Happy Birthday little Mabel!!!

As your godmother, I am partly responsible for your spiritual education. Important stuff. I am so incredibly honoured because you, Mabel, are one of the biggest spirits in a little person's body (make that any-sized body) that I have ever witnessed.

You see, I was there the day your parents met. I remember the best line ever uttered by a man to the woman he was in pursuit of. After an evening of dancing and talking at a Canada Day party, Chad, interested in a first date with your mother, uttered the now infamous line:

"Let's fish or cut bait..."

Your mom decided to fish.

And the rest is well, your life...

So in celebration of the day you were born, I wanted to share some advice to help keep your spirit as strong and shining as it is today...

Always, always believe in magic.

Magic is what your soul already knows exists.

Trust the magic and it will eventually reveal itself to you.

Dream big...

And then get ready to fail.

Fail often and spectacularly well. Don't be afraid of it.

You see, if you're not failing, you're not really living at all.

The only time you don't mess up is if you do absolutely nothing.

So when you're messing up, know it's because you are truly alive.

The only path to success is through failure.

The bigger the dream, the greater the failures, and eventually the sweeter the success.

All I ask is that you get out there and try, Mabel. Always try.

Find "your people".

You don't get a lot of them, Mabel. But you'll know 'em when you meet 'em.

And they might not always be who you expect.

But "your people" are the handful of characters you can be completely yourself with.

They are the people who love you because of who you are, not in spite of it.

Your mother is one of "my people". One of my favourite people.

You can always choose to wear basic brown shoes...

OR WEAR YOUR BRIGHT GREEN ONES!

Show the world exactly who you are in every way you can think to express it.

Wear the green shoes! Wear the fancy pink sequins!

Be entirely, uniquely you.

I say this because it's a huge lesson it took me a while to get.

You see, the only way you can ever feel love is if you make yourself vulnerable enough for people to really see you.

If you hide your quirky, awkward, weird parts and only show people the stuff you think they want to see, you risk something really strange happening.

People may love you. But it won't get through because who they're loving is not really you at all.

So be yourself. Always. Trust me on this.

Kiss and hug the people you love.

Do this often and well. Like the hippos in the park...

After all, love is something you do, not something you say.

"Be a good one", Mabel.

I don't care what you choose to do with your life.

Whether you are a teacher or a doctor.

A mother or a wife.

A truck driver or a nuclear scientist.

A dancer or a student.

Or all of the above.

What I do care about is whatever you decide on that you "be a good one".

Show up.

Commit.

And please don't wait to be good.

Don't wait for something better "out there" to arrive before you agree to do the work necessary.

Start with what is right in front of you. Be good. Now.

It might sound simple but it could be some of the hardest work you'll ever do.

Choose love.

You have two choices in every single moment.

Love.

Or fear.

Choose love.

People might tell you to play it safe when it comes to love. They may tell you to protect yourself. To only pick the people that will love you more than you love them.

But that's not love. That's just plain fear and control.

So even when you're scared. I'm going to ask you to be brave. Go after who and what you want.

No matter how it turns out, honour your heart's call. Love fiercely and deeply.

And one day, when you're old enough to see that your parents once dressed you up as a pumpkin for Hallowe'en and took pictures of you in a simulated pumpkin patch...

Even then. Choose love. Always love, baby.

Remember that you are a perfect, divine creation of God.

Not too long ago, I sat by the side of your bed when you asked me to pray with you before you went to sleep. You asked your Mommy not to turn out the light because God wouldn't be able to see you.

You thanked God for your toys. And your mommy and daddy. For your teachers. For the bugs. And for the butterflies.

You are God's child.

And I swear, I could not have been prouder than when you won the Principal's Award for "Stewardship of Creation". For those who don't know what this is, it's an award given to a student who takes care of God's creations (human and natural). Little Mabel knows how to do this better than most.

(Mabel is in the purple shirt at the very front, middle - look at her cuteness!).

This award is better than any Pulitzer Prize.

And my great hope is that you keep caring.

Even when people don't care back.

Even when it's easier not to.

