We're over two weeks in to our winter sojourn, and the time is approaching where I need to write more than just blog posts. I have set a goal to write at least a draft outline of a novel this winter, and it isn't going to write itself! I am going to have to get serious, and soon.
Daily blogging is good for getting into the habit of regularly writing, but it's like wading in the shallows near the shoreline, versus the type of deep sea diving that a book would require.
Actually, writing a book would be more like "free diving" where you really plumb the depths, going straight down with no equipment on and just the supply of oxygen in your lungs. S.C.A.R.Y. Yet people do it.
To use the free diving analogy, I'm on the boat, the tropical water looks warm and inviting, I think I'm prepared enough to try, and I have help standing by if I run into trouble. So why am I not in the water yet? I guess it's the difference between thinking I can do it, and believing I can do it.
Since I can't force belief, I will engage the "willing suspension of disbelief" and focus on banishing thoughts that I can't do it.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Be Careful What You Wish For
New Year's Eve is approaching here on the Bay of Banderas, and we will be ringing in 2011 with friends at their beachfront hotel. There is a local tradition of bonfires being set ablaze up and down the entire beach, and people congregating to watch all the fireworks around the bay at midnight.
Last year, we were introduced to the ritual of writing down your wishes for the coming year on scraps of paper, and then setting them alight by throwing them on the bonfire - releasing them to the universe to be fulfilled.
On December 31, 2009 I wrote down my three main wishes - 1) to start writing (I had already chosen a name for a blog or a book - "The Burning Woman"); 2) for the stress of caring for and managing my ailing and very difficult mother to be alleviated (she'd had a stroke a year before and been partially paralyzed and hospitalized ever since); and, 3) for my financial situation to improve (business had tanked due to the global economic meltdown).
I threw those scraps of paper on the bonfire and watched them flame up and disappear into sparks in the night sky.
Then I forgot about them.
Until a little over a week later, my mother died at her nursing home after setting herself on fire with a candle in the middle of the night. It's pitiful and gruesome in the extreme - I was completely horrified, and briefly considered changing my proposed blog/book name, which had somehow turned out to be prophetic. But I kept it as the title is about me, it is not meant to reference my mother or her tragic demise.
My sister and I are the sole beneficiaries of her estate, and my inheritance has helped me greatly at a time of economic distress.
When I finally started blogging in April, Vibrant Nation found me within a month and started republishing my posts.
If we do the bonfire wishes ritual this year, I am going to be really careful about what I write down and release.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Last year, we were introduced to the ritual of writing down your wishes for the coming year on scraps of paper, and then setting them alight by throwing them on the bonfire - releasing them to the universe to be fulfilled.
On December 31, 2009 I wrote down my three main wishes - 1) to start writing (I had already chosen a name for a blog or a book - "The Burning Woman"); 2) for the stress of caring for and managing my ailing and very difficult mother to be alleviated (she'd had a stroke a year before and been partially paralyzed and hospitalized ever since); and, 3) for my financial situation to improve (business had tanked due to the global economic meltdown).
I threw those scraps of paper on the bonfire and watched them flame up and disappear into sparks in the night sky.
Then I forgot about them.
Until a little over a week later, my mother died at her nursing home after setting herself on fire with a candle in the middle of the night. It's pitiful and gruesome in the extreme - I was completely horrified, and briefly considered changing my proposed blog/book name, which had somehow turned out to be prophetic. But I kept it as the title is about me, it is not meant to reference my mother or her tragic demise.
My sister and I are the sole beneficiaries of her estate, and my inheritance has helped me greatly at a time of economic distress.
When I finally started blogging in April, Vibrant Nation found me within a month and started republishing my posts.
If we do the bonfire wishes ritual this year, I am going to be really careful about what I write down and release.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Thank You Bethany Frankel
When my husband is up at the cottage, and I am working in the city, I tend to occasionally watch extreme-trash TV. I have not fallen to the low of watching "Jersey Shore" (I find that crowd and their behaviour beyond revolting), but I have stooped to "The Real Housewives..." franchise - mostly the Orange County crop and the New York clique.
I learned one thing of value watching those shows. Bethany Frankel gave a recipe for a "Skinny Girl Margarita" and I unconsciously tucked the information away.
I used to enjoy a margarita on the beach in Mexico, but since the advent of midlife weight gain and menopausal blood sugar issues, margaritas have been "off the menu" as the drink mix is pure sugar, and alcohol metabolizes to sugar as well. I try to restrict my sugar to 15-20 grams per day, and one margarita has around 40 grams of sugar. Knowing this has completely destroyed any potential enjoyment as sipping one would feel`like drinking a slow-acting poison.
Yesterday we walked the beach for a couple of hours and wound up at our favourite beach bar, "Mar y Sol" and, darn it, I felt like a drink to celebrate! But what to have? Out of nowhere, I remembered Bethany on "The Real Housewives of New York" at a bar ordering a shot of tequila, sparkling mineral watch, ice and cut limes, and throwing these all together for a lower glycemic margarita-style drink. I tried it and it was great! Refreshing, not cloying. Even John thinks he will switch to this in the future.
Muchos gracias, Bethany Frankel, for helping me to celebrate with much less sugar and less guilt. Today, though, I climb back on the wagon.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I learned one thing of value watching those shows. Bethany Frankel gave a recipe for a "Skinny Girl Margarita" and I unconsciously tucked the information away.
