I’m not going outside until the temperature is above my age.

Spring in Argentina’s San Carlos de Barilouce, makes a fiction entrance some might better describe as blistering, wrathful, diabolical. At least in my eyes. And body.

What this picture doesn’t show you is that it was approximately the same temperature as it would be if I’d been sitting on a glacier. Except colder.  I know you can’t feel anything from where you are. You just have to believe me.  At least the risk for mosquito activity is low. For me, a holiday is best defined as “a woman lies down in the sun with a glass of wine and a book and gets up five to seven days later.” But enough of that. I take up the burden of my tale.  I didn’t plan to come here after Buenos Aires. I was supposed to go home. But as good fortune would have it, I have the marvelous? opportunity to go trekking in Patagonia Chile.

So I’m spending a few days of intermediate time here. I’m hoping that when I’m on this infamous Patagonian trek, I’ll be able to tell whether I have sustained an injury or that’s just how I am now. Cause sometimes I get winded just working my way through a bag of Skittles.  Because of my unexpected detour and inclement weather, I’m wrapping up in my (only) three pairs of pants and five top layers, including raincoat and alpaca wool poncho. My poncho, a very welcome and timely purchase in Buenos Aires.  They say there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. Yes, well.  I listen to the wind moan day and night, battle driving rain outside, I’m chilled to the bones. It’s a consummate shock from the comforting warmth of B.A.

A Slice of Switzerland With its snow-capped peaks and crisp air, this laid-back city in Patagonia makes you question whether you have landed in Switzerland instead of Argentina. Bariloche is a city surrounded by thousand-year-old forests, mountains covered in snow and crystal clear lakes. Seven to be exact. Each with a unique landscape.   I have seen quite a few groups of teenagers prowling the streets and have learned it is quite common for high school students in Argentina to take a senior trip to Bariloche.

To hike or not to hike, that is not a real question. Those in the know will scoff and say, “What is wrong with you? Bariloche is world famous for its amazing hiking trails, mountain bike trails, zipline, rock climbing, chairlifts up to the top of the mountain…” You see where I’m going here. And it’s not up.  I’m not really afraid of heights, just falling from them. I get nervous just standing on a chair.

Eat your weight in chocolate. “What you see before you, my friend, is the result of a lifetime of chocolate.” – Katharine Hepburn Thankfully, Bariloche is known as the chocolate capital of Argentina. I’ve counted at least eighteen shops on Mitre Street alone. Any self-discipline I may have is tough, because I’m the boss of me and that guy runs a really loose ship.  Besides chocolate never asks any stupid questions.

“To alcohol! The cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.” – Homer Simpson  And alcohol. Malbec, Pineapple Cider, Fernet, Cerveza artesanal beer, and rum. You can even pose with a Saint Bernard dog with a small barrel of rum around the neck; his neck, not yours.

And lots and lots of travel agencies, since the main goal of Bariloche’s tourists is to leave the city. But there is a dark side to Bariloche. After WWII, some quite atrocious war criminals found refuge here. The most infamous one is Erich Priebke who lived here undisturbed until, in 1993, German investigators applied for extradition. Sadly, it was not unusual that Nazi war criminals found a safe house in Argentina. Mr. Perón was very cooperative in this field.

Lately I’ve been thinking about “life reviews.” I first heard the term in an interview Jane Fonda did with Julia Louis Dreyfus on her podcast. I found that sitting solo freezing in a dingy hotel room gazing at faded botanical prints gives you plenty of time to muse on the subject. As well as the importance of making yourself useful to the reader by solving their life problems, while dispensing with the fantasy that anyone actually cares about your experiences; in other words, generally getting over yourself.  We of a certain age know what it means to lose things – your looks, your loves, your reading glasses…and to remember that it is simply courtesy to others to give yourself a once-over in the mirror. And that it’s probably too late to take up pole dancing. I mean, I really don’t look like the woman in the hotel’s magnified bathroom mirror I saw last night. I thought, that can’t be right. And I will never let that happen again. Of course it was scary. Not even God wants to see us that close up.  Well, I’m just getting ready to not go out, but instead to a late supper of a considerable good Malbec – in my room.

