The quality of others’ lives have a direct impact on our well-being; the energy of generosity, as an antidote to acquisitiveness, establishes the reciprocal loop of happiness that occurs when we take others into account while making choices. – Michael Stone, Yoga for a World Out of Balance

I sit in a chair, [...]]]>

The quality of others’ lives have a direct impact on our well-being; the energy of generosity, as an antidote to acquisitiveness, establishes the reciprocal loop of happiness that occurs when we take others into account while making choices. – Michael Stone, Yoga for a World Out of Balance

I sit in a chair, in the sun, on the bank of the river, reading a book.  High, rushing water filters the honking of geese and the twang of a basketball striking the pavement. Compliments of the leafless trees, I see all.

I see the dog-walkers and the first horde of spring motorcyclists.  I see the Sunday drivers slowing down to gawk at the river.  Small packs of cyclists come and go in both directions.  One foursome stops on the bridge, dismounts, and take turns photographing each other.

I set out in their direction, unsure if I’d reach them in time.

“Now I know you’d all rather be in the photograph,” I say, and they are surprised at my random appearance.  I take the camera and corral them as I do all my subjects.

They’ve cycled this route for ten years and are delighted by the spontaneous kindness.  I point out our house and tell them they are welcome anytime, for water, the bathroom, and coffee.  If they catch us at noon we’ll throw lunch in as well.

Smiling, I head back to the chair and the sun and the book.

Before long, four chocolate bunnies appear at our door.  It’s my turn to be surprised.

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Carpenter, and fellow Algonquin College Heritage Trades Institute alumnus, Christoph Altehoefer restored this gorgeous porch, integrating a mix of original and reproduction pieces.  Carefully [...]]]> Yesterday’s changeable sun/cloud mix presented a perfect backdrop for some architectural photography in Ottawa’s Hintonburg neighbourhood.

Carpenter, and fellow Algonquin College Heritage Trades Institute alumnus, Christoph Altehoefer restored this gorgeous porch, integrating a mix of original and reproduction pieces.  Carefully redeploying existing materials, he crafted each reproduction piece from unusable rafters and other surplus lumber from the existing porch.  In all, the recreation took more than 550 person hours to bring it back to its historical form.

If you’re interested in learning more, Christoph will be giving a presentation on this project on Wednesday, April 10th at 7:00pm at Algonquin College, Perth Campus. To contract his services, he can be reached at (613) 269-3717.

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Built in 1407 and reputed to be the oldest house in Paris (though other buildings claim that title), this abode has a mystical history. Harry Potter fans should take note: this was the real-life home of Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist whose sorcerer’s stone is the source of immortality in the popular [...]]]>

Built in 1407 and reputed to be the oldest house in Paris (though other buildings claim that title), this abode has a mystical history. Harry Potter fans should take note: this was the real-life home of Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist whose sorcerer’s stone is the source of immortality in the popular book series. A wealthy scribe, merchant, and dabbler in the mystical arts, Flamel willed his home to the city as a dormitory for the poor, on the condition that boarders pray daily for his soul. Today, the building is home to apartments and a restaurant.  - Fodor’s Travel Guide, Paris

There was definitely some magic to how my brother-in-law Marco and his partner Rod came to live in Nicolas Flamel’s house in Paris.

Paris is choc-a-bloc with architectural eye candy and with creative and interesting people scrambling for creative and interesting living spaces.  The market is very competitive, made more difficult for foreigners, like themselves, without a local history of rent-and bill-paying. Would-be renters rely on credentials, luck, timing and, according to Marco, the ability to charm the keys out of owners’ hands.  It’s about flattery, connection and the weaving of tales that convince them that you are “the one.”  North Americans might consider this manipulation.  In France, it’s the everyday business of seduction.

Whether it was his inherent charm, good looks and style, impeccable French,  personal history, or educational pedigree, he and Rod won the the rental lottery.  And they have been kind enough to share this wealth with those of us who are more geographically challenged.