I used to enjoy a margarita on the beach in Mexico, but since the advent of midlife weight gain and menopausal blood sugar issues, margaritas have been "off the menu" as the drink mix is pure sugar, and alcohol metabolizes to sugar as well. I try to restrict my sugar to 15-20 grams per day, and one margarita has around 40 grams of sugar. Knowing this has completely destroyed any potential enjoyment as sipping one would feel`like drinking a slow-acting poison.
Yesterday we walked the beach for a couple of hours and wound up at our favourite beach bar, "Mar y Sol" and, darn it, I felt like a drink to celebrate! But what to have? Out of nowhere, I remembered Bethany on "The Real Housewives of New York" at a bar ordering a shot of tequila, sparkling mineral watch, ice and cut limes, and throwing these all together for a lower glycemic margarita-style drink. I tried it and it was great! Refreshing, not cloying. Even John thinks he will switch to this in the future.
Muchos gracias, Bethany Frankel, for helping me to celebrate with much less sugar and less guilt. Today, though, I climb back on the wagon.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve
Everyone finds Christmas Eve exciting when they are a kid. The tree is decorated, the stockings are up waiting to be filled, and Santa is on his way. There is so much anticipation and suspense...it's hard to fall asleep and you're awake hours earlier than usual.
My parents admonished us not to wake them before a certain time (like 7:00 or 8:00), but we were allowed to get up and take our stockings back to bed. I would peel and eat my Japanese orange and start on the gold foil-covered chocolate coins (that were more wax than chocolate). Those were the standard stocking stuffers and all that could be fit inside.
I didn't know what a wretchedly small stocking I had until I was 31 and spending my first Christmas together with my future husband and his two kids. Their stockings were huge by comparison, although most people would probably consider them just a normal size.
John had an extra stocking amid his Christmas paraphenalia, a big red one...and he insisted I start using this stocking. Year after year he stuffed that stocking for me like he was trying to make up for the first 30 Christmases I'd had with my puny facsimile of a stocking. I got spoiled (but not ruined!).
But, over the past 20 years together, we've gradually left the Christmas stocking tradition aside and concentrated more on other aspects of the season.
We feel we have Christmas all year round in that we enjoy our lives, our friends and family, and our health and happiness, every single day. We don't put things off until a particular date or time of year; every day is a cause for joy and celebration.
In essence, we strive to create the feeling of Christmas Eve frequently in our lives, without all the stocking stuff. So, that makes today, December 24th, just another wonderful day in our life together, for which we are grateful.
Merry Christmas.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
My parents admonished us not to wake them before a certain time (like 7:00 or 8:00), but we were allowed to get up and take our stockings back to bed. I would peel and eat my Japanese orange and start on the gold foil-covered chocolate coins (that were more wax than chocolate). Those were the standard stocking stuffers and all that could be fit inside.
I didn't know what a wretchedly small stocking I had until I was 31 and spending my first Christmas together with my future husband and his two kids. Their stockings were huge by comparison, although most people would probably consider them just a normal size.
John had an extra stocking amid his Christmas paraphenalia, a big red one...and he insisted I start using this stocking. Year after year he stuffed that stocking for me like he was trying to make up for the first 30 Christmases I'd had with my puny facsimile of a stocking. I got spoiled (but not ruined!).
But, over the past 20 years together, we've gradually left the Christmas stocking tradition aside and concentrated more on other aspects of the season.
We feel we have Christmas all year round in that we enjoy our lives, our friends and family, and our health and happiness, every single day. We don't put things off until a particular date or time of year; every day is a cause for joy and celebration.
In essence, we strive to create the feeling of Christmas Eve frequently in our lives, without all the stocking stuff. So, that makes today, December 24th, just another wonderful day in our life together, for which we are grateful.
Merry Christmas.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Routine: Blog, Jog and Grog
We are settled into a daily routine in Mexico - I call it "blog, jog and grog".
I start the day by writing a blog post, then we head to the "Club Albatros" for a workout, and spend the afternoon at the beach - which often involves a beverage. Although I call that part "grog", my drink of choice has been club soda.
I will confess to having a couple of sips of margarita here and there, but am still successfully resisting alcohol for the most part. I did indulge in one tequila shooter with fresh pomegranate, but who could resist?
And pomegranate is an antioxidant, right?
The no alcohol regime is simply to reduce consumption of empty calories and sugar (to encourage weight loss), and to rest my liver because that could be involved/related to the "attacks" I've experienced this year.
Reintroduction of regular exercise and resistance training is going well so far, too. Speaking of which, it's time to get on my gear and head to the gym.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I start the day by writing a blog post, then we head to the "Club Albatros" for a workout, and spend the afternoon at the beach - which often involves a beverage. Although I call that part "grog", my drink of choice has been club soda.
I will confess to having a couple of sips of margarita here and there, but am still successfully resisting alcohol for the most part. I did indulge in one tequila shooter with fresh pomegranate, but who could resist?
And pomegranate is an antioxidant, right?
The no alcohol regime is simply to reduce consumption of empty calories and sugar (to encourage weight loss), and to rest my liver because that could be involved/related to the "attacks" I've experienced this year.
Reintroduction of regular exercise and resistance training is going well so far, too. Speaking of which, it's time to get on my gear and head to the gym.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas with "Ralph"
Forty years ago, we spent a Christmas with family friends in Rose Bay, Nova Scotia. They were an older couple with a restored Cape Cod-style home situated right above the scenic little bay.
They had a son, quite a few years older than Gigi and me, who had a pet boa constrictor named Ralph. The son took Ralph out of his glass terrarium and slept with the snake at night. Gigi and I found this thoroughly gross and frightening; I don't like snakes at all.