Keep caring.

What you have learned in your first few years of life can take many of us a whole lifetime to understand.

All of us who love you (and we are a mighty crew) will remind you of who you are right now. Your openness. Your goodness. Your light. All of this is you.

And when things get dark. And the lights are turned out.

Trust that God can still see you, Mabel.

Know that we can all see your bright, beautiful spirit.

And our lives are better for it.

So shine on my dear godchild... shine on.

The world is in need of your light.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY with loads of hugs and kisses from Auntie Erica in Manhattan

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Soul sister...

This past week my friend Tara came for a visit.

She is one of my original soul sisters.

You see, a soul sister is a friend you can share your truth with and know that it will be held in sacred trust.

Most of my life I tried to take care of others.

The part I wasn't so good at was letting others in. Admitting when I was failing. Falling. Scared.

But awhile back when the life I had planned for myself changed forever in one of the most unexpected and painful ways, I had a choice.

Reach out - or risk my heart breaking into a million little pieces never to be put back together again.

For one of the first times in my life, I chose to reach out.

She reached back.

When I wanted to talk, she listened, ordered tartinis (best martini ever), and passed me kleenex.

When I called from Ireland scared, she was there. Always.

At a time when I didn't know where I belonged, she created a space of belonging.

You see, when your soul has a friend, you're never alone. Ever.

And thanks to her, I never was during that time.

The only thing better than having a soul sister you can reach out to when you need a hand is one you can equally celebrate your joy and happiness with. And that's exactly what we got to do this week-end.

We brunched at Morandi's in Greenwich Village (the best brunch ever - thanks Michel and Kevin for the recommendation)...

(I know what you're thinking... I should have bought bigger sunglasses. There are still a few inches of my face not entirely covered... I don't care, I love 'em).

We ate cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery...

We got to enjoy the fun of being girly-girls. We drank champagne. We dressed up in our summer dresses. We let the curling iron reach just the right temperature to create the perfect "beach wave look" for the evening ahead...

We headed to Little Branch, an impossible-to-find-unless-you-know-what-you're-looking-for West Village speakeasy (an underground bar created during the Prohibition). The place was drenched in the smell of its own distilled liquor. Live jazz wafted through the dark club (so dark you could barely see your hand in front of your face).

The only thing cooler than Little Branch drinks (this is Tara drinking a crushed blackberry special) were the house rules, which included:

"#3. No fighting, play fighting, no talk about fighting.

#5. Do not bring anyone here unless you would leave that person alone in your home. You are responsible for the behaviour of your guests."

And on the second day, we shopped...

While we do embrace our girly-ness, we are equal part dreamers and seekers.

Tara shares my love of words. The girl has never met a book she didn't like.

And I got to see the kid-like awe on her face when I showed her my beloved Rose Room in the New York City Public Library.

The plaque hanging just above the entrance is a testament to what we both believe about the transformational power of a good book...

(Note, this is one panel of the ceiling in the Library's Rose Room - the place is stunning)

For Tara's final night we went to dinner at possibly one of the coolest restaurants I have ever been to. Tortilla Flats.

We were introduced to new friends...

Originally from the same town in Ireland (above, left to right), Paula (still in Ireland) and Eamor (now in Dubai) were visiting Sean (currently living in Manhattan). We were grateful for their kindness and the opportunity to meet them.

Irish people rock!

Characters like Mr. Jack Black-meets-Jim Belushi will remain embedded forever. Anyone who says tinfoil hats are out of style has clearly never met this man...

Tara has left New York now and returned to her family and big life in Ottawa.

But I hope she understands that she taught me what real friendship was during a time when I most needed to learn it.

I only hope I can show her the same open spirit and genuine heart.

Cuz that's what soul sisters do...

I love my dad…

He is a good father, my dad. And father me he did.

I love using the word “father” as a verb because I believe you should trust what people do and not just what they say. Words and titles are easy. Actions are not.

And he showed me. Every single day he showed me what it meant to father.

I love that when I was little he sat next to my bed every night and read to me. I can still hear his deep, calm voice. I swear, if there was a pro sport for reading children’s books aloud, the man would win it.

