In Which I Merge my Blogs (Or: The First One From the Other One)

A while ago, I abandoned this blog and took a break, before starting up a different one that better reflected where I'm at now. A lot has changed. I have a new career, I'm more than half done my first novel, I'm designing again and I'm about to launch two new businesses. My priority is EXIT 29. That designer consignment shop I launched and wrote about here? It has become an international fashion agency and it's what I spend most of my waking hours working on and thinking about.

The new blog, which is on wordpress, is off to an okay start, but I've come to realize that the journey I took to get to where I am matters and a lot of it is documented over here. I will therefore begin transferring posts from the other one (there aren't that many), here, where my main audience is and where it can merge with past efforts. You'll notice I've also transferred the new name over and so, welcome to The Fringe Report.

Here is post number one:

Unless we're talking a bloody caesar or, as of recently enough, a martini, I don't really drink hard liquor. When everyone yells, "Shots!" I  go on a pee break. That said, ever since I saw Ryan Gosling make that Old Fashioned for Emma Stone, in Crazy Stupid Love, I've been wanting to try one. I came close, at a fashion show in St-Henri, last year, where some beautiful hipster bartenders from Ludger had been invited to create and serve a signature cocktail created for the event. It had brandy in it. Or cognac? It might have had some whiskey in it. It was amber and there was a candied orange rind ringlet on its rim. It wasn't an Old Fashioned and, even if it had been, the setting was all wrong. Not having the option of Mr. Gosling preparing the drink for me at The Skyline Residence (which is now owned by Pharrell Williams, anyway), on a rainy night, with Doris Troy warbling in the background, I decided to ask my friend if he wanted to go out in search of the drink, after a particularly tasty ramen experience, at Misoya, yesterday (more on Montreal ramen in a few weeks!). We trudged over to Hurley's, where we found a quiet spot and settled into some super cozy leather armchairs, next to a stone wall. While the Irish band one room over readied themselves to play, I took the first sip of my very first Old Fashioned. It was bitter as all hell and I immediately began wishing I'd ordered a beer. After three or four more sips I actually did order a beer. But then, as the room we were in began to fill up, the music got louder, I relaxed into my seat and I got closer to the sugar at the bottom of the glass, my drink suddenly became quite tasty and, for the first time ever, I regretted ordering a pint of Newcastle. Verdict: I'm probably more excited than I should be that I can add another cocktail to my short list.

Anyhow, it's January 14th and, as good intentions begin to implode around me and New Year's resolutions are already being abandoned by some, I'm reminded of how much I think the tradition is bullshit. Firstly, my new year begins the day after my birthday and, second, I believe that if you really want to change something in your life, you should just go ahead and do it. That said, for the first time in many years, I find myself striving for newness and setting goals at the same time as everyone else and it's odd. The plan had been for the kids and I to move to Vancouver, next summer and then, right before Christmas, my son declared that he no longer wishes to leave Montreal. I can't live across the country from my son yet and so we're all staying put. At first, there was shock. Just once, I allowed myself to vent at my kids, expressing my frustration at their lack of lust for life or some such nonsense (try having this conversation with two teenagers who are neck-deep in their "Uh. Yeah. No." phase). With that out of my system, I wallowed. I may have gone through a few bottles of wine during this period. And then, as I usually do, I made a conscious decision to change my mood and to spring into action. This, right here, is part of that.

I've been blogging for a few years now but, at some point, I fell into a rut and the generic fashion dribble I was getting paid to write for other blogs began to make its way into my personal blog. Get a media pass, go to the fashion show, take notes, drink some free pinot grigio, take funnier notes, text dry but apparently hilarious comments to my daughter, get on a bus and head back home and take my heels off exactly where they need to be for me to inevitably trip over them in the morning, sleep, get up, trip on heels, write a roundup, send it in and repeat. I did go to some fundraisers and shows that blew my mind and had me typing at warp speed upon my return home but those were rare and, after more than a year of doing the Montreal fashion circuit, I was burnt out from seeing all of the same clothing and all of the same people and hearing all of the same music. It made me abandon my style guides and personal pieces altogether and I haven't felt like picking it back up until recently. Well, not all of that but the blogging.