Notwithstanding the snake, we had a lovely Christmas visit. Heavy snowfall blanketed the rural countryside, and an ice storm one night coated all the bare trees so the branches looked like they had been dipped in crystal.
I was 11 years old, and had access to an early version of a snowboard (I remember it was called a "Snurfer", for snow surfer). I used it to cut swaths through the virgin snow on the hillside up behind their house.
The house was very old and not well insulated. Gigi and I shared a room on the top floor (not quite an attic) and were given an electric blanket to put on the double bed to keep us toasty. We'd never used an electric blanket before, so this was quite a novelty. We snuggled under the covers on Christmas Eve, hoping that Ralph the snake would stay put in the son's bed. We fell asleep with visions less pleasant than sugar plums dancing in our heads.
I don't remember who started it, but in the wee hours we were both awake and screaming amid a messed up pile of our bedding. One of us had felt something snakey and we knew Ralph had found his way into our bed! It was complete hysteria until one of the adults figured out we had mistaken the cord of the electric blanket for Ralph! It took a while for the pounding of our hearts to subside.
Two years ago, when we started the addition at our cottage, my husband and I bought an electric blanket because our master bedroom in the addition was not going to be finished and insulated for a long time. Every time I made up the bed with the electric blanket I would think of that Christmas long ago and recall the "Ralph episode".
Last month we finally got the addition insulated and I packed away our electric blanket. But I know the memories it stirred will make me smile for years yet to come.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
They had a son, quite a few years older than Gigi and me, who had a pet boa constrictor named Ralph. The son took Ralph out of his glass terrarium and slept with the snake at night. Gigi and I found this thoroughly gross and frightening; I don't like snakes at all.
Notwithstanding the snake, we had a lovely Christmas visit. Heavy snowfall blanketed the rural countryside, and an ice storm one night coated all the bare trees so the branches looked like they had been dipped in crystal.
I was 11 years old, and had access to an early version of a snowboard (I remember it was called a "Snurfer", for snow surfer). I used it to cut swaths through the virgin snow on the hillside up behind their house.
The house was very old and not well insulated. Gigi and I shared a room on the top floor (not quite an attic) and were given an electric blanket to put on the double bed to keep us toasty. We'd never used an electric blanket before, so this was quite a novelty. We snuggled under the covers on Christmas Eve, hoping that Ralph the snake would stay put in the son's bed. We fell asleep with visions less pleasant than sugar plums dancing in our heads.
I don't remember who started it, but in the wee hours we were both awake and screaming amid a messed up pile of our bedding. One of us had felt something snakey and we knew Ralph had found his way into our bed! It was complete hysteria until one of the adults figured out we had mistaken the cord of the electric blanket for Ralph! It took a while for the pounding of our hearts to subside.
Two years ago, when we started the addition at our cottage, my husband and I bought an electric blanket because our master bedroom in the addition was not going to be finished and insulated for a long time. Every time I made up the bed with the electric blanket I would think of that Christmas long ago and recall the "Ralph episode".
Last month we finally got the addition insulated and I packed away our electric blanket. But I know the memories it stirred will make me smile for years yet to come.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
And I'm Supposed to Care?
My older sister, "Gigi", and I have been estranged since July 2009 when we had severe differences of opinion over handling the financial affairs of our ailing, widowed mother. (This has all been covered ad nauseum in other blog posts but, in a nutshell, Gigi's lived 3,000 km away for almost 30 years and rarely visited. She had next to no understanding of our mother's mental and physical state, and no sympathy for any aspects of my situation and the stresses of being the only family member handling everything for our exceedingly ill and difficult-as-hell mother).
Our mother died almost a year ago. I am executor, and my contact with Gigi is now limited to business-like updates on settling the estate and disbursing funds equally between us. I made sure lots of money flowed Gigi's way fast; she has been pretty quiet in 2010 and seems satisfied with how I've been carrying out my executor duties.
During the ugly and contentious e-mail exchanges of July 2009, when our relationship collapsed like a house of cards and Gigi revealed deep-seated, long standing animosities and grudges against me and my husband - HER husband also got in on the act. He chimed in with his scathingly critical opinions of John and me, and how we run our lives and spend our money.
It was outrageous. So, we stood up for ourselves and lobbed crap back as good as we got and, believe me, the lives and relationship of Gigi and her husband provided plenty of fodder for insults. All of which got the four of us exactly nowhere, except now we all know what we truly think of each other and our respective marriages.
It was very illuminating for me and, bottom line, I will no longer be semi-annually flying my sister out west (on my air miles) for free vacations at our Gulf Islands cottage, and I also required her to return the set of keys I had given her to our Mexican condo and retracted our standing offer of free tropical holidays.
Gigi's husband is a lot older than her (he's almost 80) and has been a severe, lifelong diabetic. He went on dialysis a few years back and his health has been steadily declining. He thought 2007 was going to be his last Christmas, so John and I flew east that year to visit them and just be supportive. We rented a car and stayed in a hotel for the week in order not to be any kind of a transportation or accommodation burden.
My brother-in-law survived Christmas 2007, as well as 2008 and 2009...but yesterday I get an e-mail from Gigi telling me he's now got gangrene (a common risk of severe, long term diabetes) and is facing amputation, as well as battling cellulitis. I wouldn't wish this situation on anyone, but I really have no feelings about it. I simply responded that I wished them well in dealing with this distressing challenge.
Gigi wasn't there for me in dealing with our mother; she can't expect any great outpouring from me respecting her husband. It's a sad, painful and difficult situation, I am sure - but it's nothing to do with me. Not any more. The two of them forfeited their right to support from me back in July 2009. As Oprah says "When people show you who they are, believe them."