I love that he always, always picked me up from… well pretty much everywhere… whether it was from my part-time job after school at Shoppers Drug Mart or from Astralight, a dance hall for teenagers in Ottawa’s East End (back in the day).

I can still remember one hot summer night in particular, 14-year-old me was waiting for my dad by the side of the dance hall when my very first boyfriend kissed me. Like for REAL. Somewhat shy (but happy) I knew I had to be careful. I didn’t want my dad to… and then I saw him. My father was literally parked right in front of us and had witnessed the entire thing. I abruptly said goodnight to Rick with a handshake and a nod.

I slunk into the car feeling mortified.

My dad said nothing.

I have never kissed a man in public without looking both ways since…

I love that my dad has never, ever, ever yelled at me. Not once.

I love the lessons he teaches me.

The man probably could have been a saint save his massive competitive streak.

I remember playing tennis with him when I was a child.

Picture it. My racquet was almost bigger than my entire body and my head barely cleared the top of the net.

I would lob the tennis ball to my dad who would gently lob it back. And so it went.

Until I would inevitably yell out:

“Let’s play for real, Daddy”.

To which he would invariably respond:

“Let’s just keep playing for fun, Mintz (my nickname).”

“No let’s play for real, Daddy” I would insist.

This would go back and forth until such time as he would ask if I was sure I wanted to play for real. I would assure him I did.

And so it would begin. My dad was gone. “The Athlete” had taken his place.

Balls were dropped short. The overhead smash was not spared.

The man would strategically place the ball well beyond my little outstretched arms desperate to tame his tennis fury.

It was futile. My dad would win.

Every time.

Which meant I would lose.

In this display of male sportsmanship, the man taught me a valuable lesson.

When it’s game on. It’s GAME ON.

I love that he is always there to cheer me on.

I remember one high school volleyball tournament in

particular where I made a save that won us the game. As my teammates ran at me to celebrate, all I looked for were my dad’s eyes in the swarm.

I wanted him to be proud of me.

I still do.

The photos in this post are actually pictures I took in the condo building I’m staying at – I can imagine the loving kid hands that put stickers on the sign and helped decorate the door as a testament of their love. And while I can’t decorate a door from this distance, my words are meant to pay tribute to the man that makes the word “father” a verb.

Much love to you, Dad from Mintz in Manhattan…

A Central Park kind of love...

I am all about the love these days!

From my last NYC love letter to today, apparently I'm feelin' the love...

One of my absolute favourite places in the world is Central Park. Hands down.

Meandering along the winding pathways past the Great Lawn, big trees create shade for joggers and dog-walkers alike.

And among all this beauty sit the bright green benches of Central Park.

Most interesting to me about these benches is the fact that pretty much every single one has a plaque with an inscription on it. Reading these inscriptions when in Central Park has fast become my favourite pastime.

And I wanted to share a few of my favourite inscriptions...

I love Lucy, Henry and Hannah already. Their dad must have done something pretty darn good to have kids who would think to do something so beautiful in his honour...

The history and strength of this inscription made me stop and catch my breath... and then feel gratitude for their lives.

Can't you just see Amy's face? Can't you? The ring? The surprise? I can think of no better way to propose... [note, sorry this one's slightly out of focus but someone was about to sit down and I literally ran to snap it!]

And this last one? Well it's my all-time favourite...

All manner of things happen in this park. Loss. Laughter. Fun.

But in all of this is big life. And even bigger love.

The plaques are a silver-on-green testament to it.

It makes me wonder if I had ten words or less, what would I most want to say?

What would you want to inscribe?

Think about it.

There's a Central Park bench just waiting to hear what you have to say...

My beloved New York...

Here is my love letter to New York City. It's hard to put into words why any of us love any particular person or place. And I think it must be like a man trying to describe a beautiful woman without using his hands. I don't know that it can be done. But I want to try and share what it is I love so dearly about this city. So here are ten things I love about New York... [note, the numbers below are actual photos I took of NYC doorways]

This is a place of belonging

I remember hearing that New York is where people who don't belong anywhere belong.