I know who I was writing for but I felt like I wasn't the one writing for them. I'm just not that guy and, well, that's not who I want to write for. I'm a punker and a goth and a geek and a loud-mouth and a storyteller and a designer and a entrepreneur and someone who is the product of having grown up within various sub cultures where it wasn't cool to like mainstream shit and is now living in a world where everything that was cool and special and oh-so-underground is now mainstream. And so, I have Joe Strummer and Maila Nurmi and Bela Lugosi and Joy Division on my walls and the kids and I love punk rock and some metal and all classic rock and ska and Star Trek and Dr. Who and I have a bunch of tattoos and I shave parts of my head on a whim but I love wine tasting and decor and high fashion and going to the Met and plating my food. That's the nutshell version and, if you're interested in the details, by all means, read on...

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The Story Right Now

I have yet to write pieces on the last two fashion shows I attended, last year. To be honest, I don't know if I will take the time to do so or not.

Things are changing and they're changing quickly.

I know where I'm headed and what I must to do to get there. I'm cutting ties with the cumbersome, be it material or not. I'm hyper-focused and more motivated than ever.

I've learned to be still again and, in those moments, when I open my heart and silence my mind, everything becomes clear and the next few feet of my path light up.

I've started doing yoga again and, for the first time in my life, it doesn't make me angry. I think it used to do so because I still had so much healing to do. I started doing Tai Chi and I absolutely love it. I'm debating between Iaido and Kendo, now.

For years now, I've been taking photos people love. I took a photography course two years ago. I understand light and shadow and mood. I never dared call myself a photographer, though, as I have friends who are trying to make a living from it and I felt like I had no business being anything other than a writer and designer. Lately, though, I've let go of that notion. I launched an Etsy store where I sell stationery that features my photos and I've tentatively, in a whisper, even, answered " But I am," when people ask me why I'm not a photographer. I may not be as good as a lot of the shutterbugs I know and will surely call myself an amateur for the rest of my days but I take photos that don't suck and people have paid for them (or simply right clicked and saved my images to give to family members?!) so I am a photographer.

I've cut out red meat (again) and am back to taking care of myself, in general.

I feel sure-footed and lighthearted and I very much look forward to seeing what happens next.

News on the clothing line and on my other two business endeavors to come but, right now, I'm back from a few nights of sleeping by a woodstove, cuddled up with a small dog and days gazing upon a frozen creek and ice-covered branches and I just don't feel like connecting with anyone or anything online.

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Pause. Old Montreal. November 7th, 2014.

My sister and I took some time off from Le Weekend de Toute Beauté, to grab some lunch, stroll around Old Montreal and to sit down and chat over some Starbucks. Here are some photos I took (and posted to Instagram) with my old camera phone. One more post to go before my photos improve!

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11th Annual Défilé Logis Rose-Virginie

When you attend as many as four fashion events in a week and no fewer than three in a month, over the course of at least one year, a lot of them tend to blend together in your mind. We have a surprising amount of fashion designers in Montreal, especially given the textile industry's decline here but, with that many fashion shows staged on a regular basis, you start to see the same designers, and sometimes the same pieces, over and over again.

Once in a while, you attend a show and you are highly entertained and left craving more. It could be the production level, the presentation of the garments, the designs themselves, the way guests and media are treated or, when you're really lucky, you're wowed with a lovely mixture of each of these elements. In the last year, I'd say that the Astri Prugger show, last winter, and the Melissa Nepton show SS15 show were the ones that really blew my mind.

All of this, coupled with the horrible cold I had been battling for a week, was probably why, although I was quite happy to cover this event (for not one, but two blogs), I wasn't expecting it to be the life-altering experience that it was.

On November 5th the Logis Rose-Virginie hosted their 11th annual fashion fundraiser at the Windsor Ballrooms, on Peel Street. If you haven't already heard of this organization, I beseech you to click on the link. In all honesty, I had never heard of them before this year...