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Our mother died almost a year ago. I am executor, and my contact with Gigi is now limited to business-like updates on settling the estate and disbursing funds equally between us. I made sure lots of money flowed Gigi's way fast; she has been pretty quiet in 2010 and seems satisfied with how I've been carrying out my executor duties.
During the ugly and contentious e-mail exchanges of July 2009, when our relationship collapsed like a house of cards and Gigi revealed deep-seated, long standing animosities and grudges against me and my husband - HER husband also got in on the act. He chimed in with his scathingly critical opinions of John and me, and how we run our lives and spend our money.
It was outrageous. So, we stood up for ourselves and lobbed crap back as good as we got and, believe me, the lives and relationship of Gigi and her husband provided plenty of fodder for insults. All of which got the four of us exactly nowhere, except now we all know what we truly think of each other and our respective marriages.
It was very illuminating for me and, bottom line, I will no longer be semi-annually flying my sister out west (on my air miles) for free vacations at our Gulf Islands cottage, and I also required her to return the set of keys I had given her to our Mexican condo and retracted our standing offer of free tropical holidays.
Gigi's husband is a lot older than her (he's almost 80) and has been a severe, lifelong diabetic. He went on dialysis a few years back and his health has been steadily declining. He thought 2007 was going to be his last Christmas, so John and I flew east that year to visit them and just be supportive. We rented a car and stayed in a hotel for the week in order not to be any kind of a transportation or accommodation burden.
My brother-in-law survived Christmas 2007, as well as 2008 and 2009...but yesterday I get an e-mail from Gigi telling me he's now got gangrene (a common risk of severe, long term diabetes) and is facing amputation, as well as battling cellulitis. I wouldn't wish this situation on anyone, but I really have no feelings about it. I simply responded that I wished them well in dealing with this distressing challenge.
Gigi wasn't there for me in dealing with our mother; she can't expect any great outpouring from me respecting her husband. It's a sad, painful and difficult situation, I am sure - but it's nothing to do with me. Not any more. The two of them forfeited their right to support from me back in July 2009. As Oprah says "When people show you who they are, believe them."
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Hideout
Day 10 of our tropical winter escape has begun - another cloudless, azure sky overhead and a silvery glistening bay that stretches as far as we can see. I have my favourite cup of Mexican-style coffee in hand (brewed laced with "Cafe de Olla" - a mix of coffee, sugar, cinnamon, chocolate, anise and some other spices). Goes great with palm trees and sunshine.
Our little hideout is one of the top floor units in a modest little building (located in a great neighbourhood...I watch enough "House Hunters International" to know the importance of "location, location, location"!).
Some people are down here for the holidays with their families, some are down here to escape from their families, some would choose to be with family if they could swing it...but things like divorce, death, money issues, neglect, estrangement, and the like, all take their toll in our lives; these circumstances just come into sharper focus because of the time of year with its over-emphasis on togetherness. In our case, we're not avoiding anything or disappointing anyone, so can celebrate the season with a clear conscience.
But regardless of my clear conscience, my subconscious is apparently feeling the absence of family this season! Last night I had a vivid dream that I was contacted by a couple of lawyers from two different families who were each convinced I was a long lost relation (adopted out at birth?) and they wanted to connect with me, have DNA tests etc. I woke up before I found out where, in that dream, I might really hail from. In reality, there is no doubt I was never adopted - that was wishful dreaming.
Joining the "Club Albatros" worked out, and we've begun a daily cardio & weights routine at this lovely fitness facility-cum-country club. Other folks have started to arrive and take up residence in the other units at our hideout (#1), so it will be nice to have somewhere else nearby to go (hideout #2) should it get crowded around our little courtyard and pool.
It's time to hit the gym!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Our little hideout is one of the top floor units in a modest little building (located in a great neighbourhood...I watch enough "House Hunters International" to know the importance of "location, location, location"!).
Some people are down here for the holidays with their families, some are down here to escape from their families, some would choose to be with family if they could swing it...but things like divorce, death, money issues, neglect, estrangement, and the like, all take their toll in our lives; these circumstances just come into sharper focus because of the time of year with its over-emphasis on togetherness. In our case, we're not avoiding anything or disappointing anyone, so can celebrate the season with a clear conscience.
But regardless of my clear conscience, my subconscious is apparently feeling the absence of family this season! Last night I had a vivid dream that I was contacted by a couple of lawyers from two different families who were each convinced I was a long lost relation (adopted out at birth?) and they wanted to connect with me, have DNA tests etc. I woke up before I found out where, in that dream, I might really hail from. In reality, there is no doubt I was never adopted - that was wishful dreaming.
Joining the "Club Albatros" worked out, and we've begun a daily cardio & weights routine at this lovely fitness facility-cum-country club. Other folks have started to arrive and take up residence in the other units at our hideout (#1), so it will be nice to have somewhere else nearby to go (hideout #2) should it get crowded around our little courtyard and pool.
It's time to hit the gym!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Mexican Musings
It's another glorious day on the Bay of Banderas. We have lots in store today, considering most days we have a completely empty agenda!
Our friends/neighbours, W. & A., from Ontario are coming over for dinner tonight, and I wanted to serve them a nice meal because they've had us over a few times. Their place across the street is at least 4 times the size of ours, so very suited to entertaining. It's something of a challenge to produce a decent meal for 4 in my micro-kitchen, but I can seat 4 people at our dining table, although it will be cozy.