Unlike the hordes of Harry Potter fans who huddle outside gazing up, I had the good fortune this summer to explore the unique characteristics of the apartment building I’d heard so much about.

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Seems

William James Topley. Library and Archives Canada, PA-027373 /

Much to my delight, Library and Archives Canada continues to post more and more of their fascinating materials online for public access.  Just in time for Halloween, they’ve posted a set of 52 costume/Halloween pics here on Flickr.

Seems Lady and Lord Aberdeen, Canada’s Governor General from 1893 to 1898, ran an enviably entertaining and social household at Rideau Hall in Ottawa.  Here the staff are outfitted as young students of the fictional “Dame Marjorie’s School” as part of a winter ball in 1894.  Feeling very Monty Python-esque, with moustaches tucked in for good measure.

Wish I had a time machine.

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I spent the last two days hanging bits and bobs on my dining room walls.  And taking most of them down.

Seems the thrill of decorating – the implementation vs. the idea of it –  is less a thrill and more a sucker-punch to the head.  It appears to [...]]]>

I spent the last two days hanging bits and bobs on my dining room walls.  And taking most of them down.

Seems the thrill of decorating – the implementation vs. the idea of it –  is less a thrill and more a sucker-punch to the head.  It appears to involve a disproportionate amount of mental anguish and mind games for a seemingly lightweight activity performed by women who carry purses that match their shoes.  It’s not rocket science.  So, really, why are my walls still empty?

We’ve lived in our old house for fourteen years now and there is little – save for a couple of mirrors – hanging on the walls.  The artwork and trinkets I’ve collected sit in boxes and bins in the basement, tucked in the back of closets, or hidden behind the sofa.  I have a few theories about this.

My first theory is that it’s distinctly dissatisfying to hang lovely objects on imperfect surfaces.  I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t unhappy with most of the walls: I hated the vinyl wallpaper or I had to make repairs to the lathe and plaster, or the colour didn’t work, or the existing drywall sat proud of the tin ceiling, or I was adding (or removing) walls.  Three colour changes and multi-repairs later, the dining room walls – like most of the others in the house – are now finished.  This should no longer be an impediment moving forward.

My second theory is that I don’t hang anything on my walls because hanging things would mean I am staying put.  No running off overseas, no moving across the country, no doing the life-changing stuff that is still on my agenda.  I discuss this with my friend, Lulu, because we are cut from the same cloth.  She broke down and bought a bookcase last year and I can only recall the lovely landscape that hangs over her kitchen table.  Perched to fly – should the opportunity present itself – yet still here (I’m selfishly glad).  And our family is still here in body, if not always in mind.  So is that really it?

Oh, yeah. Now I remember what I was doing with all my time…

My third theory has to do with timing.  So many of the rooms were repeatedly repurposed throughout our early family years that the furniture seemed to migrate of its own free will.  We swapped the kitchen and dining room back where they belonged.  Kids shared, switched, and unshared bedrooms. The hand-painted murals and closet-cum-puppet theatre were lovingly created but are now gone.  The laundry room moved to the back of the house.  We have a front vestibule where there was none.  Doorways appeared and I don’t recognize the noisy room any more.

With so much change, it’s little wonder hanging things on walls has been a low priority.

My fourth theory is that I am pulled by my need for individual expression and pushed by the elephant of conformity and fear of making mistakes.  I am normally fearless, direct, and creative, yet I am reduced to a neurotic cube of jell-o when I try to hang pictures on my walls.  What is ‘right’? Will it be tacky?  Will I blow money on framing/fabric/furniture and still make the wrong choice? Will I hate it after a month?  Think I’m out of my mind?  Check out the piece I wrote on F. Stuart Chapin’s Living Room Status Scale.