I was a street kid when I was seventeen, going from sleeping outside, by the Ottawa River and squatting in abandoned homes to living in a condemned building. I ate, showered and did my laundry thanks to a youth drop-in center and I experienced and witnessed things that, when recalled, leave me with the exhilarating feeling of feeling so grateful to be alive. For a year, I found a home, some stability and some peace. I moved to Toronto with a boyfriend, got a job and went to college. Then I got pregnant with my daughter and moved to Montreal. I was twenty years old, on welfare and five months pregnant. I let a string of negative people into my life, had my son less than two years later and found myself, at twenty-three, on welfare with a baby and a toddler, unable to afford my rent and bills. Knowing that I was about to lose my home, I placed my children with an aunt and uncle. Someone called child services on me, even though I had done right by my children, while I stayed with a friend and tried to find work and an apartment. I found a terrible flat, in Rosemont, and brought my lease and keys to child services just six hours before they were to revoke custody of my two children from me, despite the fact that I had always made sure they were clothed, fed, loved, happy and safe. I had never done drugs and I had never hurt my children but my pink hair and the fact that I wanted to be a fashion designer really irked my worker. The file stayed open for a year, while I constantly proved to these strangers that I could care for my children without looking like everybody else and aspiring to be an accountant or a nurse. I battled depression during this time and life had become my own hell.

Years later, when I had gone back to school, gotten a handful of great jobs and started to finally live with enough ease to ward off the blues and anxiety, I vowed that I would one day do something to help other single mothers. I thought it would be fantastic if I could get enough grants to fix up an old building so that I could provide mothers with a home and have 24/7 counselling available on site. I wanted to put a daycare on the ground floor so that nobody would have to run through snow banks to make it to class on time because their daycare, located three miles from their school, opened late or have to beg their teachers and/or employers to let them leave early so that they could spend food money on a cab to get their children before the daycare closes. I vowed that I would find a way to help and that if I could make sure that even one mom was spared the insanity that I had to live as I struggled to make it as a functional adult in what society now is, it would somehow make the memory of those times a good one.

...And so, I left my two-storey apartment, where I was working on my clothing collection and on my memoir, strong, confidant and at least one world away from the one I just described, finger curls in my hair and stiletto oxfords on my feet...

What a beautiful event this was! The open bar served up wine and cocktails and Le Pois Penché had prepared a delicious assortment of miniature foods, from crispy, baked shells laden with salmon tartare to a variety of maki to prosciutto and melon on batons. The air was festive as people bid on multiple items at the silent auction, had their fill of wine and mingled with new and old friends alike.

At eight o'clock, we took our seats and waited for the show to begin. As Caroline Codsi and Melanie Joly each took some time at the podium to inform people a bit more about who exactly they were helping out, I was floored. Logis Rose-Virginie houses women in crisis for up to three years, providing them with 24/7 counselling and setting them up with the tools they require to get through detox, keep mental illness under control, get custody of their children back, go back to school, find work, etc.

It had always been this idea I'd had for "one day, when my business is successful enough" or "when I've built enough that I can prove to people who give out grants that I can undertake this sort of project" and, as I went about improving my own life, it somehow never occurred to me that I could do something to help an organization that already does this. Le Chainon has been on my list for a long time but, as previously mentioned, I had yet to hear about Le Logis. And so, the very first thing I can do to help is to tell you about them.

Up next, two women who currently live at Rose-Virginie shared their testimonials. They were tales of mental illness, addiction, dropping out, loss of child custody and more. There was barely a dry eye in the room and, when the last woman to speak told us that, after five years of spending Christmas away from her three children, she would get to spend the holidays with them, this year, unsupervised, thanks to the year-and-a-half of hard work she's put in while with the organization, I had to stifle a sob. Both women got standing ovations and the whoops of encouragement from the crowd encouraged more calls of "Bravo!" and everyone was smiling and applauding loudly.

There was a fashion show. Iris Setlakwe opened by showing some of her existing designs, which were modeled by local businesswomen. Afterward, some gentlemen came out to model clothing sold by Europa, this season. They had everyone whistling and clapping as they danced, pointed, occasionally shook their bottoms and strutted up and down the catwalk. The show ended with bang as Iris Setlakwe gave us a look at her SS15 collection. If you want to know more about the fashion show itself and see a few photos from that part of the event, I welcome you to check out the piece I wrote for The Models' Coach. As much as I enjoyed the show, my heart was still swollen from what had come before and what I would like to do, and that's what remains at the forefront of my mind. You'll be reading more about Iris Setlakwe in just a bit, though, as I had the pleasure of hearing her speak, two days later.

