If you spend anytime in Ottawa back in the late early ’90s you would remember this guy.  He watched over all the partying at the Yucatan Liquor Stand.  And I can say I was there.  For a good period of time my girlfriend and I were quite the regulars there. We danced, we met friends there, we just simply had fun.  And the fact that it was all decked out in surfboards and all things beachy meant that I loved it even more.

Then one day, one Canada Day, the Liquor Stand may have let in a few too many people.  So they had to close for a week or so and it would seem they never did recover from that.  A few new places opened and everyone seemed to go to those places so Yucatan’s just closed up shop.  With much less fanfare than we would have liked.  One day it was open the next it was not.

It has been several bars or restaurants since then, but nothing seems to have lasted as long nor been as popular as Yucatan’s.  I miss it.  I don’t miss the creepy guys trying to pick me up, but I miss the fun times that were had, I miss that you could dance on the surfboard tables and speakers and you didn’t get kicked out.  I miss that you could show up in your surf shorts and a tank top or a dress and heels and you were always welcome at Yucatan’s.

Of course, I guess this post really should be about the fact that I miss being 22 sometimes and since I will be hitting 40 in a couple of months I was feeling kind of nostalgic on Saturday when I walked around the Market for the Scott Kelby PhotoWalk (more here).  All the places I used to know and love are long gone and replaced by places so foreign to me it is like they never existed. And Yucatan’s was by far my favorite of all the places that have come and gone. Thanks for the fun.

 I lie in bed awake.  It is midnight, two hours after I turned out the light and promised myself a good nights sleep.  But every time I close my eyes, sleep does not come.  Instead I hear the sounds of metal on metal, a loud sound like an explosion. Screeching tires and then finally nothing.

As I lie there hearing nothing, I am also hearing everything.  I hear the sirens.  I hear the shouts to call 911.  I hear the panic in the voices all around me I hear it.  But really, I hear nothing.

The minutes tick on and as I lay there panicking I know that something is wrong.  He should be home now.  He has class in the morning. Still, I lie there in silence.  Waiting for sleep to come.

I finally fall asleep, surrounded by silence. Panic has left for the night, I realize I must be dreaming, he is fine, just out with his friends.

Then, the doorbell rings.  It is early, we are confused.  Who could be ringing the doorbell at such an hour. They will wake the children.  We creep down the stairs, as if not to be heard. There is someone at the door, but who could it be?

It is then that we realize a parents worst fear.  The police officer at the door is there to tell us that our son will not be coming home tonight. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not ever again.  You see he did not make it home and those sounds in the night that I heard? I didn’t hear, I only feared I would hear them but, they were true.

And as I sit in the sunshine I remember him, what he was like as a boy, a teenager, a young man.  Almost his time to graduate College. Almost.  He will forever be that young man waiting to graduate, waiting for his new job, waiting for his first love.  Years have passed and life has gone on.  I can smile now. But sometimes when I turn out the light at night, I lie there awake and wait in silence, for the turn of the key in the lock so I can go back to sleep knowing he is home safe with us.

I can’t believe I haven’t shared the story of my love of motorcycles with you, or perhaps I have and can’t find it, either way here it is.

I love motorcycles.  I do, really, really do.  I don’t love the drivers in their cars who don’t shoulder check and the yahoos that drive 160kms an hours, so I got rid of my bike.

In High School, there was this boy who had a bike.  He was pretty cool, but not ‘my type’ kinda cool.  Everyone knew him with his long hair and talent for his guitar.  He was one of three guys who had a bike back then.  We knew each other, but didn’t really hang out.  I used to covet his motorcycle.  My Parents refused to let me get one, which is probably why they helped me buy my first car.

Then, my parents moved to Manitoba.  One day I realized that I could now learn how to drive a motorcycle and buy one!  In the Fall of 1989, around the time that the boy in HS sold his bike, I took the Provincial course on learning to drive a motorcycle.  Then winter came and went.  I lived just off of Heron Road at the corner near Bank Street.  One day when I was out jogging, I stopped in the Ottawa Goodtimes Center.  BIG MISTAKE.  I fell in love with a bike.  And walked away with it in May of 1990.

Oh man, I LOVED that bike.

Look at me all happy, with crazy hair and the pink stripe on my super fast and cool Kawasaki EX500 (now a Ninja 500). This is from the summer of 1990.  Ironically, where this photo is taken is at my old best friends house.  I used to hang out there a lot.  So did his brother with his friend, boy with the bike from HS.  For whatever reason, I let him ride my bike.