It took 2 grocery shopping trips to locate all the ingredients I needed for my main course (beef stroganoff - best recipe ever that I have had since my university days when my pal Russell K. served it and completely changed my mind about what beef stroganoff was). And I made the "Mar-A-Lago Key Lime Pie" recipe from Oprah.com that I printed off and brought down south over a year ago (apparently this is the most requested dessert on the menu at Donald Trump's club in Palm Beach).
Because my kitchen is so teensy (and I didn't want to have the oven/stove on further heating up the place), I made things the day ahead - so it's basically a reheat and serve siutation, just cook the broad noodles and steam up the fresh veggies to accompany the main course.
This afternoon we're headed to the "Club Albatros" to see if we can strike a deal for just a 3 month membership to use this luxury fitness facility/country club (2 pools, tennis courts, work-out facilities galore, various classes, cafe/bar etc.). A neighbour named Brad is a member and has been helping to broker a deal for us at the club. We haven't met Brad yet, he just connected with us via e-mail when the club rep asked him to talk to us due to the language barrier. We look forward to meeting Brad and his family - he sounds like a super guy, and has been so friendly and helpful.
We've been in e-mail contact wishing a "merry one" to family and friends who are spread all over, from Maui, to California, to Canada...which reminds me I must send off a Christmas e-mail to our pals in Melbourne, Australia as well.
We're planning an overnight driving trip south to the "Cabo Corrientes" area at some point. W. & A. said they want to come to, so we'll plot about that some more tonight.
About the only other thing on my radar is to try and find a self serve laundromat. We have tried 4 different local launderies and they don't get things clean (linens/whites go yellow and grey, T-shirts have ring around the collar, yet bleach splotches turn up on your coloured clothes...I just don't get it). I want to do my own laundry!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Our friends/neighbours, W. & A., from Ontario are coming over for dinner tonight, and I wanted to serve them a nice meal because they've had us over a few times. Their place across the street is at least 4 times the size of ours, so very suited to entertaining. It's something of a challenge to produce a decent meal for 4 in my micro-kitchen, but I can seat 4 people at our dining table, although it will be cozy.
It took 2 grocery shopping trips to locate all the ingredients I needed for my main course (beef stroganoff - best recipe ever that I have had since my university days when my pal Russell K. served it and completely changed my mind about what beef stroganoff was). And I made the "Mar-A-Lago Key Lime Pie" recipe from Oprah.com that I printed off and brought down south over a year ago (apparently this is the most requested dessert on the menu at Donald Trump's club in Palm Beach).
Because my kitchen is so teensy (and I didn't want to have the oven/stove on further heating up the place), I made things the day ahead - so it's basically a reheat and serve siutation, just cook the broad noodles and steam up the fresh veggies to accompany the main course.
This afternoon we're headed to the "Club Albatros" to see if we can strike a deal for just a 3 month membership to use this luxury fitness facility/country club (2 pools, tennis courts, work-out facilities galore, various classes, cafe/bar etc.). A neighbour named Brad is a member and has been helping to broker a deal for us at the club. We haven't met Brad yet, he just connected with us via e-mail when the club rep asked him to talk to us due to the language barrier. We look forward to meeting Brad and his family - he sounds like a super guy, and has been so friendly and helpful.
We've been in e-mail contact wishing a "merry one" to family and friends who are spread all over, from Maui, to California, to Canada...which reminds me I must send off a Christmas e-mail to our pals in Melbourne, Australia as well.
We're planning an overnight driving trip south to the "Cabo Corrientes" area at some point. W. & A. said they want to come to, so we'll plot about that some more tonight.
About the only other thing on my radar is to try and find a self serve laundromat. We have tried 4 different local launderies and they don't get things clean (linens/whites go yellow and grey, T-shirts have ring around the collar, yet bleach splotches turn up on your coloured clothes...I just don't get it). I want to do my own laundry!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Friday, December 17, 2010
Viva Mexico
A long walk on the Bay of Banderas beach yesterday revealed a couple of things.
I don't understand the Mexican economy...our town is deserted; the beaches and restaurants are still quite empty (it is early in the "season") - yet construction of new condos is booming. Who will be buying these places? Who has $400,000.00 or more to spend on one of these palatial, new vacation homes? Everything that had a "for sale" sign on it last time we were here is still for sale. If existing inventory is not moving, what are the chances that all this new real estate will find buyers? All I can think of to explain it is that drug cartel money must get laundered through real estate development projects!
Prices in the grocery store are also higher this trip (some things are 20-30% higher) and the cost of "Happy Hour" buckets of 5 beers have jumped. We've only had two meals out at our usual haunts, and one had a new menu - with higher prices.
Along with fatter prices, people seem fatter too - the tourists and locals alike all have spare tires (including us!). I worry about the health of all of us in countries that have an over abundance of processed, high-refined-carbohydrate, and high-fructose-corn-syrup-laden food. Maybe it's more noticeable in a hot climate where people are wearing less clothing/tighter clothing, but pretty much everyone over the age of 20 is overweight, be they Canadian, American or Mexican. We are all united in fat. I've been seriously wrestling with bringing my cholesterol and insulin levels out of the danger zone, so tend to walk the beach mentally diagnosing everyone heavier than me as walking strokes, or potential heart attacks, and future diabetics. Not exactly carefree thoughts!
We are "gym shopping" right now and hope to find a health club with the right amenities at the right price, so there will be less of us when we go home this spring. There is a June family wedding in our future, and I want John looking good in a tuxedo and me in a cocktail dress (with no unsightly bulges and less upper arm jiggles). We have our work cut out for us (I type this as John places a breakfast croissant sandwich in front of me that he has made - I guess the diet starts tomorrow!).