In the world of buying and selling homes, there are two words everyone knows: CURB APPEAL. Curb appeal on a house is a lot like going out on a first date. If you like what you see initially, you’re going to want to know more.  Given the hailstorm of keystrokes I’ve burdened you with over the years, I can never emphasize enough the impact of inspired CURB APPEAL to create an intangible sense of delight and a quicker sale. Not again, you sigh, when all you really want to do is order in Uber Eats. Again.I don’t want to cause more tears and anguish than the ending of Charlotte’s Web, but truly, I have nothing but your best interests at heart, even though you may prefer to talk about the lengthening lines on my face.  I assure you that you are capable of any sacrifice only if it doesn’t last too long. Pinky swear. Fall curb appeal is all about coziness and welcome, about adding warmth quintessential to the season without detracting from the existing elements. So what’s the absolute best Home Staging curb appeal secret?  Adding plants and/or flowers. The beauty of nature trumps all. Planters. Fill with pumpkins, twigs, artificial leaves, marigolds or cut sunflowers for a cheery fall look.   Potted mums are the iconic fall container plant.  To save time and effort, head to the local garden store to purchase container plants that are already in or close to full bloom.  Hang or arrange a number of them in the front garden, planters, window box or on the front steps. Hold on a sweater-loving second, what is fall without pumpkins! All I know is that pumpkins are never a mistake. Pumpkins are the iceberg lettuce of the autumn world. Like iceberg lettuce, they last a long time and are available everywhere. They are inexpensive, colourful, lively, and great for the whole of the harvest season. Note: Homes with high curb appeal tend to sell for an average of 7% more than similar homes with an uninviting exterior, according to a joint study by the University of Alabama and the University of Texas at Arlington. The study, published in the Journal of Real Estate Finance and Economics, continues to stress the importance of curb appeal, stating that the premium jumps to a 14% higher price tag in slower real estate markets.  Sometimes all you need is a simple touch – like a pretty plaid blanket and a lone pumpkin on a front porch. No one in the history of ever has said, “What a beautiful old door mat!” A good impression should start from the first step. Keep it impersonal. Don’t advertise your favourite sports team. No joke mats like, “Hi, I’m Mat.” or “Not You Again!” or worst of all, “Nice Underwear.”  Doors were made to be opened.  Hang a seasonal wreath. The front door is that all-important first impression that moulds the opinion of every buyer –- and the end, as potential buyers take a last look back as they drive away.

It’s the recipe and not any one specific ingredient that makes for great curb appeal. This is the path to buyers’ hearts and an offer.Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED talk about curb appeal.

This love affair is coming to an end.

Is boring black and white, minimalist and personality-less, white-on-white-on white, gray-on-gray-on-gray, past the sell-by date? This love affair is coming to an end.  Surely, we’re due for a change.

Yes gray, the ideal color for indifference, fence-sitting, keeping quiet, despair. Names like Cloud Cover, Morning Fog, Mouse’s Back, Squirrel Tail, Mole’s Breath…all particularly numbing, the charisma of soppy bread.

Walk into just about any home design store, and you’ll see swaths of gray upholstery, bedding and accessories. Rental properties and spec houses have room upon room of what my educated eye recognizes as Benjamin Moore’s Revere Pewter and Gray Owl on the walls of bedrooms, living rooms, halls and bathrooms.Several shades of why.

A natural correction is taking place.

How did we, known not too long ago for our penchant for pastels, let ourselves slip into a haze of gray?  I know some of us may be clutching our pearls at the idea of gray going by the wayside, as gray and white – the two (seemingly timeless) tones have been at the forefront of our decorating agendas for decades.  In the late ‘90s, when we were coming out of our peach-beige-mania, there was more of a high-end design movement about gray and dark woods. That trickled down into mass-market decor options. Now, as the design pendulum swings back around to beiges and now, we are realizing to our dismay that we have been living life in colorless spaces for the past several years.

What we’re experiencing now may be a ripple effect of the lockdown.Two years of being cooped up, bound in tormented seclusion staring at the same four walls, made us want to trade in our neutrals for explosions of colours reminiscent of adventure and excitement. Their re-emergence is a possible (colourful) light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. But don’t expect to wake up in a Smartie world of colour next week. It can take months or seasons to see these trends reflected in our interiors, since they often start in fashion—the most rapid of the trend cycles—and trickle outward from there. I’ve seen nothing less in Europe this month. And a resurgence of 60’s fashion on the streets.

People may be ready to accept more colour in their life, but it’s often a slow step-by-step process.

HOMEOWNER: “I’m one of those people who knows what I like once I see it but who has a hard time visualizing how things will look in a space or what colours will work well together,”

Maybe it starts with a toss cushion, a throw, a peice of art, a vase. Then a side chair. And, eventually, they might find the courage to paint a cheeky mural or an entire wall.