Failing to acknowledge the underlying psychology and feelings doesn’t make them go away.  I think there’s a reason the whole minimalism thing is so big right now, shepherded under the environmental umbrella: there’s a narrower, highly-prescribed range of objects to choose from, therefore a proportionately smaller chance of self-embarrassment by bad taste or complete lack of any personal style. Look objectively at the design mags and you’ll notice a tedious sameness to many of the wall, floor and furniture treatments. What’s worse, marketing departments gleefully prey on this shift, this human vulnerability, convincing consumers to give up what they already have and buy/make all new stuff.  Writer Steven Kurutz sharply captures this trend in his recent NY Times article on living an over-propped life.

I think there’s an awful lot of reality underlying this theory, more than anyone cares to admit.

Which parlays into my fifth, and final, theory.  Cohesive decorating and design, with a semblance of originality, is actually hard, highly time-intensive and often expensive.  It begins with great promise and excitement and can end in disappointment and self-doubt.  Shelter magazines, reality and DIY television shows, blogs, and Pinterest make it look easy because they have crews and budget and professional expertise, and/or they can edit out the mistakes and invent a suitable narrative.  And this narrative resembles reality like I resemble Marilyn Monroe: we’re bottle blondes of the female persuasion and that’s it.  I know that design and decorating is hard because I have fourteen years of personal anecdotal evidence – and the scars –  to prove it.

So what’s a woman staring at blank walls to do?  I could go out and buy a whack of stuff that perfectly matches the dimensions and colour schemes of the rooms.  I could admit I have a problem, get over seeing design as frivolous, and consult a designer and/or decorator to help move along  the process.  Or I could ease up on those hammers, Jed, and take it slow: slowly frame my pieces; slowly lay out those things I love on slow winter nights; slowly cull, dream some more, and look around.  Maybe I could stop thinking about it all together and do distinctly un-house stuff for awhile.

One day, in who knows how long, I will wake up and realize my house is as done as it’s ever going to be and decide that it makes me happy.  And that will be – really – good enough for me.

My biggest source of inspiration continues to be Maison de Sangliers in Noyers-Sur-Serein, France

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The first killing frost has passed and our eastern Indian Summer has arrived. Folklore has it that this stretch of warm weather predictably arrives on or about October 18th, the Feast of St. Luke.  The natural world heads into dormancy while it marks the last [...]]]>

The first killing frost has passed and our eastern Indian Summer has arrived. Folklore has it that this stretch of warm weather predictably arrives on or about October 18th, the Feast of St. Luke.  The natural world heads into dormancy while it marks the last kick-at-the-can for us northern hemisphere humans to romp semi-clothed, to store up the sun’s healing rays until spring.

I wouldn’t have seen her if I hadn’t been outside in the unseasonable warmth, if I hadn’t bent over by the dogwoods to search the underbrush for the rustle I thought I heard.  She was there, hopping through the leaves and low branches, a tiny wisp of a bird whose wings didn’t seem to work well.  I followed her gently and scooped her up in my palms.  She peered up at me – calmly I thought –  from her tiny bird-cave.

We hastily set up the old guinea cage, lining it with small branches and forest litter. I picked berries and fetched some outdoor birdseed from my friend up the road. Birdie climbed the walls, desperately looking for a way out.

Husband brought the cage inside at dusk and she tucked in her head and fell asleep.  At dawn I opened the patio doors so she could feel a part of her real world. The littlest kids circled all morning, dying to hold her as I had.  The cats circled, swishy-tailed and curious.

We know it’s not optimal for a wild creature to be with humans.  But at least she is safe from the feral cats and we’re delighted with the magic of such an unexpected gift.

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Here’s a little long weekend eye candy just for you.

Aside from painting floors and wrestling cats, I’ve spent the past few days organizing my online photographic portfolio.  It offers up a meaty overview of my work categorized by People, Place and Things and focusses on my more narrative [...]]]>

Here’s a little long weekend eye candy just for you.

Aside from painting floors and wrestling cats, I’ve spent the past few days organizing my online photographic portfolio.  It offers up a meaty overview of my work categorized by People, Place and Things and focusses on my more narrative pieces.  There are hundreds of additional photographs embedded throughout my Habicurious blog posts.  I’m excited to see many of my favourite pieces curated in one place.

