BIJOU LIVING

Old Fashioned Granola Recipe

2025-11-18T08:54:00.000-08:00

here's how to make classic granola - image Stacy Reynaud

It's $20 for 500 grams of granola on Hornby. Why?

I made my own. Nothing fancy, just old-fashioned granola.

It's vegan if that makes any difference.

Granola lasts about two weeks in an airtight container.

Buy a vacuum sealer, and you can keep it for six to eight months! I just bought this one, and I love it.

INGREDIENTS

4 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
6 tablespoons each of pecans, pumpkin seeds, almonds*
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cardamom
1/3 cup coconut oil (melted)
1/4 cup agave syrup
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract

STEPS

Preheat oven to 300 F.
Grease a large baking pan (I use vegan butter).
Mix the oats, pecans, brown sugar, salt, cinnamon and cardamom in a large bowl.
Combine the oil, agave, and granulated sugar in a small saucepan.
Bring to a simmer; immediately remove from the heat and stir in vanilla.
Pour over the oat mixture.
Stir well until thoroughly combined.
Spread in the prepared baking pan.
Bake until golden brown - between 25-30 minutes - stirring every 8-10 minutes.
Transfer the pan to a rack and let cool completely*

* I soak my pecans and almonds in water for a few hours and then bake at 250 F for 50 minutes. If you do this, too, remember that the nuts are already cooked and burn when you put them in the oven again for 30 minutes. I learned the hard way!

* Because we're using coconut oil, the granola sticks together quite well (coconut oil solidifies when cool). I let my granola cool for about an hour, then use a spatula to lift it out of the pan and break it up.

Doused in Mud Soaked in Bleach

2025-05-21T23:32:00.000-07:00

My home on Hornby Island

Come doused in mud, soaked in bleach

As I want you to be

As a trend, as a friend

As an old memoria

- Kurt Cobain, Come as You Are

It was Christmas Eve, and I wanted to dress up. I knew it'd be my cat Flo's, and possibly my Dad's, last Christmas, but something in me wanted to get dressed up,

Only a few pairs of socks and a black nightie (just in case), made it into my unfastenable duffel bag for my two-week stay, and here I was on week 30—two.

Wearing the same fucking thing:

✅ men's vintage jeans - six sizes too big

✅ thrifted wool Acne sweater – heavily repaired

✅ burgundy fast-fashion toque – stretched out

✅ men's 50-year-old dead duck down coat – shedding feathers

✅ hiking boots - muddy

I was as dumpy and worn out as my clothes.

I can't remember if I was wearing the fake fur coat when I took off from Vancouver nine months prior or if I'd shoved it into my conveniently unfastenable bag while I ran out my door. Probably the latter.

Well whatever, it now hung on a hook-shaped piece of driftwood that my Dad drilled into the wall beside my front door—the summer before all this shit happened.

Pacificnorthwest accountrement

My fuck this, I don't give a shit anymore attitude wasn't fully developed yet at nine months in, but it was strong enough to construct a whatever; I'm going to dress up and find some people to stand around with.

That dusty fake fur was the dressiest thing I had on that island of woe.

I thought about styling the dust catcher up with my little black nightie, long johns and hiking boots—and since grunge never died on Hornby...

Too friggin cold.

Scratched that.

Agh Go.

I wiped off my boots and grabbed the dusty coat on the way out the door. I was headed to Ringside to see if I could find some humans.

Ringside's Hornby's version of downtown and is located at the Island's only four-way stop. It consists of six vibrantly painted hand-built caravans organized in a circle - hence Ringside - a conglomerate of local artisan wares, tie-dyed tourist crap, seasonal tacos, and city-priced coffee. It's also a dependable spot where locals gather for rumours and news. You go to the gravel gas lot to find out where to get an iron clawfoot tub, but if you want to know whose nephew is sleeping with Helene's daughter, you go to Ringside.

The past nine months were difficult for everyone on the Island. The Co-op grocery constantly ran out of food and supplies, people were divided by medical beliefs, and the winter hurricane winds had started early.

As usual, I wasn't sure what I'd encounter beyond my gated yard, but I hoped it was humans.

Walking across the gravel lot, I was greeted by social anxiety. I wasn't the only one who'd made the Christmas Eve pilgrimage. Ringside was packed. Folks dressed up in moth-eaten fur coats from the free store, Halloween top hats, silver Christmas boas from that box up in the rafters and the most outlandishly wacked array of Christmas accoutrements.

Some stood alone,

others in pairs,

but most looked

awkward

and uncomfortable.

It was a gathering of misfits, bound by our haphazard Christmas finery, an unbeknownst faith and resilience only a few will ever know.

We'd pulled ourselves together in whatever way we could and left the isolation of our homes. Drawn together by a tradition that not many of us followed in the hopes of finding another suffering human in search of compassion.

It takes courage to come out from behind a wall of isolating depression—IYKYK

Although I didn't talk to anyone on Christmas Eve, sharing the presence of other raw souls was more than enough.