Perhaps the safest colour is no colour.

I think we all had intentions of adding pops of colour, but found we had commitment problems.

As one who has never embraced gray, although I know my way up and down the gray paint chips, I have always found gray soulless. It honestly drains you, especially when you have to wake up to dull, gray winter days when all you want to do is pull the duvet over your head and go back to sleep.

But grays and neutrals aren’t necessarily going away, but expanding. Colours like green, which convey a nature-infused, organic reference, and a clay-like pink, mustard yellow, ochre, mulberry are increasingly being treated as neutrals.With most trends that cycle back into popularity, each new iteration will be slightly reinvented. We saw this with brass plumbing fixtures, door knobs, and cabinet hardware. Brass is now “back”, but it’s not the glossy, yellowy brass of the 80’s, it’s a rosier, non-glossy brass, with straighter lines and simpler shapes.

So, what colour is your future?

By the way, if anyone is in the market for a Betamax…

“Prague never lets you go. That dear little mother has claws.” – Franz Kafka Travellers versus tourists.   For years, I was the archetypal solo female traveller. You know the one: untethered by a relationship, small children, few responsibilities, flitting around the world, enjoying flings, living and collecting wild stories in a rigadoon of delight. So I’m in Prague, having a hard time pulling the camera out of my bag. Prague, the city of ‘One Hundred Spires’ – Europe magnified.  I’ve sat through too many films, been so many places, seen a multitude of lovers holding hands on bridges, watched couples posing in front of beautiful buildings with open windows; scenes of lived experiences. But who can stand the weight of so many photographs, now so easily downloaded in multitudes, places and cities worn out from being seen too much. And really, who cares? Travel isn’t about pleasure as much as it is hard work. Travel is a choice. You go or you don’t.  What am I doing here anyway? The prayerful plea of every traveler. Many hate flying and airports and taking off their shoes at security, but love and romanticize the getting there.  Objects and events may bring things to mind, but in the end they remain no more than what they are in fact. They begin only when you experience them, and vanish when new ones follow.  Maybe travelling, of forward motion, is a means of eavesdropping, driven by the hope that we might see or hear something we’ve never seen or heard before, of claiming a more you version of you. Maybe to be awakened from our slumber by the unexpected, to escape, if only for a short while, the deadening quality of routine. To unfurl a bit of rope.  But there isn’t really much newness anywhere anymore, just other, worse and better, versions of every place where I’ve already been. But I have chosen this place and this time – and it simply enthrals me. It’s the kind of city you read about in fairy tales.  Coffee to stay or Why can’t Canada get the sidewalk café right?  Somehow Europeans were lucky enough to be born with some sort of café culture gene – a fluke of genetics, like Texans attracted like moths to high school football games on Friday nights.  A sidewalk café does for a city what flowers do for a woman; they make her happy and attractive.  It’s a state of mind, but the mood—the ambiance, is like a good French wine: it won’t travel.  I have spent many an afternoon overstaying my welcome at beautiful European cafés. Sidewalk cafés, in my opinion, are the hallmark of civilized life – temples to caffeine, creativity and conversation. Housed under striped awnings, the air tinged a delicate shade of nicotine blue, sits small round tables with stained marble tops and worn wicker chairs. There is the distinctive clicking sound of waiters putting down saucers and glasses, a sound I would recognize anywhere. Instead of seats aligned in rows facing outward where sippers of coffee and aperitifs can watch the spectacle of the street, in North America, we install square steel tables under stout canvas roofs with drop down flaps, bulwarks of heaters looming over chilling patrons – a fate only the tortured writer himself could have imagined. For the flâneur, the poet or the metaphysician at his notebook, sidewalk cafés were created by men who thoroughly understood that sidewalks are not merely for walking. Promenaders take center stage, strolling and being seen, while onlookers perch on the periphery. They are perfect spots for observing human foibles. They were made for loneliness and curiosity, detachment and togetherness. And privacy.  Sidewalk habitues are blessed with temporary deafness. One may not be able to avoid hearing what is said at the next table, but one is never consciously listening. On the terrace, each man is an island unto himself. It is an accepted rule that people may bump into you or stumble over your feet. No apologies are expected or given. And my favourite here? Café Louvre. Although not technically a sidewalk café as it’s on the first level, its design more typical of the Habsburg Empire at the turn of the 20th century, it was a favourite haunt of the upper echelons of Prague society where famous regulars included Franz Kafka and even Albert Einstein. So if Einstein was smart enough to go there… The speed of inspiration. Prague is walked. This is capital.  It’s that vagabond state among walkers — we street haunters move aimlessly, and are hardly ever on a mission. We drift here and there, letting thoughts change with the passing view, with the travelers instinct of inhabiting the moment. To find something to admire, to ponder, to discover. To, as writer Robert Louis Stevenson put it, to “follow this way or that, as the freak takes you“.  To look up to find the “Hanging woman and man with umbrella” sculptures. In fact, it is paramount in Prague – you will miss much of worth if you are not constantly looking up.