And maybe that's it.

I love that most people living in this city come from somewhere else.

And in our "outsider-ness" comes a shared truth.

We belong to this city and it to us.

I love that people let their freak flags fly here

Loud and proud. People are quirky. Weird. Different. Amazingly unique.

Traits that may not be prized elsewhere are accepted and celebrated here.

Wanna play the tuba in the street while wearing a fluffy puffalump on your back? Done.

Wanna set up a kiosk at an open-air market offering free advice (and then charge $1.00 for it)? Done.

When I took a picture of this sign, "Doug the Neighbour" asked if I had a question for him.

He said if I didn't like his advice, I didn't have to pay.

A passerby tried to explain the advice was not, in fact, free if he was charging $1.00 for it.

He took no notice. He was intent on my question.

I asked what advice he could give me that would help me stay in New York.

His advice?

"Dye your hair brown and call yourself Barbara".

The man earned his dollar.

Call me Barbara.

People here are effortlessly cool

Just plain, freaking cool. Think of a Woody Allen film.

Like these two. They are just freaking NYC cool.

I snapped this shot from far away with my zoom lens. They didn't notice. They were so intent on each other they didn't see me stalking them. This is what I imagine them saying:

Her: I really like the way you cut your shirt sleeves off and the bare threads dangle against your skin. And your hatty-hat (see, I'm so uncool I don't even know what kind of hat that is) looks super.

Him: Thanks. I really like the way you put duct tape on your sleeves. And wearing a corduroy blazer in 86 degree heat rocks.

See what I mean? Effortlessly cool.

There are random, senseless acts of beauty everywhere here

I remember a friend telling me a story of a sewer cleaner who drew frescoes within the tunnels he cleaned. He knew no one would ever see them - but he created them nonetheless (they were only found centuries later).

I truly feel that's the essence of New York.

People create beauty for beauty's sake here.

Not because it will be seen or bought. But because they need to.

I love the way New Yorkers talk

To the point. Direct. Some may call it aggressive. I call it effective.

The sign posted on the wall below says it all.

This has to be one of my favourite signs of all time.

New Yorkers mean what they say.

[note, there was not a single car parked anywhere near this sign!]

This city takes convenience to a whole new level

Laundry is picked up and returned right to your door.

Out of milk? Craving chocolate? The local convenience store delivers 24 hours a day.

Any kind of food can be delivered pretty much at any time.

I am not proud to admit this... but I have even had McDonald's delivered. Yup. It's true.

I'm sorry my vegetarian friends. Look away if you must.

This city bends you to its will (no matter who you are)

Even if you own a multi-million dollar condo in the West Village, you too, will have to stick an ugly air conditioning unit into your impeccably restored heritage window.

Even if you own a sports car worth more than most people make in a year, you won't get uptown in rush hour without taking the subway like the rest of us.

This city may bring people to great heights but it keeps them humble. In this way, the city does not discriminate. We are all equal in its eyes.

Life is happening in every square inch of this place

All you have to do is step outside to find it. Literally.

You could stumble upon a chess game underway in Washington Square Park...

or run across a baseball game in Central Park on a lazy afternoon...

or check out a game of hand-ball in Brooklyn...

[note, I don't have a clue what this game is actually called. It's like racquetball but instead of racquets, they use their hands]

NYC magic, baby

This city is alive in a way no other place has ever been to me.

It pulsates.

I remember a friend saying that every city has an energy.

And that New York is vibrating on a certain frequency.

To me it is equal parts energy, creativity and chill.

While the city stays up late, it sleeps in. Just like me.

And my God, it's beautiful.

This city is pure alchemy

You see the bright light of the city and are drawn to it.

There is a power and a beauty here.

But once enchanted, the city shows you its darkness.

And it is only in traveling through this darkness that the city reveals the challenges that lie between who you thought you were and what you can become.

In reaching for it, the city waits. Testing you. Pushing you.

And in this duality of light and dark we learn what we are made of... and are transformed.

My beloved New York...