You'll also be hearing more about Le Logis Rose-Virginie if I have anything to say about it. In a few months, I'll be launching a business that, among other things, will provide people with a fun way to donate to charity and, thanks to what I heard and saw on November 5th, I am putting Le Logis on the list of charities I will be helping out. You often hear of campaigns proclaiming that "fashion cares" and, once in a while, it really truly does! I urge you to buy a ticket to next year's event, as the 12th Défilé will be in celebration of Le Logis' 25th anniversary and don't worry about forgetting about it-- I'll remind you!

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Summer Recap. Part Three: When a Door Closes

(Posted on Wordpress September 29th, 2014)

When I returned from Cape Cod, my employer informed me that our persistence had paid off and that my position would finally become what it should have been from the start: A permanent one with benefits that offered job security. We had to follow official protocol, of course, and open the position up to externals, but it was just going to be a formality. I told my boss that if someone walked in and managed to wow her enough, during their half hour together, that she thought they should have the job that I had been occupying for the last twenty months, then they surely deserved it.

I took a week off from sewing as returning to the city, after a week of waves, wine, lobster, hiking and sunshine, was already hard enough and I knew the process at work would become stressful. Not even a week after that, I had my first major SVT episode in years. Normally, when this happens, and my heart is fluttering at an alarming 195 beats per minute, I lie down on the floor, take a deep breath, bear down and it slows down. This time, as I lay down and then paced frantically, in one of our conference rooms, I just couldn't get my heart rate down. The ambulance came and I was hauled off to the ER, where it took another three hours to slow my heart down, with the help of a beta blocker.

Many things can cause this for me and this time it was a little bit due to my new dosage of thyroid meds, for sure, but it was mostly due to stress. I wondered about this, while I dozed off on a gurney, in the corridor of Hôpital Hotel-Dieu. The ad campaign for the ss15 collection had already been shot, I'd just come back from nine days of vacation and had taken it relatively easy after this, I was on time with regards to everything else that had to be done for my clothing line and the kids were doing well. Sure, I was a little behind on launching the second business and writing gigs had completely dried up over the summer and I was stressed about securing my job, but that was in the bag. Everyone at work was sure of it and I just had to patiently wait because, before I knew it, I would have dental insurance for the kids and I, would be off to Tennessee for a five-day trip, in October, I would have six days off, paid, during the holidays, chair massages, $500 a year toward a gym membership and I would finally feel like I belonged where I was, 100%, and not with one foot aimed at the door, as a contractor.

Sadly, this episode occurred right before Fashion Week, which I had been looking forward to covering for this blog, and before my 60km Walk to End Women's Cancers. I lay on the couch or in my bed, winded at the mere thought of getting up to do anything. I was told it was normal, given what my heart had just gone through. I missed every fashion show and walked only 7 km over two days, basically meeting my mom a little bit before the finish line and crossing it with her, Saturday and Sunday.

I'm wondering now, based on the reaction I had when I was told the job would actually be going to someone else, if all of that was more about having to stay where I was than having to start over. I had made so many friends and the environment was such a pleasant one but, really, I was there so I could pay the bills and nothing more. Yes, the company could have been my ticket to relocating to Germany or Sweden in a couple of years but it wasn't guaranteed and that would have meant having to spend time studying in a field that isn't my preferred one. When it came down to it, I worked in a windowless space, performing uninspiring duties for a corporation that saw me a contractor and a number. When I found out I had to go, my shoulders dropped an inch and, try as I might (and I really did try!), I have not been able to cry about it. Two nights ago, I cried at the end of the Doctor Who episode, "Planet of the Ood" and then joked with daughter about how that could make me cry but the loss of my job still couldn't.

I took this from someone else's window, at work.

Yes, I always land on my feet, and this will be a distant memory soon enough, and I will miss the people I worked with but, in all honesty, this was the kick in the ass that I needed to move forward. The job market is better than I've ever seen it and, out of the fifty jobs I've applied for, I only feel apprehensive about a fifth of them. The most amazing thing is that, the one place I would have left my job for, had it been offered to me, called me, on Thursday. Whether or not I end up getting the amazing job in question, knowing that they dug my resumé and portfolio enough to call me and interview me over the phone, sent a gust of wind right into my sails. I will do my utmost to find work in fashion and/or media right now but, whatever happens, that's always where I'm headed and my portfolio will only get better.

My last day was Friday and I'm looking forward to a week of job hunting, sewing, re-organizing, weight-lifting and, of course, fashion shows. It's time to bump this blog to the next level and start covering all the events I had been writing about for others but doing so in the way that I choose to. I look forward to the next chapter in my professional life and to all of the writing that this whole situation will yield.