“The chief prevention against getting old is to remain astonished.” – Kevin Kelly  I walk (everyday for tens of thousands of steps) with a touch of agreeable languor, a pleasure-seeking wastrel, even in this densely urban environment. I’m never wandering the streets alone. Not even at 6:00 in the morning do I have the streets to myself. And the only police presence I’ve seen was an officer sitting in her van thumbing her iPhone in the middle of a busy square in case a tourist wanted help finding a place that serves a good pork knuckle.   You don’t need to saunter far to fall in earshot of a melody in Prague. Perambulating, I can hear strains of a Dvořák concerto coming from a high window, an opera singer practicing her scales, a child cellist struggling through a passage, street jazz buskers on one of the many bridges, then resting in the magnificent Baroque Klementinum Cathedral listening to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” performed by the Bohemian Symphony Orchestra…daily musical sounds of Prague. And I didn’t miss an opportunity to hang out at the famous Reduta, where Bill Clinton twice rocked out on the saxophone gifted to him by the then-president Václav Hável. I meander on cobbled streets, along winding rivers and across ornate bridges  connecting fairytale-esque architecture, through idyllic green spots of paradise, home to strutting peacocks. I walk over old territory with ghosts, past the smell of church wood, past a world of corridors, marble steps, great buildings, and past quirky, unique entirely unexpected irreverent sinister disturbingly amusing pieces of public art. And graffiti: here, an art form.

So…a girl goes out into the world to find…only she finds she’s the same person in Newfoundland, in Slovenia, in Prague, as she is back home, with all the same flaws, the same obnoxious behaviors, the same judgmental rapture. Now she just happens to have two pictures of herself standing in front of the Mucha Museum. That’s not as good of a story. It probably won’t make it to a movie script, get more Instagram followers, or a free plane ticket. But it’s more honest.

Staying at home can offer as many opportunities for growth and transformation and brain rewiring or any terms you’d like to use. If you’re the type of person who is more scared of staying home than wandering out there, then perhaps that’s what you should do.  As such, this concludes the audio portion of your walking tour. I hope you enjoyed your time with me. Thank you, and please watch your step upon exiting.

Sometimes y’all are completely flamboozzled on how to best sell a home given the mattresses on the floor, overstuffed furniture, clutter, heavy drapes, and overflowing bookshelves.  In order to get the best possible price – and quickly, you know that you have to get the best posse in town, because there are a few out there that couldn’t drive a nail into a snow bank.

So if you want to lasso in buyers like a horse takes to oats and “have a little fun”, here are a few Staging Stampede Suggestions.

Livery The old saying — you can judge a book by its cover – is seldom wrong. Say you’ve got a shirtless cowboy looking out into the field, leaning on his rusty truck, you pretty know what’s going to be in that book. So does this adage apply to a home on the range. Gussy up the curb appeal during Stamped Selling by setting some flowers in an old cowboy boot or on a bale of hay.

Mercantile Ever since a man rode a horse, there has been cowboy wisdom. Corral those outriders in with a cowhide rug on the floor or toss cushions on a porch rocker, sofa or chair, making them want to sit a spell. Just a cushion or two adds a pop of colour, a bit of fun and some texture that makes for a breath of fresh air and a treat for the eyes.

Grub Coffee and donuts: the classic pair. Donuts really do make the world go round. Is there anything they can’t do? Set out some cowboy coffee and mini donuts on a tray in the kitchen. This is sure to rope in a few hombres.  I mean, everyone should eat more hole foods.

High Noon Scents Nobody wants to walk into a home that smells like a cowboy’s tailgate, so put those boots way off in the horizon.

Final Words Differentiate your listing by playing honky-tonk twang, making buckaroos just want to look off into the sunset and linger. Or two-step in the living room.