The Back 40

2024-09-15T10:14:00.000-07:00

my back 40

The wind's cold on my face, but I won't go inside until I feel the chill deep within my cheeks.

Stoke the fire,

drink hot chocolate,

snuggle with my cat, and

watch the birds from the bed beside the window.

Dark-eyed Juncos snacking on Salal berries,

Spotted Towhees kicking up dry leaves and

Rufous Hummingbirds fighting over the last flower on the Oregon grape.

fireside good times 2020

My yard's my sanctuary.

The cedars and firs protect me,

hold me,

and help me heal.

Because

there are

arms

to fall

into.

me in my yard 2019

My first autumn on the island was spent clearing my land by hand—the Back 40. I planned to build some raised vegetable beds and live off the land as much as possible.

I wasn't sure exactly how to make those beds or where I'd get the soil, but that's what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, the only yard tools I had were a rotting pick axe I found in the bushes and a metal lawn rake left by the previous owners.

back 40 after a few hours pulling crap out - Fall 2019

trying to figure out how to make a raised bed

The Back 40 was about half an acre filled with:

rocks

sandy soil

4 ft tall bracken ferns

salal

huckleberry

blackberry

dandelion and

garter snakes

before

the finished product - rocks are under the Fir tree top right

There were a lot of rocks on my property: giant slabs of conglomerate, perfectly round stones, and large boulders.

I'd choose the spot I'd work on that day by the rock I tripped over.

Trip

Curse

Kick

Dig

I'd spend the day digging the rocks out.

First, I'd kick them to see what I was dealing with,

and then I'd kick them some more because it felt good.

The work - physically draining but emotionally satisfying.

one of my few tools

Once I could see more of the rock, I'd try to pull it out with my stinky work glove-clad hands. If that didn't work, I'd use the head of the pick axe—whose handle broke off the first time I used it.

Sometimes, the rocks were hidden by thick Salal bushes. In which case, once the snakes vacated, I'd start cutting the Salal back to grab hold of its roots and pull it out while briefly considering business opportunities in Salal distribution.

stinky work gloves in Spring

My buddy Dave warned me not to try and pull the Salal out.

Stace, you can't win against Salal.

I didn't listen. No matter how many times I tried, I failed.

Salal has a deep and wide root system.

Most of the time I'd end up in a tug of war and on my ass.

Root system still intact.

Clearing the rocks became an obsessive challenge.

the back 40 after I pulled out the ferns, salal and threw rocks

adhd hyperfocused back 40 after I was done with it

When the day's battle with the Salal and the rocks came to an end, I'd throw the rocks under the tallest tree on my property—the Douglas fir, which stood over 100 feet tall and whose top twinkled like a star on a Christmas tree when the setting sun caught it just right.

Sometimes, I'd pretend I was a shot putter; other times, I was back on the softball field, and even more times, I was hurling balls of fire.

Overhand

Underhand

Hurl

I threw the rocks with my eyes closed.

Occasionally, over my shoulder for luck.

With each rock I threw, I released a stuck memory.

The flat clap of the rock hitting another signified success.

I never saw where they'd land, and the thick Salal surrounding the tree hid the pile.

I'd consider future inhabitants of the land pondering the meaning of all the rocks piled under the tree.

Is something buried there?

Yes.

The Back 40 after I cleared it and put in the beds and firepit

Summer Breeze

2024-09-11T12:12:00.000-07:00

My Kitchen in Kits 2018

I feared falling into depression again.

It'd been almost a decade since my last episode.

I avoided everything that might trigger one.

I stepped around it, turned my back, and disassociated.

And then it hit.

It was a beautiful late afternoon in July, around dinner time.

I was washing dishes in the kitchen of my shithole yet perfect Kitsilano rental.

My outstretched arms were warm from the gentle breeze

that danced through

the pink sequined fabric

I'd hung over the window above the sink.

It was my favourite time of day.

That time of day, my two cats watched me disappear while

I'd transport myself into the lyrics of Seals and Crofts' Summer Breeze.

Love is Patient; my kitchen rock. Kitsilano 2018

The sunlight shone perfectly through

the horizontal window beside the hundred-year-old back door,

throwing sunbeams on my giant philodendron,

bouncing off the copper pots that hung on a rack from the ceiling and

landing on stacks of pottery I'd just retrieved from the kiln – all inspired by him.

Kitsilano 2018

Seemingly, out of nowhere, my body gave in, and

I collapsed to my knees on the floor beside the stove.

The sunlight disappeared.

The needle dragged heavily across the song playing in my head,

and everything stopped.

My reflection grabbed me through the baked-on grease of the oven door,

I looked myself in the eyes and listened as

the song's lyrics were thrown in my face.

Solarium, Kitsilano 2018

He's not going to see the newspaper layin' on the sidewalk

while a little music plays from the house next door;

he's not going to walk on up to the doorstep

through the screen and across the floor.

He won't come home from a hard day's work - because he doesn't work.