I took this after work on one of my last days. I bid the downtown rush hour madness farewell, for now.

Next up: Amazing thrift store finds, a handful of style guides, fashion and art show coverage and a sneak look at Madelaine Jakob's SS15 ad campaign.

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Summer Recap. Part Two: The Last Few Days in Cape Cod.

(Posted on Wordpress, September 23rd, 2014)

The kids, by far, enjoyed Coast Guard Beach the most. I must say that their mom did, too, despite having had her ass handed to her by the Atlantic Ocean. Sometimes getting smacked in back of the head by a large wave, causing your ears to ring and your vision to blur for a few moments is just what you need to start feeling alive again.

August 7th:

On the way to Coast Guard Beach

Beach evacuation due to incoming storm.

On our last full day in Cape Cod, we boarded a ferry at Hyannis and headed for Martha's Vineyard. Moments after disembarking, I was in love and vowed to return soon. We visited Historic Edgartown; I drank a most potent Bloody Mary so heavily garnished, it served as both aperitif and appetizer, I bought my now-favourite pair of sunglasses and some Black Dog tavern shirts for my daughter and I, we savoured homemade ice cream, thrifted a few fun pieces and we visited the Edgartwon Lighthouse.

August 8th:

Hyannis Port

Leaving Hyannis

Leaving Hyannis

One of the Black Dog shops

The infamous bridge featured in Jaws.

The Drink. The Seafood Shanty does not fuck around when pouring alcohol.

At the Seafood Shanty

Edgartown

Hisotric Edgartown.

Hisotric Edgartown.

Edgartown Lighthouse.

Edgartown Lighthouse.

It was with mixed emotion that I packed up my belongings and readied myself for the journey home. I had managed to sit still and breathe deep and, in doing so, had been flooded with inspiration for my aw15 collection. One morning, I sat out on the deck, the variety of birds lighting upon the feeders around me my only companions, and sketched out the last pieces for the collection. So, I felt accomplished and ready to move forward but I also felt like I really could have used another week to really center myself and continue connecting with my children and sister. Either way, it was time to go home and face my desk job, my messy apartment and my unfinished ss15 samples.

August 9th:

Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge.

Le Pont Champlain

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Shifting Over to WordPress

I'll probably continue posting the review series over here but then I feel that I'll be shifting all of my writing over to the new WordPress version of this blog.

You can expect a few more changes in the very near-future as it's time for me to kick this up a notch!

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My Latest Post for Vintage Maya

I've started a three-part series on shops that propagate vontage lifestyles in St-Henri: Part one.

Photo source: tonpetitlook.com

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Project Montréal

The kids and I are launching a project this spring. Most Montrealers only leave their 'hoods to go to work, to  scope out a mall or to go to a bar. Every neighbourhood is so unique while offering everything one could possibly need that people tend to stay put, especially after they've reached a certain age. And when not self-confined to a specific neighbourhood, people who live East of St-Laurent tend to not go further West than McGill and people on the other side tend to halt at St-Denis. Now that I no longer DJ or bartend and now that most of our lives are to the West of Peel, I have also fallen into this comfortable pattern.

Now there are a few things going on: I have to train for a 60 km walk, I've decided to leave Montreal in a handful of years and I'm realizing that my kids know nothing about 'hoods that aren't in Montreal's Southwest. Those reasons, along with the fact that my wanderlust grows on what feels like a daily basis, have lead me to set up Project Montreal.

I've made a list of different areas that includes a few very specific streets and attractions. At least once a month, starting next week-end, the kids and I will pick one of these out of a box, pack some snacks, dress appropriately and set out to explore whatever zone the luck of the draw has given us.

The deal is that, while there, we must learn a bit about the history of the place (this will probably entail me blabbing on to the kids, given that I used to giver tours of Montreal), we must sit down and eat at a local joint, we must visit three shops and we must walk around for at least a couple of hours. I'm thinking of adding one Geo Cache session per area, as well.

Seeing as this blog is becoming more of a lifestyle blog than a style blog (I don't think I'll ever be able to stand around in my backyard every day while my daughter snaps a photo just so I can show you what awesome threads I'm sporting), I will post about our adventures. This will, of course, depend on weather and other events but we have a few years to get this done so I'm in no rush!