Make your listing the “Greatest Show on Earth.” It’s a one shot go for broke performance.

Head ’em up, and move ’em out.

I’ve kept a journal for years. I call her Abby. She’s younger than me because everyone is.  Solipsistic Abby reports things other people have said about me; my fashion choices which many might say bore an unfortunate resemblance to a mental patients uniform, my abilities that don’t count for much, and of course, my dates over the years. And there have been a lot. Of dates, I mean. Mostly blind and never twice.

Some have been known to take a nap. Once sitting together in a tropical garden, the guy told me he could hear the plants screaming. Often guys failed to ask me a single question while I kept the “conversation” aloft by asking them about themsleves. I even saw one guy I was with at a funeral, make substantial eye contact with potential mates. It was just a mess. Too much uncertainty in the system. It’s like they could tell from my skin tone that I ate a very anti-inflammatory diet.

You might say I had a very promising past.

Flipping through journal entries, there apparently was a time where I was lithe and slender, brimming with intelligence and verve, spewing witticisms like confetti. I have no idea when this decamped, obviously without my express permission.

Darling, it’s simply courtesy to others just to give yourself a once-over in the mirror.

Nope, I didn’t see it coming.

After a late supper of considerable good bourbon, it occured to me that this can t happen to the best of us: a Best Before Date.  Like Betamax’s and corsets. Dated. Like some stuff in your home. You bought a coffee table online only to discover it is too small. Your aunt gave you a flowered sofa, promising yourself you will replace it once you found another one. Then you picked up a rug and some pillows to “go with” the flowers in that sofa – an online impulse buy late one night after a couple of glasses of wine while you were stressing over your closing date. Five years later? The sofa and the coffee table are still there.

Furniture salesperson: “This sofa will seat 5 people without any problems.” I said, “Where am I going to find 5 people without any problems?”

Say the words “faux finish” three times and you’ll be transported to the early ’90s in a room accented by experimental painting techniques that never quite pulled off the exotic vibe they were hoping for.The association can be harder to shake than having the theme song to “Friends” stuck in your head.

If there’s one thing we learned from watching dandruff shampoo commercials, it’s that you never get a second chance to make a first impression. Or say “No” to that flowered sofa.

So I was just wondering, what does “dated” mean to you? Picked up at 6:30. Dinner at 7. Movie at 9. Then back home for some…oops, wrong “dated”.

This furniture store keeps calling me…all I wanted was one night stand.

A Break up or Break Through  Of course, “outdated” is subjective, but unlike dating, it really doesn’t have to be that complicated.After all, the purpose of a first date is a conscious effort to discover what you like, what you dislike, and the “non-negotiables”, in other words, the best hookup.Everyone has personal mate preferences – whether they leave used dental floss around the house, whether they hate dessert, like dessert, don’t like cats, really like cats, or are covered in Batman tattoos.

“In old age we should wish still to have passions strong enough to prevent us turning in on ourselves.” – Simone de Beauvoir

But it’s not always about the “dated” stuff; it’s really about how the stuff makes us feel.  Being surrounded by shelves laden with collected objects and books, a vintage blanket thrown over the back of the sofa, a oil painting rescued at a garage sale, an old steamer trunk, or whimsical cat wallpaper, can be a powerful type of self-care, joy and healing. (Or just a massive amount of clutter).

To Date or Not to Date  Everything doesn’t, and shouldn’t, have to be new. Thrift stores, vintage stores, and antique stores are great repositories for unique, inviting and satisfying pieces. Dents, nicks, and scratches add character to a piece, and old mixes beautifully with new.  You will be also be doing your earth-part to repurpose/reuse instead of buying new.

Find a New Date

My best advice is to incorporate things that you currently own and love into your space. This could be family heirlooms, accessories, art objects picked up in your travels, or any items that make you smile.

Scout your home for items you have forgotten about, or move around items that don’t work in the space. Sometimes, that lamp that doesn’t look quite right in the living room is perfect for the entry table.

Sometimes, your space doesn’t need a full-blown makeover —it just needs a quick refresh – or a styling expert!

That’s all have for today, unless to want to talk about the lines on my face.

By the way, when was your perfect date? Mine was May 5, because it wasn’t too hot and it wasn’t too cold. All I needed was a light jacket.