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I don't understand the Mexican economy...our town is deserted; the beaches and restaurants are still quite empty (it is early in the "season") - yet construction of new condos is booming. Who will be buying these places? Who has $400,000.00 or more to spend on one of these palatial, new vacation homes? Everything that had a "for sale" sign on it last time we were here is still for sale. If existing inventory is not moving, what are the chances that all this new real estate will find buyers? All I can think of to explain it is that drug cartel money must get laundered through real estate development projects!
Prices in the grocery store are also higher this trip (some things are 20-30% higher) and the cost of "Happy Hour" buckets of 5 beers have jumped. We've only had two meals out at our usual haunts, and one had a new menu - with higher prices.
Along with fatter prices, people seem fatter too - the tourists and locals alike all have spare tires (including us!). I worry about the health of all of us in countries that have an over abundance of processed, high-refined-carbohydrate, and high-fructose-corn-syrup-laden food. Maybe it's more noticeable in a hot climate where people are wearing less clothing/tighter clothing, but pretty much everyone over the age of 20 is overweight, be they Canadian, American or Mexican. We are all united in fat. I've been seriously wrestling with bringing my cholesterol and insulin levels out of the danger zone, so tend to walk the beach mentally diagnosing everyone heavier than me as walking strokes, or potential heart attacks, and future diabetics. Not exactly carefree thoughts!
We are "gym shopping" right now and hope to find a health club with the right amenities at the right price, so there will be less of us when we go home this spring. There is a June family wedding in our future, and I want John looking good in a tuxedo and me in a cocktail dress (with no unsightly bulges and less upper arm jiggles). We have our work cut out for us (I type this as John places a breakfast croissant sandwich in front of me that he has made - I guess the diet starts tomorrow!).
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Sharing Eden
We're back in Mexico and the only people in residence at our six-plex. What a treat to have the place all to ourselves over Christmas and New Year's!
It's a small courtyard area and pool, so quite a luxury to be alone and not worry about encroaching on anyone else's space or quiet. We invested in a couple of really nice loungers and were looking forward to sunning and reading poolside in comfort.
Security concerns and neighbourhood burglary issues led our building manager to have someone on site all day keeping an eye on things. Our teenage maid who, ordinarily we'd see about 2 hours a week, is now here all day. She doesn't speak a word of English, and our Spanish is pretty much zero as well. So we are limited to exchanging uncomfortable smiles and nods. Her name is Elvira, but of course pronounced "El-Beer-Ah" in Spanish.
There's only so much cleaning to done, and the potted plants and garden are getting watered to death (the soil in the pots is a muddy slurry from being watered up to 3 times a day!) so poor "El-beer-ah" pretty much roams from suite to suite, or sits in a shaded corner of the courtyard...uncomprehendingly taking in everything we say and do.
I feel very sorry for her - stuck here all day with so little to do. She may not be literate as she doesn't bring anything to read. I brought her some Mexican gossip magazines yesterday from the supermarket (ones with lots of photos of celebrities and fashion in case she can't read) but couldn't tell what she thought of them.
But I feel even sorrier for us having to share our little Eden with a trapped teenager on security duty. We've sat on our poolside loungers once; I just can't relax with "El-beer-ah" huddled in a corner a few feet away, pretending not to notice us. And I can just imagine what she thinks of us lounging, drinking and eating, and floating in pool. We are probably giving her a very distorted idea of what Canadians are like ("rich and bone lazy" would be the logical conclusion for a Mexican teen).
I don't know how long this arrangement will last - the whole winter? Will El-beer-ah be here even when all 6 units are occupied? It's putting strange damper on our sunny escape. But, what did I expect? It's Mexico...it's always sumpthin'!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
It's a small courtyard area and pool, so quite a luxury to be alone and not worry about encroaching on anyone else's space or quiet. We invested in a couple of really nice loungers and were looking forward to sunning and reading poolside in comfort.
Security concerns and neighbourhood burglary issues led our building manager to have someone on site all day keeping an eye on things. Our teenage maid who, ordinarily we'd see about 2 hours a week, is now here all day. She doesn't speak a word of English, and our Spanish is pretty much zero as well. So we are limited to exchanging uncomfortable smiles and nods. Her name is Elvira, but of course pronounced "El-Beer-Ah" in Spanish.
There's only so much cleaning to done, and the potted plants and garden are getting watered to death (the soil in the pots is a muddy slurry from being watered up to 3 times a day!) so poor "El-beer-ah" pretty much roams from suite to suite, or sits in a shaded corner of the courtyard...uncomprehendingly taking in everything we say and do.
I feel very sorry for her - stuck here all day with so little to do. She may not be literate as she doesn't bring anything to read. I brought her some Mexican gossip magazines yesterday from the supermarket (ones with lots of photos of celebrities and fashion in case she can't read) but couldn't tell what she thought of them.
But I feel even sorrier for us having to share our little Eden with a trapped teenager on security duty. We've sat on our poolside loungers once; I just can't relax with "El-beer-ah" huddled in a corner a few feet away, pretending not to notice us. And I can just imagine what she thinks of us lounging, drinking and eating, and floating in pool. We are probably giving her a very distorted idea of what Canadians are like ("rich and bone lazy" would be the logical conclusion for a Mexican teen).
I don't know how long this arrangement will last - the whole winter? Will El-beer-ah be here even when all 6 units are occupied? It's putting strange damper on our sunny escape. But, what did I expect? It's Mexico...it's always sumpthin'!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Odds and Ends of Christmas
We've sold my deceased mother's condo, and are just doing the final clear-out before the new owners take possession next month. I found it very odd to discover, among her possessions, box after box and bag upon bag of Christmas ornaments and decorations.
