A nosy globetrotting designer that goes to the succulent part of any city’s heart and then gabs about it in peripatetic prose.

Writing for Luxe is a dream that I never dreamt of come true. I am usually the one that brings out strengths in my clients: coaxing ever so gently their most beautiful inner self in an outwardly manifestation of their higher beings. So when this formidable editor and writer with decades of experience with National papers came up to me at a Christmas party a few years back and told me I was on her very own shortlist of writers for a new upcoming luxury lifestyle magazine..my eyes must have bobbed right out of my cranium. Wouldn’t you know Janet Wilson had started following me on Instagram. Followed AND read me.
Which is not for the faint of heart as most of you will agree my proustian (boy my self-talk is on fleek today) run-on sentences are at worst boooooring and at best long-winded. Fact is, I write to amuse myself. I liken words to all the instruments I cannot play and try to compose a haphazard symphony at whim. I never thought anyone would read my long stories to the end. I meant IG to be a diary of sorts. One where my kids would actually be able to see that mom has more than “pick that up/ why isn’t that washed/ go take a shower/ have you brushed your teeth/ how did this break” in her vocabulary. I digress. Because I like to.
Janet introduced me in the first edition and let me run with it in the second where I wrote about Canadian artists in all mediums for Canada’s Sesquicentennial. However it was my new editor Pat den Boer who let me rip. She let me string out my sentences til the edge of the earth and fully express my (to be cont’).