Life went on, I eventually moved me and my bike to Manitoba and back again. Then came a time when I needed a new car.  My old car was tired and I couldn’t swing a new car and my motorcycle at the time.  Add to that the fat that my Dad really didn’t like my bike, so I made a deal.  I would try to sell it and if it sold I would get a new car and if it didn’t there would be no more discussion about my bike.  It sold.

Fast forward to 1995.  I am hanging out at my best friends house (even though he lived in Alberta) and his brother was home for the summer and hanging out with his friends and boy with a bike happened to be there too.  Brother went home and boy with a bike kept on hanging out with me. Neither of us had bikes but we still shared the same love of them.

Fast forward 1999.  Boy with bike became, Hubby!  and neither of us still had a bike.

The dream has been alive in him, apparently for the last 11 years because last Fall he started talking bikes.  Ack!  We have two small children, why? It’s silly.  All those things came to light in the discussions about a bike.  The biggest being that he wanted to get a 900cc bike, much to big for BeachMama to drive comfortably.  Then, he came upon the same bike he used to own, only custom painted.  Not only was it 500cc, but the cost was just right for a little hobby.

On Wednesday, Hubby arrived home like a kid in a candy store.  He is once again the boy with the bike.

It needs a teeny bit of work and Hubby needs a new helmet, but suffice to say, there will be some bike riding in our future and it has made Hubby one happy guy.

 Tonight at 5pm, out of the blue our doorbell rang.  When the doorbell rights at that time of night it usually means a door to door salesman of some sort.  I won the draw to answer the door.  And was I ever thankful that I did!  A girlfriend of mine was standing there, with a plate of Chocolate No-Bake Cookies.  She remembered that I told her I loved them when I was a kid.  So, when she made some today she packaged some up for me and dropped them off.

What a wonderfully thoughtful thing to do for me.  It brightened  my day for sure.  They are like little drops of heaven and bring me back to my childhood when we would make them all the time.

I am not sure if this is her recipe or not, but this is the one I grew up making, straight from my Mom’s recipe card. And if you decide to make some, perhaps you should drop a plate off for an unsuspecting friend or colleague just because.

Chocolate No-Bake Cookies

• 2 c. white sugar
• 1/2 c. margerine
• 1/2 c. milk
• 6 tbsp cocoa

Bring above to boil & add

• 3c. oatmeal
• 1 c. coconut
• 1 tsp vanilla

Drop by teaspoon on wax paper.  Refrigerate and Enjoy!

 So here I go a walking down memory lane again.  Now, to you guys this is a new thing, but to me it happens almost every day.

When I drive down a certain stretch of Merivale Road, every single time, I am reminded of when we lived at 81 Pineglen Crescent.  And most of my memories of Pineglen are of Thanksgiving and Winter.  We lived there from 1973-1978 (minus the year in England).  I don’t remember sitting at the dining room table and eating Thanksgiving dinner, but I remember the leaves in the Fall and dressing up warm and the feeling of Thanksgiving.  And Winter, oh you all know me as BeachMama, but back then I was a Winter Baby, my Sister and I would spend hours and hours and hours playing outside in the snow, with our best friends across the street.  They had a hill behind their house that we would toboggan down all day long, only stopping for lunch and bedtime.

I have no idea who took this photo of my Dad, but here he is in front of Pineglen.

The house looks exactly the same now as it did then, same colour and everything.  Only the pine tree by the front door is now so big that you can’t actually see the front door.  And they made the back porch that we had bigger with a huge deck.  This house sits on an acre of land, pretty good for the size of properties now a days.  The man we rented from still owns it, or at least his son does and still lives there.  Every now and then, I take a drive down Pineglen and wonder what it looks like inside and if it is as big as I remember or just a teeny space.

Here is a fun little series.  The first photo is of me and my best friend Keith.  We spent every day together playing and having fun.  The last time I saw him was back in the 1980’s we were both in high school and so not into being friends anymore. But, as far as best friends go, he was awesome.  Maybe that is why I have always gotten along with guys, my first best friend was one.  In the second and third photo Keith and I were wrestling with my Unlce Merf, my Mom’s brother and his daughter is in there helping.  And in the last photo my Grandma and Step-Grandfather were watching on in all their Scottish glory.