And his arms definitely won't reach out to hold me when the day's through.

This is make-believe.

Nannie's Guitar, Kitsilano 2018

This is reality.

You let him in the front door late at night

on Thursdays and Sundays,

you share a few puffs in the solarium,

you go for a walk on a star-filled beach,

you talk about things only you two can talk about,

you both do all you can to remain detached,

you come home,

you fuck -

like only you two can fuck,

and he leaves.

Stop living in a fantasy.

Jared, Kitsilano 2018

And with that, I curled into a fetal position amongst

the crumbs and random sticky stuff on the old pine floor

and wailed.

I know my neighbours heard me because their BBQ chatter went quiet.

I respect that they allowed me my privacy -

they knew what I was going through.

The kitchen floor, me, Tilley and Flo

Tilley and Flo - my two cats

Not deterred by my sobs and hiccups,

my cats came over to the sack of me on the floor and

stuck their noses in my wet eyes.

They snapped me out of my mindlessness and

I conjured up enough strength to crawl to the washroom and puke.

Exhausted.

My forehead pressed against the cold base of the toilet.

My cheek cooled by the tile floor.

My eyes focused on dust bunnies under the claw foot tub I loved so much.

My thoughts twinkled like birthday sparklers, then exploded amongst epiphanies.

I didn't cry during the depressive episodes of my past because

my brain was stuck in a sludge of darkness.

I was too numb to move.

A broken soul covered with a shell of a human.

A vase I made and a sandpiper skull, Kits 2018

Although I felt like a shell of myself lying there on the cold floor,

I found solace in the realization I wasn't depressed.

I was living a moment in time.

An experience,

a situation.

A moment that one day would be over, and

far enough in the past that I could

see it as a distant memory.

me in the wildfire pollution Summer 2018 Kitsilano

That beautiful late afternoon in July, when I was

washing dishes in a warm summer breeze is a memory now.

I can watch it like a movie in my mind, and

I can write about it.

Not all shit experiences are lessons.

They're simply shit experiences. They aren't meant for anything.

There's no need to be bitter. To get drunk, high or angry.

But there are a lot of reasons to be strong.

I crawled through my soul's darkest nights until I had the strength to stand.

Sometimes, I lay collapsed on my stomach

between the thresholds of darkness and light,

convinced it was the end.

But then something inside me would flicker—and I'd get up again -

and again.

The realization I'd been living in a fantasy was the start of my healing.

Little did I know that fully healing meant metaphorically dying.

Voodoo

2024-08-26T11:11:00.000-07:00

We got together at Dave’s Halloween party, and he died in an avalanche in Whistler in March.

I was briefly living in Kelowna.

He was living in Whistler.

We knew each other for years. We were in the same scene if you will.

Steep runs,

deep powder

and

adrenaline.

Both of us painfully shy and awkward,

too timid for anything beyond a nod and a “Hey.”

The Halloween party was loud –

there was some thrash band –

and clumps of people I’d never seen before.

I stood against the back wall,

fur-clad with leather pants and a crotched bikini top.

He approached me from out of the shadows.

“We’re supposed to be together,” he motioned his hand at us.

He was fur-clad, with tight leather pants and shirtless.

Rock and roll wallflowers guarding the nearest exit.

Shortly thereafter, we were at my place making “rock star nachos.”

And shortly after that, I was stopped short by a huge Hendrix tattoo on his right shoulder.

He stayed with me for a few days.

We listened to music,

played air guitar to Hendrix,

laughed nonstop

and had a glorious time.

He was tender, corny, polite and beautiful.

We made plans for Spring when I’d move back to Van.

But he died before it could happen.

I often think of that Hendrix tattoo; the first time I saw it,

his beautiful smile,

and our Spring that never happened.

Last night, I dreamt of him.

We were riding bikes and had stopped at a crossing.

He leaned over to me and whispered,

“I’m going to die soon.”

But I already knew.

Milky Way

2024-06-17T08:07:00.000-07:00

Darren asked me,

Were you ever scared?

It was the first time anyone asked me that question, and I had to think about it.

I certainly had to be scared a few times – but I couldn't remember any.

I did, however, remember the moment I realized that fear is an illusion.

It was about 3 in the morning. I woke up and decided I wanted to sit outside.

I'd sat on my deck at night but never further than my wifi would allow.

Because I like using the Sky Guide app

That night, I woke with an urge to sit on the cold,

late September ground in the back 40.

The Milky Way usually

hung above my yard like a mobile,

its purply blue halo dripping trails of twinkling silver,

but tonight, it was absent—

I gazed up beyond the layers of stars to infinite black dust.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed shadows of various shades of black brush by me.

I focused, and they were all around me—

moving like the employed on a noon-hour sidewalk.

Warm rhythms of air moved through the cold,

and I fought the urge to get up and run.

I thought about orgasms,

the exhilaration of waiting and the ecstasy of release.

I fingered my memory for a quote from Poe but only came up with Shakespeare.

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

I pushed myself to stay – to wait and see what would happen.