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Week-End Round-Up (Or: The Swap Must Go On!)

On Saturday, I decided to ignore the ridiculous virus that had started it's attack on my body a few days prior. It was on this day that I had planned a clothing exchange and, come hell or high water, the swap must go on. I didn't score what I call a "wow piece" this time around but most of the girls did and so I was thrilled!

Claire, from South Side Soaps, was able to make it out, this time.

When only three of us remained I pulled out the bin of "clothes that will one day fit" and had the girls give it to me straight-up. I managed to get rid of a few pieces, both by giving them to my guests and by donating them to charity. It's amazing what some more wine and a few honest girls can help you work out. Here's my new chum Nova, in her new, cropped Forever 21 tuxedo jacket I only ever wore for a photo shoot, four years ago:

My daughter on the pile of leftovers, at the end of the night:

Some buttons I took from a vest I will be upcycling:

And this is how my sick self spent Sunday and yesterday:

Today I'm back in the office. I'm hoping I get a lot of my strength back soon as I have an article to submit and a clothing collection deadline that is fast approaching!

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Week-End Roundup (Or: A Fashion Show, A Listing That Almost Made it to Etsy and Some Country Air)

February is turning out to be an incredibly busy and unusually social month for me and I'm thrilled about this. It's during this month that I start to get rather antsy, with regards to winter and if I don't keep busy, I tend to get blue. Hopefully, if I keep my head down and push through all of the activities I have planned, I'll blink and it will be March. I used to dislike March too, until a few years ago when I started planning trips during that time or for the first week of April. Two years ago I went o Jamaica, last year I was in New York City and this year I'll be in Las Vegas. But, before I take this tangent and run any further with it, this is what last week-end looked like:

Friday night I covered an event on behalf of Naiade for The Models' Coach. It started late, ran later and was kind of a mess but the photographer was good company and I was happy to be in my element. While waiting (and waiting) for the show to start, I cupped my balls in one hand and, with the other, wrote to a beautiful boy I've known online for a while and asked him out for a beer. He quickly and happily said yes and I must admit the exchange helped me ignore my mounting impatience.

Saturday morning, before listing some dia de los muertos cushion covers I made on Etsy, I decided to post them on facebook. Two people expressed a desire to purchase them and so they have yet to go up on the shop.

Midday, my stepdad came around with a rented SUV and we all piled in and headed up North for some quality time with my mom's three brothers and their families.

After a loud and enjoyably emotional dinner and much wine, I got geared up for the great outdoors and began my tipsy march down the hill behind my uncle's house, to the skating rink he and his boys work so hard to upkeep every year. On my way down, I thought about all of the times I had loudly proclaimed that my next boyfriend would not be a closed-minded Quebecer who can't wrap his head around the world beyond our borders and I knew something had changed within me. While I do want someone in my life that is worldly and accepting of other cultures, a part of me realizes that he'll either have to be able to relate to this side of my family or be incredibly open-minded as, for the first time in my life, I realize that that is important to me. There are two completely legitimate sides to me, when it comes to culture and, while I would greatly appreciate finally dating someone I can take out to a seven-course meal, who can hold his own throughout intelligent and stimulating conversation, who is well-read, who gets my Monty Python references and my dry humour, it dawned on me that he's also going to need to go with the flow when my French-Canadian family lets loose. I'm not saying he has to be from here but, for a moment, I thought of how nice it would be bring someone to my uncle's house for the first time and not have to spend hours explaining and possibly consoling. Whatever happens happens but this is what I was thinking as I made my way down to get my ass kicked by my daughter, sister and cousins on the rink.

The next morning, I took some time to head back down and snap a few photos with my phone.

On the way back, I thought about the family I'd be estranged from for a large chunk of my life and about how freeing it was to open my heart to them again. Looking around the table at all these kids who look like mine and like me and reminiscing about the great times I had with these guys when I was a child made a huge difference in my life and I've been feeling it since. This may be the understatement of the year but having kin is important and I'd spent so many years defiantly preaching about my friends being the family I've chosen that I'd overlooked the fact that I could one day work shit out with these guys and have this big, beautiful, loud, funny, loving clan of my own, after all.

I came home to a gorgeous snow-covered trees. My daughter and I spent the afternoon sorting through some more of our things and relaxing.

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