The main purpose of the portfolio is to showcase my work to potential clients and collaborators in conjunction with my writing.  The collections can be accessed directly at www.andreacordonier.com or through a dedicated tab under “About Andrea Cordonier” at www.habicurious.com.

Not only am I developing Habicurious.com, I am actively seeking journalism, writing, social media and multimedia assignments with other companies and continue to take periodic training and development and other management consulting contracts.

Drop me an email if you want to talk ideas or potential collaborations – andrea[at]habicurious.com.

And thanks for peeping!

Andrea

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“The cats need to be locked up.  They can’t walk on the painted floor or they’ll wreck it,” I said while I put chairs in strategic [...]]]>

They just sit there looking at you with those big eyes.

“The cats need to be locked up.  They can’t walk on the painted floor or they’ll wreck it,” I said while I painted the entranceway floor (with oil-based paint).

“The cats need to be locked up.  They can’t walk on the painted floor or they’ll wreck it,” I said while I put chairs in strategic places to remind everyone not to walk on the floor.

“The cats need to be locked up.  They can’t walk on the painted floor or they’ll wreck it,” I said while I stood at the stove, cooking bacon.

“WHY WEREN’T THE CATS LOCKED UP????” I shouted as the kids let the cats in and Nan stood frozen while Piglet left a trail of paw prints.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP THE CAT??” I raged to Nan as I placed a cardboard box on the wet floor and took a giant step inside, and another into the front room.

“What were you guys thinking?” I muttered to myself as I wedged the squirming cat under my arm and did the teetering hopscotch to return.

“Arrrgggghhhh!” I fumed as I touched up the floor, as far as I could reach.

“So what’s the moral of the story?” I demanded of the four solemn faces at the dinner table.

“Don’t put the cat down?” they offered hopefully.

“Close enough” I said.

The end.

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Neighbours described Francoise as having fallen victim to “droit de seigneur,”  and soon after her birth in 1907, Antoinette was brought to Montreal to be raised by a governess, Aldea Hogue, [...]]]>

Keeping house for twelve doesn’t leave a lot of free time

My paternal grandmother, Antoinette, was the illegitimate child of a French-born Count living in Switzerland and his mistress-employee, Francoise Mallet.

Neighbours described Francoise as having fallen victim to “droit de seigneur,”  and soon after her birth in 1907, Antoinette was brought to Montreal to be raised by a governess, Aldea Hogue, under the loving eyes of her godparents, Dr. and Madame Auguste Martin.  At age ten, she entered the convent of the Sisters of the Presentation of Mary in St. Hyacinthe, Quebec.

Through a series of coincidences, the Count arranged a meeting in 1920 with my great-grandfather, Jean-Francois Cordonier, in the village of Lens, Switzerland.  My grandfather, Pierre, was one of 14 children, 8 of whom were male, and the purpose of the visit was to secure a future husband for Antoinette.  In return for financial support, Pierre volunteered for the task and emigrated to Canada.

The Count moved Antoinette from St. Hyacinthe to Kamloops, B.C., and placed her in St. Ann’s convent in Kamloops until she was of “marrying age.”  Her identity was disguised so that her birth mother could not find her.  During the summers, she lived with Pierre at the rural ranch house at Barnhartvale, outside of Kamloops.  She learned to keep house under the tutelage of Pierre’s sister, Monique, who was ostensibly married to the Count.

As soon as the end of 1921, the Count wrote to Pierre:  ”Before leaving, I told the Mother Superior to send you Antoinette, if you do not have any one during the holidays.  I am sending you a letter for her, foreseeing the possibility that you would keep her after the holidays.”  He further wrote: “Pertaining to Antoinette, you know that you have all my trust, but you must, I repeat, use a lot of surveillance, because of certain neighbours and never to let her go out alone.” Antoinette would have been 14 or 15 at the time.  Their marriage certificate is dated 1924, age 18.