I sat in the night as the shadows moved over and around me.

didn't

exist.

I envisioned my heavily treed property in the daylight.

I rationalized—these aren't bears or rapists or cougars because

there are no predators on the island.

I hypothesized the viability of shadows thrown on a moonless night.

I concluded that what I was experiencing was the unknown.

How could I fear it if I didn't know what it was?

Fear, therefore, was irrational, an illusion.

There's nothing to fear but fear itself.

Instead of running, I waited, embraced the unknown and released my fear.

I was overcome with emotion—ecstasy of the purest form.

Shadows dance beyond the depths of darkness.

My friend came to stay with me for some October 31st shenanigans.

We sat around the fire in my backyard until the last ember burned

and the treetops melted into the night sky.

On our way back to the cabin, the shadows emerged.

I didn't say anything.

Dude, what the fuck is that? Seriously, what the fuck!

I still smile thinking about that night.

That's the unknown. Just welcome it in and ride it out.

My bunkie at night

Blackberry Mojito Recipe

2020-08-25T14:21:00.002-07:00

What to do with blackberries?

Make blackberry syrup,

then make a blackberry mojito!

Last year, I spent two days cutting down blackberry vines in my yard. This year, they're back in full force. I read that dumping boiling water on the roots will kill them, but I haven't tried this yet.

I'm trying to live off my land as much as possible this summer - I have blackberries everywhere - they're food, might as well eat them - or drink them!

Here's how to make a blackberry mojito. I adapted Natalie's recipe from Tastes Lovely and Dana's recipe from Minimalist Baker to suit my taste.

INGREDIENTS

2 oz rum
2 oz blackberry syrup
soda water
7-10 mint leaves
1/2 lime (quartered)
1 cup crushed ice

INSTRUCTIONS

Grab a highball glass
Add mint leaves, lime wedges, rum and blackberry syrup.
Muddle with the base of a wooden spoon if you don't have a muddler.
Make sure the limes are muddled and the juice is squished all through that goodness.
Stir it up a bit.
Add crushed ice.
Top with soda water and garnish with a wedge of lime.

Stir it up from time to time as you're cocktailing - it keeps the melting ice flavoured with the blackberry mint lime rum goodness!

Check out my Pinterest for more cocktails.

A DECADE OF BIJOU LIVING

2018-04-26T10:07:00.005-07:00

silk moth in a jelly moon Hornby 2018

A decade—ten years—sounds like a long time. I don't really have any concept of time—it's either "now" or "not now." I live in the moment—the adhd posse will relate.

Bijou Living started ten years ago, on May 5, 2008. I started writing to share cool things, give tips/techniques, and journal my thoughts and feelings. Where have I been since my last post?

Life happens...

2016

divorce

California

start pottery

soul searching

old love, new heartbreak

good friends

laughter

peace

2017

happiness

inspiration

closure

confidence

laughter

sensuality

love

gratification

peace

Jan - Apr. 2018

achievement

stamina

good friends

soul searching

peace

...

Leslie, at The Bloomerie (Arbutus and 12th), saw my pottery on Instagram and contacted me to purchase some pieces. Donald Yim saw my pottery at the Bloomerie and called me for an interview. Here's the fun video we did!

The soundtrack most definitely steals the show...

January 2018 saw the first major retrospective of Thomas Kakinuma's ceramic art, and I'm proud to have been involved in it.

Remember my Kakinuma post ten years ago? The Kakinuma family reached out to me in 2015 as they'd read the post. We met shortly after, and a beautiful friendship has evolved.

May 26, 2018 - I'll be selling my studio pottery (my work) as part of a small conglomerate of West Van potters (there are only 16 of us). We'll be at the West Van Community Centre from 10 to 3. You can view what I'll be selling on my Instagram. Please come say hi—I'll tell you the story behind each piece.

I'm locked out of my Facebook. I post regularly on Instagram, head on over that way - Instagram - Stories is where I share the behind-the-scenes stuff. Chat later, Stacy ✌🏻

check check one

2016-04-30T11:32:00.005-07:00

Please come visit me on Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest and Etsy.

April 2016 - In French they say, 'Je suis fatigué'. Fatigué is a good word to describe the state of my inspiration over the past year - or in English, fatigued. My inspiration feels frightened. An inspiration that needs to be coaxed out of hiding and tenderly guided into the dawn of a new land.

I'm just getting revved up. I'll be in LA for the month of May hangin' with my cousin's cat Wes. Taking the PCH down from San Francisco and chillin' the heck out. Lunch reservations at Chez Panisse, helping out a friend at the Rose Bowl Flea Market, night viewing of the Stahl Residence, and dropping by my old Alma Mater the Pickwick Vintage Show on May 29th - stoked about that - I can shop it this time, (for crazy lady in Vancouver clothes).