Here is another shot in the backyard, with my Sister and I in matching outfits, that I totally remember wearing.  I even got hers when she grew out of it, two for the price of one my Mom would say. My Grandma was in all her glory with the girls.  Not sure where my cousin Jeff was, perhaps he was just born at this time or almost born.

This last photo is a little more special because my Grandmother in this photo was only with us for a short time (for us kids as she was actually 76 when she passed away).  She passed away in 1976 and this photo is probably 1974/75.  My Sister and I are here with our other Cousins who were visiting with Grandma from Montréal.  This is the only photo I have of Grandma.  And the few extra there are stay with Mom and Dad.  Yet another reason I became a photographer at such a young age.

Looking at my Sister and I, I can totally see Apple in me and my two nieces in my Sister, funny how it works that way.

Thanks for walking with me down that lane… I may move into the ’80s soon, but it is a little more scary as I had a camera!

 It’s funny how the smallest thing can take you on a ride down Memory Lane.

Here is my Memory for today.

Today, I warmed up some Mac n’ Cheese for Apple.  Hubby had put some hot dogs cut up in it for the kids last night, a little extra protein and a little more fun.  The smell of the hot dogs just took me right on back.  Back to an era when the only time we had hot dogs was at the beach cooked over hot coals.  At least that is how I remember it.

The picture up top is actually on our cross Canada trip one summer and we are at Lake Superior , back when we only had ourselves and the scenery to keep us company on long drives. Mom was taking one of a few shots that we would have from this trip.  Back then film and developing was expensive.  They bought a roll and took a photo a day or a stop.  One roll served the whole trip, I believe, maybe two.  That table cloth was plastic, but it made it to every trip to the beach and I don’t mean the Beach by the Ocean, I mean Lac Philipe up in the Gatineaus only an hours ride from our house.  We dont’ go up there too often because with pollution the beaches get closed after too much rain, and we have had our fair share the last few years. Back in the ’70s and ’80s we went up almost every other weekend all summer long.  We would stop at the chip wagon for a fresh chip and soda on the way home, Québec may have a few difficulties, but they make the best chip wagon chips anywhere.

This next picture is at the beach at a Church Camp we used to go to every summer, my Dad was the pastor and I remember how much fun we had.  I remember this photo being taken.  I remember that yellow shirt and my Mom’s t-shirt, which later became mine and is in a memory box in the basement. I remember that we used to drive in the car down the dirt road to Lac Philipe.  Dad would drive, Mom would be in the front seat and us girls in the back, and on the car… yes ON the car, would be all the youth.  Guys would be sitting on the hood, the roof, the trunk and Dad would crawl along the dirt road transporting the youth to and from the beach.  You could never do that now, but back then, it was the ’70s nobody cared.  The youth would be dangling their bare feet in front of Dad’s face to see if he could see and we would all be laughing and giggling and it was just a hoot.

And when we would get back to camp the guys would break out guitars and sit around a circle and sing Church songs.  They were all hippies back then so they would be drying out their long hair in the sun.  And Mom, she would be cooking up some hot dogs over the hot coals singing along with the rest of us.

Last Spring I told you of the loss of an old High School friend Kirk “Big B” Ellard. He has been missed by many, but through his music he lives on. His brother, former band mates and friends organized a benefit concert that was held last night at Greenfield’s Pub in Barrhaven in his honour.

The first band of the set, Sal Piamonte Band. Great band, we had never heard them before, but were totally amazed.

When I asked Hubby if he wanted to go with me for a trip down memory lane, he was all for it. Of course, as the day went on yesterday with all the ice and the warmth of our house, it was a little harder to get him out the door, but once we were there we were both remembering why we love watching live bands play.

We were so thrilled to see all the guys come together to play their old tunes. If you grew up in my neck of the woods (Nepean) in the mid ’80s then I am sure you had at least heard of Fatal Mistake, if not actually heard them play. Into the ’90s they became Soul Tattoo and ironically my girlfriend and I saw them play at Barrymore’s when we decided we needed to see some good live music. I missed them play in Winnipeg when I lived there, only because I didn’t know they were there. Otherwise, I would have been right there.

From the original band of Fatal Mistake and Soul Tattoo: Jason Throop on drums, Matt Minter on vocals and Keith Ellard on guitar.

Greenfield’s was packed to a sold out audience and people waiting outside to get in.

I don’t know this singer, Luigi C. Saracino, but just look at him sing. He was so powerful and we really enjoyed this set.