I had never seen any of this stuff. There were some sales slips in the bags that showed most, if not all, of the items had been bought in the last few years. What's so strange about this Christmas collection is the fact my mother went out of her way to downplay Christmas for the past 37 years. It was my impression she actually resented Christmas and felt it was all a big imposition.
Christmas had never been a big deal at our house. But until I was about 14 years old we always had a real tree, with some beautiful heirloom lights and ornaments (that my sister and I got possession of in our twenties). Then came the day when my mother put her foot down and bought a 4 foot tall fake tree from Sears. She had decided real trees were just too much trouble to buy, drag home, erect in water in the tippy tree stand, deal with dropped needles embedded in the carpet, and then dispose of after the holiday. At least the fake tree was green. But we had to switch to other (low voltage) lights and smaller decorations due to flammability and size issues.
Sometimes my father would string some lights on the house, or on the bushes flanking the front door. My mom would carp it was a waste of time and electricity. Her indoor decorating efforts pretty much consisted of hanging the Christmas cards we received along a string.
My mother also heartily disliked cooking, cleaning and hosting guests - all of which the Christmas season typically involves. The one thing she did enjoy was baking shortbread, which was strictly rationed (as were the seasonal Japanese oranges). Luckily, my Aunt Agnes made amazing traditional Scottish shortbread and would send our family a huge tin each Christmas, along with her homemade toffees.
We never lived near any of our relatives for the most part, so guests were rarely an issue. For four years during my childhood we did live within driving distance of my paternal grandparents, whom my mother loathed. By October in each of those years, she had mounted full blow campaigns to discourage her in-laws from joining us for Christmas. They ignored her and did come a couple of times, but were never invited to stay overnight. It was drive, arrive, eat and leave.
Within just a few years of buying the fake tree, my mother declared that it was now too much trouble to drag out and decorate, so no more tree - period. Gifts had always been minimal (the mainstays were socks, underwear and flannelette granny-style nightgowns), but slowly became even more so. What gifts were given, year after year, were wrapped in the same heavily creased, re-used Christmas paper (old tape still visible), topped with old bows flattened from being crushed in storage the other 11 months of the year. A Christmas morning ritual was gathering up the used bows and refolding the wrapping paper for the next year. And she adopted this approach well ahead of the recycling trend!
As soon as I moved out on my own, I started hosting Christmas with all the trimmings for my family. Lights, decorations, real tree, home cooking and gifts with new wrapping paper and pretty (uncrushed) bows. I noticed my mother began taking home the wrap and bows I used for her gifts, and I started seeing her use this left over wrap for her gift-giving the following year. That didn't continue for too long, because she soon declared "no more gift buying/gift giving of any sort" for Christmas. This wasn't some philosophical stance against the materialism of the holiday; she was just cheap. I still bought her gifts regardless, and she started handing me a cheque for $25.00 every Christmas, with specific instructions to use it to purchase the turkey.
I remember Christmas 1999 most vividly - it was one of the first Christmases in years that she had to host a traditional celebration for a crowd (i.e., the 8 members of the family of her second husband - who were also staying with them), entertain and cook a turkey. I was bedridden that year recovering from surgery, so had nothing to do with any of this situation. But I remember her phoning me that Christmas night after dinner and complaining bitterly about how much work it all was, and how much she absolutely hated doing it.
Recently unearthing quite a vast treasure trove of Christmas ornaments and decorations - all carefully squirrelled away in different closets, drawers, and storage chests at her condo - has been surreal. It does not in any way fit with the woman I knew, and her decades of Christmas complaining and resistance. She had accumulated enough Christmas stuff to decorate a full size tree and make an entire house look merry. There was every kind of tree decoration from china ones, to pewter to blown glass, as well as candles, tea towels, and boxes of Christmas crackers, tablecloths, placemats and napkins. There were Christmas-themed serving dishes, lots of mugs, and little knives with candycane and Christmas stocking handles for spreading liver pate or cutting into a cheese ball. Everything was brand new and never used. The most common item was ornaments in all sizes, styles and shapes that depicted Santa Claus - from tiny ceramic Santas less than an inch long, to a 1 foot tall glass version of St. Nick.
I believe it can only mean my mother had a deep, inner, secret longing for Christmas and everything that it evokes...the love, connection, sharing, generosity, good will...but somehow she could not embrace any of it and truly enjoy it. How very sad.
We packed it all up and delivered it to Good Will this afternoon. I believe the things my mother bought with such fervour, yet never used or enjoyed, need to be released to find homes with people who can embrace the season and celebrate all the joyous feelings. In essence, my mother has given her last Christmas gifts.
May there be peace.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I had never seen any of this stuff. There were some sales slips in the bags that showed most, if not all, of the items had been bought in the last few years. What's so strange about this Christmas collection is the fact my mother went out of her way to downplay Christmas for the past 37 years. It was my impression she actually resented Christmas and felt it was all a big imposition.
Christmas had never been a big deal at our house. But until I was about 14 years old we always had a real tree, with some beautiful heirloom lights and ornaments (that my sister and I got possession of in our twenties). Then came the day when my mother put her foot down and bought a 4 foot tall fake tree from Sears. She had decided real trees were just too much trouble to buy, drag home, erect in water in the tippy tree stand, deal with dropped needles embedded in the carpet, and then dispose of after the holiday. At least the fake tree was green. But we had to switch to other (low voltage) lights and smaller decorations due to flammability and size issues.