You have a house for sale and there seems to be a recurring theme comment that the house is – “dated.”  So I was just wondering, what does “dated” mean to you? Picked up at 6:00. Dinner at 7:00 Movie at 9:00. Then back home for some…….oops, wrong “dated”. Does it bring on these responses? “Oh, I remember that from my 4th-grade friend’s house!”“Haven’t seen that in years!”“That hardwood looks as worn as a saloon dance floor.”  Does it mean that there hasn’t been any changes in 30 years? Where “recently renovated” means the house had gone from uninhabitable to unpleasant. Or owned by someone who didn’t know the difference between a table saw and a drill. Or remark without irony that the walls are painted the colour of mottled liver. Say the words “faux finish” three times and you’ll be transported to the early ’90s, in a room accented by experimental painting techniques that never quite pulled off the exotic vibe they were hoping for.The association can be harder to shake than having the theme song to “Mad About You” or “Friends” stuck in your head.

Is it the painted fruit tiles that someone in a galaxy far, far away, picked for the kitchen backsplash? The kitchen light fixture that looks like it belongs in an operating room. The garden trend of the ’80s where the more floral patterns, the better. The perky pink tile countertops, metallic hallway wallpaper, shag carpeting in the ensuite bathroom, lacey drapes, burgundy bedroom walls, narrow wood-stained baseboards, “brick” vinyl on the kitchen floor, builder grade faux marble, shiny brass light fixtures, wallpaper borders…and the list goes on.

Buyers usually fall into one of two camps when it comes to out-of-style homes. They either see it as an opportunity or a liability, and as a realtor, this is often out of your control.  A home is a product, yes, but like most products, buyers will base their decision on their full experience.  It is rare to completely detach from the emotions of buying a house and strictly deal with the nuts and bolts of the construction. It’s rare and the exception, to find house hunters that don’t need an emotional connection to purchase. Their brains simply won’t let them.

So there needs to be something that excites them visually. Something that makes them stop and linger in a room.

A breakup or a breakthrough

Of course, “outdated” is subjective, but unlike dating, it really doesn’t have to be that complicated.

After all, the purpose of a first date – and looking for a house – is a conscious effort to discover what you like, what you dislike, and the “non-negotiables”, in other words, the best hookup.

Everyone has personal mate preferences – whether they leave used dental floss around the house, whether they hate dessert, don’t like cats, really like cats. But they’re not always obvious deal-breakers, either.

But like a first date with someone covered in Batman tattoos, a first impression is usually a lasting impression.

Speed dating

Easy, impactful updates that cost nothing or very little.

Remove heavy fabrics, or lacey drapes, valances, ties, fringed trim that belong to the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s. They can be easily updated by swapping for crisp-and-airy white linen alternatives. Pro tip: Hang new curtains as close to the ceiling as possible to draw the eye up to create the illusion of taller ceilings.

Cloaking

Remove tablecloths, no matter how burnished or worn the table.

Soft launching

Covering up pink tiles with a closed shower curtain won’t solve the issue. A better option is to lean into the “light and bright” effect by decorating with new and fluffy white towels and a white orchid on the counter.

Cushioning

Plaid wingback chairs or a tufted sofa could be updated by down toss cushions or a beautiful textured throw. Pillows are much cheaper than new furniture.

Fluffer

An aged dresser could stand in as an entry piece, a serving area for beverages or as storage in a home office.

Bed-crumbing

From drab to fab. Use bold bedding, toss pillows or modern art in a bedroom outfitted with dark wood furniture. Contemporary lamps will also update the room.

Cupcaking

Style and sparkle. Inside of piles of dishes, arrange crystal glasses “soldier-style”, hard cover books to the front of the shelves, or large vases and art objects inside an heirloom hutch.

Capering

A bold strategy. Replace tiny art pieces with one large piece. There are a myriad of inexpensive and quick options available. This not only updates a room, but brings it to life, drawing buyers into the room, not to mention a great MLS photo.

Orbiting

A light change. Changing out dated (and brassy) light fixtures to contemporary ones will instantly add 20 years to a room. Even the chicest room will scream dated with a Tiffany or a fussy bell-style shade. Swap to new or just change out the shades.

By the way, when was your perfect date?  Mine was April 26 because it wasn’t too hot and it wasn’t too cold. All I needed was a light jacket.