Truthfully, it was a really awesome night. I got to see some old friends from school and remind Hubby of the people I used to hang out with. You see whenever we go out we run into people from High School that were Hubby’s age (he is 3yrs older) but rarely run into my old friends. Well last night it was payback, he got to be bombarded all in one night. For more photos from this set head over to my flickr page, there are a few more posted there.

And Thank you guys, for a wonderful Tribute and Celebration.

It was February 1st, 1977 when my Dad and then pregnant Mom packed up my Sister and I and took us to England.  My Dad is a Pastor and was assigned to open a branch of their Church in London, England.  Originally, we were only to be there for three - six months.  Six months turned into nine which turned into a year.

My Mother was not exactly thrilled with the thought of flying over an ocean and then to realize that she had to have her third baby over there, was even more upsetting.  My Sister and I, well we made the most of it.

Although I was only six going on seven, I remember England well.  I even remember our address and the blue door to our house at 5 Lynton Court, Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey SM2 5DL. We rented a furnished flat that had two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen (and yes, a bathroom too!).  I remember the embroidered furniture and the table where we ate breakfast every day.

While we lived at 5 Lyton Court Elvis died, my little Sister was born, I learned how to speak with a British accent, we went to Paris (I like to say for my Birthday, but it was just a coincidence that we were there on my birthday), we rode trains and  visited more Castles than you could imagine.  We celebrated in Piccadilly Circus and visited the Statue of Lord Nelson so many times that my older Sister and I would cry when Dad would say, we are visiting the Statue that Grandma named me after.  Riding on a double decker bus was nothing and taking the Tube was a weekly occurance.

My Older Sister and I at the Tour Eiffel, October 1977 

Dad drove a Moris Minor that we pretended was a surfer car and Mom would cry when my Sister and I would belt out ‘O Canada from the back seat.  When my little Sister was born Mom and Dad had a stroller where the carbed part would come off and they would put her in the back, on rainy days (what days weren’t rainy?) we would hold our umbrellas over her because the back leaked.

Image from here.

 Morris Minor, exactly the same colour as the one we drove, the steering wheel is on the wrong side though.

 On a rare sunny day in the summer, we would pack into the Minor and head to Brighton Beach.  I remember how strange it was that instead of sand the beach was full of pebbles and how there were no change stations and everyone just changed out in public (they don’t do that anymore).  But, no matter how much fun we had my Sister and I would secretly talk about how we were going to get back to Canada.  My Sister and her friend Paul were practicing a song that they hoped to enter on a television show and win.  I don’t even remember what they were going to win, but to my Sister it was her ticket back to Canada.  We left before they got their chance, but it was fun singing our way through the rainy winter.

My Sister and I in a bouncy caslte at Brigton Beach, Summer 1977.

By the time we had been there six months Mom and Dad had enrolled us in school, Devonshire Public.  I made a best friend, Liana Weekes. And her Mom, June, and my Mom became lifelong friends. Liana saved me from kids that I didn’t know.  I was so shy, but she was so outgoing and we were like glue.  Liana and June actually visited us in Canada twice and June came on a cruise to Quebec City about five years ago and Mom and Dad popped up to see her.  Sadly June passed away two years ago now but, both our Mom’s never stopped chatting on the phone for those 30 years.

Since my Sister and I never thought we would leave England it came as quite a shock when one night Dad came home and announced, “Tomorrow we are going home.”  I think my Sister and I screamed so hard we woke the baby, but Mom didn’t care because we were bound for Canada.  We went to school to say good-bye to our friends and left for the airport with 13 boxes packed in and on top of the Morris Minor and our friends Mini.  We flew to New York were we missed our connection to Ottawa.  We had to sit and wait stand-by.  Some ticket agent took a look at my Mom with her three kids, just praying to get home and squeezed us in on the next flight.  We got into Ottawa in the middle of a cold February night, exactly a year and a day after we left.  We were never so happy to see snow and Ottawa.  And when we arrived at our friends house (across the street from our own house that people were renting out) surprising the kids, it was like a reunion. It was bliss.

Until about six years ago I had never even wanted to return to England, but now I think it would be nice.  To go back and see where we lived.  Go visit the Tower of London and appreciate everything through the eyes of an adult.  Have lunch with Liana and her husband Ken and take a trip to Paris and actually go up the Eiffel Tower this time.  One day perhaps, one day.