Here's a checklist of what I've been pondering as of late:

Fashion - the elderly Chinese ladies of Vancouver (per usual), Incredible String Band, and a smidgen of Hole (MTV Awards 1995). Hey, I've met quite a few guys in Vancouver lately with great style. There's Jacob over at Nordstrom (near the Chloe bags), Nigel at Gravity Pope and Mohammed who was at Gravity Pope but is now at Blanche MacDonald. If you're into men's street style go check out the kids hanging out on their 10:30 smoke break in front of BCIT downtown then watch them drive off in their Maseratis and Bentleys at 3:30.

Architecture - There have been 787 demolition permits issued in the District of West Vancouver since 2010 - 174 in 2015 alone (population of West Van is 43,000). You know I left West Van in 2014 - or was it 2015? I left because I was frustrated by the mowing down of all the West Coast Modern homes. Well, turns out the District has voted unanimously to curb the size of McMansions. Here are the minutes of the meeting from December 2015. Too little too late in my opinion. The City of Vancouver issued 267 demolition permits in the first three months of 2016. If Mayor Gregor Robertson is tooting the greenest city horn - let's challenge him on the effect of the demolition cycle on landfills. I lived in Pt. Grey for six months (story in my next post). It was like a ghost town - no community, no neighbours hanging out in their yards shooting the shit, no cats rolling on the sidewalk, no sound of children playing in their yards. I moved eight blocks East and what a change! I was walking down Second last night and a group of people were having a glass of wine - they invited me to join them - I did!

That being said how long do you think this house two blocks over from me is going to sit vacant?

My friend @bijouliving has the raddest apartment. This sunroom is a dream. 😍 #apartmenttherapy #decor #bohemian #indoorplants #decorinspiration #personalstyle #70s #sunroom #designideas #designsponge #vancouver #vancouverbc

A photo posted by Dana Landon (@itsmydarlin) on Apr 27, 2016 at 7:11am PDT

Interiors - I moved again in February - four times in one year.

Music - I have some playlists up on YouTube if you want to check out what I've been listening to. Electric Moon, JJUUJJU, Federale, Moon Duo, A Place to Bury Strangers, Roy Harper, Bridget St. John, Magic Carpet and of course classical Indian music.

image via coding horror

Personal - Remember those Choose Your Own Adventure books from our childhood? I'll leave my adventure to you. Perhaps you've been following my other pages, perhaps you know my real adventure or perhaps I'm living vicariously through one you've chosen. Whichever - know this - everyone deserves a love story.

Design - I was contacted by the family of Thomas Kakinuma - the midcentury BC ceramicist that I've written about. They'd read a blog post I did and wanted to gift me a piece of his work. I went to their beautiful home and what's transpired is a wonderful friendship and a possible show at the UBC Museum of Anthropology (two year curation time but we're working on a small show in a different venue). You can see some of the images of his works I was able to photograph at his home posted over on my Facebook page.

Random - I've been so deeply moved by all the spiritually profound stolen images defaced with free hand font floating around my feeds. Please read this journal article On the Reception and Detection of Pseudo-Profound Bullshit.

Thanks for sticking around - I really value your readership!

Oscar Niemeyer Chaise Lounge

2015-08-11T14:46:00.003-07:00

Oscar Niemeyer Chaise Lounge images via R 20th Century

Originally published July 6, 2013.

Oscar Niemeyer made cool furniture as well as buildings? Of course, he did. Seems like most architects are also budding furniture designers (Frank Lloyd Wright, Ron Thom). Niemeyer passed away in December 2012 - 10 days short of his 105th birthday.

The Rio Chaise Lounge was designed in 1978 with his daughter, Anna Maria Niemeyer.

Features a bentwood frame, woven cane seat, and leather headrest pillow with weighted straps.

The image shown is a 2001 reissue for sale on 1st Dibs.

1978 original for sale at $28,000 in 2013

1978 original sold at auction for $22,000 in 2008

1978 original unsold at auction $5000 in 2003

Dining dilemma

2015-07-17T16:56:00.001-07:00

I've had at least five dining tables in the past ten years.

This is partly because I've moved six times in the past five years (and you've been with me for each one). What was purchased for one area only fits in one location.

This is what leaves me torn. I need a new table - again. I want to invest and get something I can keep from this day forward, but seeing as we rent, who knows what will happen?

Our last movers trashed our teak bedroom set, smashed most of my BC ceramics, broke my alabaster table, and gouged the top of my stump table with a six-inch crevasse.

What do I do? Of all those tables, our card table was the most versatile, and the size was right for each dining room. I should look for one of those old wooden ones.

If I had 'my own' dining area, it would go something like this:

Florence Knoll's oak or walnut-topped table.

or the Wegner CH002 table

"Oh, hi, we just look cool."

Jonathan Adler's Sputnik chandelier

Hoffman for Thonet cane back chairs

mixed with Wegner's Wishbone chairs

It's not in my dining area, but the Womb chair would be there.

Now I'm into the flax colour.

Good thing I didn't get the purple velvet one four moves ago!

Here's one of those card tables I just found on Craigslist.

Thirty bones and a "leather top" - too bad those fantastic chairs aren't included.