“Everyone talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.”                                                                                                 – Mark Twain  Spring is a season Calgarians only read about.  It won’t stop snowing.   We watch with rising pique as it snows and melts. Snows and melts. Snows and doesn’t melt. Snows again. We are beginning to feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, our steady stream of grievances matching our unstylish fashion choices, while throwing in a few gritty observations about gnarly traffic patterns and inconvenient potholes. We ache for the arrival of buds, for the trees to blossom, for the pushing of little green hands out of the ground.  Incrementally, and for a brief moment in between, we may hear birds sing, a mosquito buzz (how on earth did it get in here and where on earth did it come from?), and we feel as though we might break out in song and dance. We smile. We retire our worn puffy coats, stained with spilled coffee, holes in the pockets. We stop our vitamin D supplement and UV lamp therapy. We start to feel vibrant and alive. There is a glimmer of hope.   Then it snows again. A direct hit to the gut. It’s like a wacky weather version of Waiting for Godot. What does spring think it’s doing? winter fool’s spring second winter  spring of deception third winter mud season summer We are a land of chronic weather complainers. I read one study that said that 100% of people complaining about the weather didn’t change the weather at all. Which is why I feel bad for the weather.   We have endured so many, many long weeks of dissonance. We’re cold and awkward, wearing sunglasses we don’t need, shivering in coats not thick enough. But one thing we Calgarians understand, it’s that winter doesn’t end simply because we’re tired of it – and  that moisturizers are a part of wellness. April really is the month that sucks the most, partly because it’s not supposed to. This is supposed to be when it all starts getting better. But here we are anyway, in the heart of Spring in Deception when everything should be blooming green. High in optimism, low in reality.  Bare branches and cold ground show uglier with spikes of green striving to make inroads in the frozen ground, like no one told them winter is still here. Dry scruffy patches of lawn, the colour of a dirty martini, only stand to emphasize the intestinal 50 shades of grey of the sky.  Whining away the hours. Weather stories are boring. When we talk about the weather, it’s not because the weather is meaningless, but that it reminds us we have so much less control over our lives than we pretend to have.  Maybe it’s just my mood: enduring my four hundredth cold of the year, in bed sending out photos of falling snow to anyone clever enough to be suntanning somewhere on a beach, too despondent to binge buy swimsuits that I’m not even sure I’ll ever get the chance to wear.   There are many worse things than complaining, but it really bothers me when others are better at it than me. Callit spring. A practical joke.  It’s been a very long winter. I’m calling it grateful anguish, because nature and winter can offer us time for reflection. And hopefully, gratitude. Everyone experiences a “wintering”season at one time or the other, and as Katherine May describes, it doesn’t always come in winter. Every season plays its part. It’s more about what’s happening in your inner world. Some winters happen in the sun,” she writes, and “wintering is a metaphor for those phases in our life when we feel frozen out or unable to make the next step, and that that can come at any time, in any season, in any weather; that it has nothing to do with the physical cold.”  It’s like waiting for something to land, waiting for the moment when we would come to a first tentative answer.  It requires taking an honest moment to look at where we’ve been, what we’ve done, what has been done to us, what we’re searching for, what we don’t have. Life moves forward by loss as well as by gain, by letting go and by holding on. We are here to walk through the mud. We learn our lessons by going through intense life experiences, not by skipping them. Sometimes you get a gift that you appreciate, but also hate. Like a sweater someone spent hours knitting for you in a colour that looks awful with your complexion.  That’s how I’m feeling about the intermittent snow outside, just like that unflattering sweater. But we all have to wear that sweater. And thank goodness. Because boy, do we need it.

There is something in me that mistrusts pleasure. Or sanity, for that matter.

I mean, why sit by the lovely resort pool when I can careen half a mile over slippery, sharp rocks to get the other end of the beach during high tide? Or walk through 40 different kinds of mud through the inhospitable misty and cold landscape to the Brontes’ weather-beaten Haworth? Or take a gentle bike ride around a picturesque village, when I, burdened with a jug of water and a granola bar, can instead, walk aimlessly for hours, passing no other miserable, sunburned walker sweating in a moisture-wicking tee shirt, looking like a particularly ill-used hostage. 

I have heard that there are very valid reasons for walking – like spending quality time with a friend, purchasing a cappuccino, or watching ducks being stupid in a pond.

I am also told that there are those who prefer to amble towards some place, and when they (soon) get there, sit down.

And when booking a holiday they are apt to focus on whether or not the property provides an adequate electric kettle and if their room has an ocean view. Where their idea of physical activity is to walk from the bed to the bar fridge and back. And where they best define a holiday as “lying down in the sun like soft pizza-dough with a glass of wine and a book, getting up five to seven days later.”

