzz and passengers wait like flocks of vultures to squeeze between the doors.

It’s intoxicating.

Photo: cafemama on Flickr

On the very last day that Rebecca and I spent in New York City, we traveled across the Brooklyn Bridge one step at a time. While Manhattan is most certainly its own world, crossing the iconic span over the East River felt much like stepping through a portal.

As my feet found solid ground in Brooklyn, every little thing I’d long associated with the city’s biggest borough suddenly came to life. It’s the home of the Beastie Boys, of sizzling Italian-American pizzerias, of Coney Island, of century-old brownstones and even the original Dodgers baseball team. When I was younger, my family lived on a cul-de-sac called Brooklyn Place and my school was called Brooklyn Elementary. Naturally, I secretly pretended we lived in Brooklyn.

After a couple hours of exploring, the time came to return to Manhattan and we decided to do so by way of the subway. High Street Station was bustling with people on that muggy Friday afternoon. Finding a seat was easier than expected and within minutes our train jolted to life and rattled toward downtown. A group of b-boys kicked their ghetto blaster into high gear and began to break-dance in the middle of the train. Our fellow passengers gave wide berth and kept the dancers moving with cheers and clapping as beat-heavy hip hop sputtered from the well-played speakers.

What should have been an uneventful journey from Brooklyn back to midtown turned into a Friday afternoon impromptu train party. Nothing short of something quintessentially Brooklyn, I can’t imagine a more fitting way for New York City to bid us farewell than with the smiles and laughter of 50 of our newest friends… at least for one afternoon.

Jordy – Also known as: J-Man, My Foxy Little Man, Love Muffin, J, Lil’ J, J-Fresh, Buddy, Sweetpea, Mister, Jords, Monster, Little Monkey

His ears were pasted back on his head, his fur dull and coarse and tremendous fear reflected in his eyes. The photo I saw of Jordy on his adoption profile was accompanied with the label “high anxiety” and he had enormous emotional issues, mainly because he’d been re-homed a half-dozen times in only three short years. There was something about him that I couldn’t get out of my head, and I found myself visiting his online profile numerous times each day until I finally decided to bite the bullet and submit an application form for adoption.

The response e-mail I received informed me that several other applications for Jordy were pending, but that it wasn’t a first-come, first-served basis. Jordy would go to the person best suited for him, so I applied anyway. As luck would have it, the other applications were never fully processed and after nearly six weeks of filling out forms, reference checks, phone interviews and a home visit, I was finally invited to meet Jordy at his foster home in Duncan.

He was nothing more than a dark silhouette on a landing who refused to come downstairs when I walked in the home. He was the typical sad orphan in the corner who wasn’t playing or interacting with the other foster dogs and it broke my heart. However, after more than an hour spent together and a walk in the woods, Jordy warmed up to me considerably – and more than any other prospective adopting “parent” that had previously met him. I decided that I wanted to go through with the adoption and, one week later, returned with my mom and Rebecca to bring him home.

That was one year ago today and I can’t begin to tell you the difference a year makes. Back then he truly was the high anxiety dog he’d been labeled as, was constantly panting and breathing rapidly – even in his sleep. Though he was house-trained, it took close to four months to find a routine that stopped him from marking inside. Taking him to the dog park or asking him to shake a paw would elicit nothing more than a blank stare.

Today he’s happy, bouncing, relaxed, sweet-mannered, loves to destroy his toys and his treats, interacts and plays with other dogs at the dog park, gets excited over having sleep-over vacations with my mom and aunt, knows more than his share of tricks and is as lazy as a teenager when it comes to sleeping. Seeing the progress this formerly neglected dog has made truly warms my heart a hundred times over every single day, even if just in the way he greets me with cuddles and kisses every time I walk through the front door.

Today we’re celebrating one year together, coinciding with his fourth birthday. I couldn’t imagine my days without him around.

If you’re considering bringing a dog into your home, please first consider the immense undertaking of time and potential expense involved. Second, I strongly encourage you to explore adoption options from either your area SPCA or a local adoption/rescue agency. Jordy was adopted from Furever After Small Dog Rescue in Qualicum Beach. Supporting pet stores and breeders will only contribute to a nation-wide pet population epidemic, while there are hundreds of dogs across BC that are amazing, wonderful and crave nothing more than a warm, loving home.

Anyone that found themselves on the south coast of British Columbia last Friday – and particularly on the eastern shores of Vancouver Island – was glaringly aware of the dazzling display of weather Mother Nature put on for us all. After a late night on Thursday, I found myself up at the crack of dawn to fight for a seat on an early morning bus to Horseshoe Bay in hopes of grabbing a sailing before the winds really whipped up.

Photo: ecstaticist on Flickr

I arrived at the terminal just before 8:00 a.m., boarded the vessel around 20 after eight and didn’t set sail until a few minutes past 10:00 a.m. Because of the inclement weather, the ferry needed to sail close to UBC and then cut north up the channel, finally arriving in Nanaimo shortly before 12:30.

Surprisingly, the ride was hardly rough or bumpy at all and nothing like I’m sure the Texada Island ferry passengers were experiencing. Lucky for me that I dragged my butt out of bed as early as I did. All subsequent sailings were canceled that day and I had a very important reason to get home.

After 365 days of smiling, giggling, turning over, crawling, clapping, burping, crying and winning over countless hearts with her bright blue eyes, my niece Sienna was celebrating her first birthday. We had a small gathering of family and a couple friends on hand for a BBQ and some birthday cake amongst Tinkerbell decorations.

It’s every baby’s right of passage to savour an over-sized slice of cake smothered in frosting when they turn one. Sienna wasted no time in doing so.

A little unsure of what to think at first, once she got a taste for the chocolate there was no turning back.

And if one cake wasn’t enough, I managed to re-create my chocolate fudge layer cake for Easter dinner’s dessert on the next night.

By then it seemed she had the process down pat.

Being a kid is exhausting work, but someone’s gotta do it, right?