An Untouched 1970s A-Frame Wonder

2015-02-04T10:03:00.002-08:00

The Gienger Residence in West Vancouver is on the market for the first time.

The original owners/architects have lived in the home since 1971.

And what a beauty it is! Is that plush carpeting I see in the living room?

Look at the beautiful, unstained cedar walls and exposed beams.

The original copper pendant lights and a burl bar. I'd take the rope off the bar.

The original floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace and hand-carved beams.

Spiral staircase and original brick kitchen.

The floors may have been replaced with unfortunate laminate.

However, nothing appears to have been updated in the home, so it could be the original hardwood floor.

They're well cared for, as it looks like the rest of the house has been.

Are the burl table and chandelier included in the sale?

Sold me at the sunken purple bathtub! I'd rip that carpet out, though. Please, the carpet does not belong in the washroom. Gross. I'd put in a light-coloured heated stone floor of some sort.

There you have it. For more images, check out the realtor's website.

It would be a shame if the home was bought strictly to be torn down and replaced with the ever-popular West Van Baroque Craftsman.

Remember these little guys?

Hunky-dory

2015-01-16T12:51:00.001-08:00

So, how are things? Keeping yourself occupied and sane, I hope.

You know those, What I'd tell my younger self, posts you see everywhere? I won't do one of those because there's nothing I'd tell my younger self not to do. I had a very awesome time as a younger self. Yeah, there were moments I felt like I'd been thumped in the head by the cross-section of a large halibut, but whatever.

No regrets here! None. Zippo. Zilch.

That was my life, and I think it was awesome.

Remember back in the winter of 2013 when I was working with the doctors at the UBC Mood Disorders clinic? Well, I wasn't sold on their diagnosis (they actually couldn't determine between three), so I sought out a second opinion. After seven months of waiting to get in to see a specialist and four months of weekly appointments, which required I bring in some 'collateral' (my report cards from elementary school and high school), I was diagnosed with ADHD combined with a few episodes of major depression. I was misdiagnosed as bipolar back in 2013. I didn't think I was bipolar.

Apparently, it's common for bipolar and ADHD to get mistaken for each other. I never went on the drugs (lithium) the UBC doctor suggested. My family Dr. didn't feel the diagnosis was concrete enough either, so she didn't push it and helped me seek out a second opinion.

I'll tell you this, though, my ADHD was making me feel like I was going crazy because I had so many things going on in my head. Seriously, your mind really doesn't stop thinking. I've been taking Wellbutrin since 2009. My Dr. prescribed it for depression, and it slowed down all the talking in my head, which has helped me focus. Now I only have between six to eight things going on in there when it used to be between fifteen to twenty.

I'm still going to be working with the specialist (doing cognitive behavioural therapy) every week for who knows how long. My main concern is working on how not to fall back into depression or at least how to cope if I do. That's a dark and frightening place. Read H.P. Lovecraft's short story The Outsider; in my opinion, it's a good unintentional metaphor.

The thing about ADHD is you get bored quickly. Agh - so bored! One of the challenges is trying to remain 'responsible' when you just want to fuck off somewhere and do something new! I'm trying some new things for fun - strictly fun. Being responsible shouldn't have to eliminate fun. Ever notice it really pisses some people off when you have fun? Lighten up, for fuck's sake.

My fun things planned so far for January - April:

philosophy classes at UBC - okay, I dropped one already - Metaphysics and Epistemology. I dropped it nineteen years ago too! Now, I'm taking one - Philosophy of Mind with Evan Thompson. I'm taking it because it's in line with my train of thought over the past year, and I want to write about it. I'm thinking about going on to do my Masters but who knows. I already have a UBC degree in History.
check this one out - a creative writing workshop this weekend, How to Write a Romance Novel. Haha! Might as well! Think of the people I'll meet! I'll tell them my genre is Space Erotica.
spa day at Willow Stream with my friend - how normal? Not really - not for me, at least! I don't like people touching me, so I'm strictly using the steam room, sauna, hot tub and cocktail menu. Shit, I just realized I don't own a bathing suit. To tell you the truth, I'd be more comfortable nude than in a bathing suit.
short story - I'm pulling together something around quantum consciousness, the macabre and utopia

Okay, I will tell my younger self something. Don't make one of those stupid lists of things to tell your younger self when you're older.

Live well and live now.

West Vancouver Home Demolition Before and After

2014-12-16T09:32:00.001-08:00

Do you remember this beautiful old gal with solid bones and amazingly restored hardwood floors? I posted about her back in November 2013.

Well, this is what replaced her.

And to think, the contractor told me the new home 'wasn't going to be that big.'

Quote of the Week - H.P. Lovecraft

2014-11-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

image stacy reynaud

I have frequently wondered if the majority of mankind ever pause to reflect upon the occasionally titanic significance of dreams and of the obscure world to which they belong. Beyond the Wall of Sleep

Suggestions For The Business Wardrobe

2014-11-24T14:00:00.001-08:00

I was recently contacted by a gentleman who is changing careers.

