“You know what we need? A compound mitre saw,” my artist wife told me a couple years after moving into our suburban bungalow.
I paused, wondering if this was some type of trap.
She’s giving me permission to go buy a power tool, I thought. What’s the catch?
This required a delicate conversation to make sure no bubbles would burst. One mis-step might cost me a wife-approved power tool.
Continue reading“I’m thinking of changing my hair up,” she said.
“Oh really,” I replied.
“Yeah, just a small change,” she added.
Cool, I thought, whatever makes you happy.
Continue readingI started a very small painting project a few months back.
The landing at the bottom of the stairs in our bungalow had been an ugly brownish-red colour since we moved in over 10 years ago. I have loathed the colour since Day 1 and had always wanted to change it.
Continue readingWe were married in 2007. Fourteen years ago this week. In the heat of summer. In an outdoor wedding. In the middle of the afternoon. On the western Canadian prairie. At a museum in our hometown.
Like all marriages, at our wedding, we had a blank canvas. We had years, decades ahead of us; and like most young couples we were a blank canvas full of optimism, passion, and romance pushing us forward into a lifelong, loving relationship.
Alas, I’m not sharing a love story today. While a blank canvas is a great relationship analogy, we, quite literally, had a blank canvas at our wedding.
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