Antoinette gave birth to ten children, all of whom survived.  When she wrote this letter she had six children and another on the way. When finances allowed, she had a “girl” for help.  More often she was alone.

I did not know my grandmother, who died when I was one, so I am grateful to read her collection of letters that chronicle her everyday life on the sheep ranch.  This is what she was doing exactly 79 Septembers ago, in the midst of the Great Depression.

Source: Antoinette, by Leona and Ned Kiez, April 2012

**********

Barnhartvale, BC  Dec.10, 1933

Dear Henri,

You are asking what I am doing, just my ordinary routine, you can not do very much different with six children…  The only epidemic fever I had was purely laziness and always putting it off till tomorrow and never doing it.

Have you found work or is it like here, none to be had anywhere?

What kind of weather are you having?  Here we had snow in September and it all went and since then till yesterday we’ve been having spring weather.  It was so nice.

Did you attend Sir Arthur Currie’s funeral?  Here we had it on radio.  When I listen to the programmes from Montreal coming on radio, it makes me lonesome to think how near I am to you all and cannot even speak to you.

I have been very busy the first days of September.  I went to Vancouver with my brother-in-law and two other friends, we motored down and back.  We stayed there about a week during the Exhibition.  We had a great time and what a rest as I did not take any of the children, but holidays are never long enough, it seems to me.

When I came back, I had the fruit, pickles and ketchup to put up, also the jelly and jams.  I got over 500 jars put up, that’s some work, believe me.  Now for over 3 weeks I’ve been darning socks, mending clothes and making over old clothes.  This housekeeping with 6 children and a man is no fun.

About a month ago I made 6 gallons of mincemeat, 15 pounds of Xmas cake and 2 big plum puddings.  I am glad its all made and waiting to be eaten.

Now there is just Christmas to come, we are trying to make it as nice as possible for the children, but we have so little money to spend  on toys; its a good thing there’s a 5 and 10 cent store in Kamloops. The children don’t care so much for toys, they would rather have clothes for presents so we are thankful for that.

I forgot to tell you that the last baby was a girl that we call Jeanne Florence, she has curly hair, big brown eyes.  She was one year old on the 16th of November, she weighs 24 lbs., she gained one pound a month for the last 8 months.

The rest of the children are well but what a bunch of mischiefs, its terrible.  You cannot imagine what they get into.  Yvonne and Armand are great for saying why this, what’s that for, etc.  Monica is going to the convent in Kamloops, she’s also taking up piano and takes great interest in it.  She was dancing in a concert in aid of a Christmas fund last week.

We had a birthday party today for Marie, she was 4 years old.  She rode four miles on the horse with the girl that’s working here.  There is nothing they like better than being on a horse, they think its great.  I am sending you a picture of Peter Jr. taken when he was 2 years old last July; he has very fair hair and curly, I have not cut it short yet as I think its too nice to cut…

I hope this letter will find you all in good health…

Your sincere friend, Antoinette.

ps. By the look of things, there will be another increase in the family in March; that’s life, it’s a good thing they are all well.

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Dear Claire:

The days are shortening, the nights are cool and I am, slowly, packing away my summer things for another year.

When I see this dress hanging in my closet – the one you admired  - I can’t bear to banish it to the basement.  It reminds me [...]]]>

Dear Claire:

The days are shortening, the nights are cool and I am, slowly, packing away my summer things for another year.

When I see this dress hanging in my closet – the one you admired  - I can’t bear to banish it to the basement.  It reminds me too much of you, Ellen and Catherine, and those perfect days in Noyers.  So I am sending it to you.

Last spring I fell in love with the dress at a secondhand shop in Vancouver. But I never did find the perfect pair of shoes to match, so I take that as a sign that it is meant, again, to move on.

I hope you will wear it.  But if not, I hope you might find a wire dressmaker’s model – maybe a good vide grenier find – to display it as you see fit.  Having toured the interiors of your house, I can imagine it being right at home in your lovely sea of colour.

All the best to everyone,

Andrea xo

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