He's confident in his decision but not his current wardrobe.

He asked for some suggestions on where to start.

These tips are gender-neutral!

Let's start here:

Know what you like and what you don't like—what suits you and your style of living. This particular individual didn't want a baggy suit. He liked the mod suits from the '60s but not the super skinny trousers. He told me he liked Diplo's suits, Booth's suits from Bones, and Terrence Stamp's suits (see my post on his classic look here).
Know your clothing's priorities and each day's sartorial demands. Meetings, luncheons, golf (an unfortunate part of business, my apologies to golfers), and the cursed casual Friday. You want to be sharp and dressed appropriately for each. What are the corner offices wearing? Take cues from them and notch it up by one.
Versatility. Maintain a flexible wardrobe. In my retail days, we were taught the foundation of the fashion equation, 2+2+2+5 (Men = two trousers, two ties, two jackets, five shirts. Women = two skirts, two trousers, two jackets, five tops).
You want to be known for your unique ideas - that being said, limit it to one unique idea per outfit.

Originally published December 20, 2010.

A (Bed) Room of One's Own

2014-11-05T10:53:00.001-08:00

Master Bedroom Boyd House Architect Ron Thom image by Stacy Reynaud

I brought up the topic of separate bedrooms this morning, only to be greeted with, 'Should we each have our own house, too?' Geesh, sensitive.

Architectural trends reflect our culture, but how far do these trends reflect our instincts?

My first thought was that the shared bedroom is a socioeconomic thing—lots of money = lots of house. Not so much money = not so much home.

You know what I'm talking about, so let's not go into tiny house living choices or the cost of a 435 s.f. apartment in Vancouver because I'm simply talking about the concept of the shared bedroom.

My second thought - brought into fruition by a comment regarding prudery - is an image of a lovely Homo erectus couple snuggled up under a muskox blanket in front of their amber-hued, crackling cave fire. The shared bedroom now becomes a mammalian instinct.

Stay warm, stay safe, and have sex (in whichever preferred order).

My next thought - is Lucy and Ricky's bedroom - sure, it was fictional (somewhat), and they were shown in separate beds due to TV regulations of the 1950s. Still, I'd argue that it was actually the result of the continuous evolution of Western socioeconomic and mammalian instinctual concepts.

Okay, let's leave it at that - I want my own bedroom, and ignorance is bliss.

Wallpaper is Wallpaper

2014-10-31T10:08:00.001-07:00

The other night, I dreamed of wallpaper. Well, not really. It was actually an image during a little gong meditation journey I was on. Eighties lovers sculpture comes to life in a Fauvist equatorial rainforest (think Henri Rousseau). The backdrop was impressive, and I want wallpaper like it! It was so vivid that I felt I must've seen it before.

I'll leave the philosophy of consciousness dialogue alone right now.

Similar vibe to this Rousseau painting.

It was black with sparsely placed tropical leaves but not palm fronds.

More like ficus leaves

and they were electric green.

This pair of tights is pretty close.

But on a larger scale.

This shirt actually might be a closer fit than the tights, but without the flowers and more vibrant green.

Whatever, it was a rewarding journey, and I'll get hit with deja vu soon enough.

PS I hate how wallpaper isn't wallpaper anymore - according to search engines.

Another West Vancouver Significant Home Demolition

2014-10-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

Dan White House Orchard Way West Vancouver image stacy reynaud

I'm in a dysfunctional relationship - with West Vancouver. I moved out of West Van in July. I was getting too bitter about the clash of ideas concerning housing, being ripped off in rent, and all the bloody traffic on Marine Drive. Well, I'm moving back.

Turns out I'm not the only one that's getting fed up, though:

West Vancouver Council moved unanimously to commence community consultation and draft a bylaw addressing form and character in West Vancouver homes. Jeremy Shepherd, North Shore News.

You can watch the 'boisterous' council meeting on video and read the full meeting agenda from October 20th here.

Thanks to Brent Richter's Twitter feed for bringing this meeting to my attention.

I touched on this topic in February 2014 when West Van held its first public Info Session. What came from the Info Sessions were recommendations from West Vancouver's Manager of Community Planning, Stephen Mikicich. You can read those recommendations from June 2014 here.

So, back to the title of the post. Which significant home is gone? Well, it's Dan White's Vernacular Orchard Way home that I've posted many times about (search Dan White at the top of the search box). Mr. White is also the architect of the Museum of Vancouver just finished a retrospective on.

I can't help but see the correlation between what's happening in West Vancouver and what Alan Weintraub and Alan Hess discuss in their book Forgotten Modern: California Houses 1940-1970.

Except for a few hometown architects (Whitney Smith, Harwell Hamilton Harris) and a few stray writers and professors (Jean Murray Bangs, Jack Hillmer, Esther McCoy), almost no one knew of them, [Charles and Henry Greene], except as relics of the past (Hess 2007, 8).