No, it seems I prefer, like the royal family, “walking around in terrible weather wearing the thickest socks imaginable”, every day’s ramble showing me fresh wonders and new blisters.

I find you can tell a lot about a person by where they walk, because as author Rebecca Solnit points out, walking remains “essentially unimproved since the dawn of time.”

Walking, the slowest form of travel, is the quickest route to our more authentic selves – or of not getting much of anywhere. Or lost.

Walking is personal. Cautious roamers to power striders. Some strut. Some cowboy swagger. Some wander around like a lost spectre. Some walk like a kan chiong spider. Some walk the Paris Fashion Week runway. A tightrope. The Camino. Marathons. 

Being an unapologetic voyeur gives you time to reflect on your life choices. Of pondering particular abilities that don’t count for much. Marvelling on the uncanny ability to mangle lyrics beyond recognition. On questionable fashion choices. Of being freshly showered and more or less odourless. 

Wandering around alone doesn’t look like the kind of leisure some would consider time “well spent.” Yet it is time some of us would defend as valuable. It is valuable for its own sake, not because it prepares us for more important tasks. It requires no special skill other than an openness to enjoy things as they arise.

In our age of constant distraction and restless productivity, our one task is to care less about external validation. “Likes”. “Followers”. It might be better spent accompanied by an espresso, a library lamp, and classical music.  

Reflection requires courage. It’s thoughtful, and it’s deliberate. With the right mindset, every walk is a pilgrimage, a doorway to the new and revelatory.

So in the final greige coloured days of winter/spring resembling a grumbling old man, when one can walk without layering in a crowd of materials, I walk.

For the uninitiated, the ‘ick’ is a turn-off — multiplied by 10.  We’re talking dried-out popcorn in a media room that kids inevitably try to eat; stale pasta in a jar on the kitchen counter; fake food plated up as if it’s ready to eat; or glossy, crumbly bread on a dining room table.

Preaching the houseplant gospel When a space is filled with a bunch of fake plants, like dusty pink fabric flowers that smell like potpourri and look as real as bad taxidermy. It makes the space feel ‘pretend,’ and does nothing to inspire the potential buyers.It’s like complicated wallpaper, eager to entertain, but all too frequently unable to oblige. No good story started with a salad. It’s become a staging cliché: a glass of wine sitting out on the kitchen island or a labelless alcohol bottle with colored water in it next to some martini glasses or a champagne bottle and glasses on a tub ledge. You never know who the potential buyer may be, so it may be best to avoid staging with alcohol altogether – unless maybe on a beautifully styled bar cart. Surprisingly unhelpful  Table cloths are great for living in a home and entertaining. They can be beautiful, provide texture for a holiday table setting, or protection for the table itself. But they are terrible options for selling a home. Just because it fits, doesn’t mean it fits.Out-of-scale furniture can go two ways; pieces that don’t adequately fill the room or furniture that overfills and overwhelms a space. For example, out-of-scale furniture could be a huge sofa that dominates a living space or a small rug in a large room. Cuddle up and cozy down Nothing says extended adolescence the way improperly made beds do.   When styling a bed, start at the bottom – the bedskirt. The bedding should not be wrinkled, off kilter or showing the bedrails; made neatly enough to win a drill sergeant’s approval. Contents may have shifted during flight. To sell well is to let go well, and it all starts with a bag of shirts.When people are touring a home, they’re going to open cabinets and peek into closets. So when clothes are not colour coordinated and the garments aren’t folded consistently, it’s an “ick”.  THE SYSTEM? Hang clothing by category first—sleeveless, short sleeve, long sleeve, sweaters, jackets, etc. Then within each category, segment by colour, beginning with white.Toss the jumble of plastic and wire hangers. Change the hangers to a consistent style and colour.  Similarly, kitchen cupboards, pantries or bar fridges that aren’t organized is also a huge ‘ick’. If taking out a baking sheet involves removing six other kitchen items to be able to access it, things need to get organized – and probably purged. TIP: Establish a zone for each category of food and items in the pantry. For example, have a section for baking, small appliances, snacks, cereal, pasta and rice, etc. Keeping up with the Grout Lines  Although you don’t want the bathroom to look abandoned, it’s also important to remove any signs of someone else using it. People view bathrooms as personal and private spaces. Declutter and put away all personal items…but if there really has to be tissues out – do it in style.Othewise, things could eventually go, well, down the toilet.