Dan White's Orchard Way Vernacular once stood here.

view from Mathers Ave.

Ingrid Bergman on the kiss

2014-09-19T10:38:00.002-07:00

photo from the collection of Stacy Reynaud

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech

when words become superfluous.

Not Even Mortuary Chic - a rant

2014-09-17T11:01:00.001-07:00

Don't get me wrong—I love black clothes. It's dressing conservatively in black that kills me.

This is my second week back to work after two months off. My sparkles, velvet, embroidery and leopard print have moved to the back of my closet. My amber resin is sealed; I'm scentless, senseless and back in black. An outsider among my kind, shoved by the man to the sidelines, left to yearn for that which I know, that of which I can now only admire from the sidewalks of East Pender. Hear my cry, eccentric ladies of Chinatown, for it is you that I owe my inspiration (and Mr. Marc Jacobs, never you mind what I speak of).

Three things I ask myself when I shop for my everyday clothes:
Would Kate Moss wear that?
Would a crazy Chinese lady wear that?
Was it made before 1990?

Three things I ask myself when I shop for work clothes:
Is it black?
Would Grace Coddington wear that?
Would Kim Gordon wear that to a funeral?

We have paid our dues and have earned the right to tart ourselves up like circus performers, burlesque queens or pole dancing hoochies (and that's just the men). We have earned our right to wear an electric-blue silk-satin blouson. Simon Doonan on ageing. ELLE Decoration October 2014

So, on this rainy day in September, I'll pull out my vintage, oversized, full-length, purple leather jacket I bought this summer and wear it with basic, boring black knowing damn well I'd rather be wearing it topped with my black felt hat, vintage embroidered Thai blouse, black brocade trousers and Officine Creative boots.

Here's some fabric inspo for you! Now go find some new pants!

Costco Couture

2014-09-08T23:18:00.002-07:00

I've written 1374 opening paragraphs for this post, and they're all turning into novels! So here it is, to the point. When you're performing professionally in front of hundreds of people don't wear your Costco jeans and old man dumpy shirt. You may think by dressing that way you're incognito and not attracting attention to yourself but frankly you are - a dumpy outfit stands out more than a well presented one.

So, I've pulled together a few inspiration looks from the Fall 2014 runway for you - now this is strictly inspiration and if I were shopping for you, you know it would be 100% vintage.

Showing some effort is hot.

Carven

Dolce & Gabbana

Emporio Armani

Ermenegildo Zegna

Fendi

Gucci

Hermes

Joseph

Maison Martin Margiela

Neil Barret

NHoolywood

Paul and Joe

Saint Laurent

Todd Snyder

Valentino

Carven

Kenzo

Quote of the Week - Leonard Cohen

2014-08-25T09:30:00.000-07:00

from the collection of Stacy Reynaud

There are always meaningful songs for somebody. People are doing their courting, people are finding their wives, people are making babies, people are washing their dishes, people are getting through the day with songs that we may find insignificant. But their significance is affirmed by others. There’s always someone affirming the significance of a song by taking a woman into his arms or by getting through the night. That’s what dignifies the song. Songs don’t dignify human activity. Human activity dignifies the song.

more Cohen from the same interview here

Trend Spotting - The Equipale Chair

2014-08-18T13:44:00.001-07:00

In 2012, I spotted some equipale furniture in a late 60s decorating mag. This Mexican handmade leather furniture has been popping out at me right, left, and centre within the last month. Traditional Equipal furniture is handcrafted from tanned pigskin and cedar or rosewood strips. Each piece is unique; like all unwaxed, natural leather will improve with age.

Take a look at the different styles. I can't decide which one I like the best - probably the lounge chair and peacock chair (of course).

images via

greenweddingshoes
bijouliving
salvationtaco
jessicacollins laceandlikes makemodelnashville
kimberlygosnell
joeyrandall

10 Ideas for Living Windows

2014-08-06T16:42:00.001-07:00

Cynthia Wood

A million years ago (2009, actually), I did a post on How to Accent Windows - let's consider this post the 2014 version. Vintage paned windows are perfect for framing your plant collection for indoor and outdoor appreciation.

Marion Berrin

Make sure you pull the dead stuff off - that is, of course, if they're dried flowers. If you follow feng shui decorating practices, make sure you keep the energy fresh and the meaning special - don't let the dried plant simply become a dust collector/clutter.

Esther

Have a less-than-ideal view? Use the plants as a living wall. They're much better than keeping the blinds down or the curtains closed.

viciouslycyd.tumblr.com

whimsicaljane

archisculpture

Lucky enough to have a window like this in your washroom? Block your sexy silhouette from the snoopy neighbours by hanging a plant in front of the window.

Ferns love the humidity from the shower; if your window is facing east, even better!

little upside down cake

Pamela Love

Trust Your Blood

Are indoor plants not your thing? Bring the outside in with a glass wall.

The Slant View

Strangely enough, plants love fluorescent light. Keep a little light above the plant in the evening to give it extra oomph in the dark winter months.