Sometimes my father would string some lights on the house, or on the bushes flanking the front door. My mom would carp it was a waste of time and electricity. Her indoor decorating efforts pretty much consisted of hanging the Christmas cards we received along a string.
My mother also heartily disliked cooking, cleaning and hosting guests - all of which the Christmas season typically involves. The one thing she did enjoy was baking shortbread, which was strictly rationed (as were the seasonal Japanese oranges). Luckily, my Aunt Agnes made amazing traditional Scottish shortbread and would send our family a huge tin each Christmas, along with her homemade toffees.
We never lived near any of our relatives for the most part, so guests were rarely an issue. For four years during my childhood we did live within driving distance of my paternal grandparents, whom my mother loathed. By October in each of those years, she had mounted full blow campaigns to discourage her in-laws from joining us for Christmas. They ignored her and did come a couple of times, but were never invited to stay overnight. It was drive, arrive, eat and leave.
Within just a few years of buying the fake tree, my mother declared that it was now too much trouble to drag out and decorate, so no more tree - period. Gifts had always been minimal (the mainstays were socks, underwear and flannelette granny-style nightgowns), but slowly became even more so. What gifts were given, year after year, were wrapped in the same heavily creased, re-used Christmas paper (old tape still visible), topped with old bows flattened from being crushed in storage the other 11 months of the year. A Christmas morning ritual was gathering up the used bows and refolding the wrapping paper for the next year. And she adopted this approach well ahead of the recycling trend!
As soon as I moved out on my own, I started hosting Christmas with all the trimmings for my family. Lights, decorations, real tree, home cooking and gifts with new wrapping paper and pretty (uncrushed) bows. I noticed my mother began taking home the wrap and bows I used for her gifts, and I started seeing her use this left over wrap for her gift-giving the following year. That didn't continue for too long, because she soon declared "no more gift buying/gift giving of any sort" for Christmas. This wasn't some philosophical stance against the materialism of the holiday; she was just cheap. I still bought her gifts regardless, and she started handing me a cheque for $25.00 every Christmas, with specific instructions to use it to purchase the turkey.
I remember Christmas 1999 most vividly - it was one of the first Christmases in years that she had to host a traditional celebration for a crowd (i.e., the 8 members of the family of her second husband - who were also staying with them), entertain and cook a turkey. I was bedridden that year recovering from surgery, so had nothing to do with any of this situation. But I remember her phoning me that Christmas night after dinner and complaining bitterly about how much work it all was, and how much she absolutely hated doing it.
Recently unearthing quite a vast treasure trove of Christmas ornaments and decorations - all carefully squirrelled away in different closets, drawers, and storage chests at her condo - has been surreal. It does not in any way fit with the woman I knew, and her decades of Christmas complaining and resistance. She had accumulated enough Christmas stuff to decorate a full size tree and make an entire house look merry. There was every kind of tree decoration from china ones, to pewter to blown glass, as well as candles, tea towels, and boxes of Christmas crackers, tablecloths, placemats and napkins. There were Christmas-themed serving dishes, lots of mugs, and little knives with candycane and Christmas stocking handles for spreading liver pate or cutting into a cheese ball. Everything was brand new and never used. The most common item was ornaments in all sizes, styles and shapes that depicted Santa Claus - from tiny ceramic Santas less than an inch long, to a 1 foot tall glass version of St. Nick.
I believe it can only mean my mother had a deep, inner, secret longing for Christmas and everything that it evokes...the love, connection, sharing, generosity, good will...but somehow she could not embrace any of it and truly enjoy it. How very sad.
We packed it all up and delivered it to Good Will this afternoon. I believe the things my mother bought with such fervour, yet never used or enjoyed, need to be released to find homes with people who can embrace the season and celebrate all the joyous feelings. In essence, my mother has given her last Christmas gifts.
May there be peace.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Friday, November 26, 2010
The Gall
Despite having an ultrasound test that showed nothing back in June, I am convinced I have gall bladder trouble.
I've had 5 "attacks" since late February 2010, and they are becoming more frequent and severe. I spent about 12 hours in agony yesterday, so am headed back to see the doctor next week.
So far, I've been really lucky that the debilitating attacks have hit me at times that didn't interfere with anything else going on in my work or life; I was able to spend a few uninterrupted hours huddled on the bathroom floor groaning. Heaven forbid one should hit when I am supposed to be getting on a plane, or spending a day leading a group workshop.
I can see no pattern or trigger for the attacks. They happen at differing hours of the day or night, and there doesn't seem to be a direct relation to having a full or empty stomach, or some particular food trigger. If I knew what was causing the attacks, maybe I could avoid it. I eliminated alcohol over 5 months ago, have been eating healthier, exercising more, and have lost over 14 pounds, but the attacks are still happening, and more frequently.
My internet research shows there is a hereditary aspect, and I do recall my father has his gall bladder removed in his early 50's. I don't really want to have to undergo surgery, and read that there is quite a high chance of ongoing problems post-surgery (from the symptoms continuing even after removal, to issues such as "bile dumping" which sounds pretty unappealing). But I can't see living the next 30 years coping with this unpredictable pain and incapacity during attacks.
I'm concerned that it's proving difficult to get this diagnosed. Again, all my symptoms (midsection pain and pressure under my ribs, especially down the right side, pain that can radiate through to my back, and vomiting) seem to best fit with gall bladder problems, but why didn't the ultrasound show anything? I don't have gall stones, but maybe that's all the ultrasound can definitively check for?
I don't deal well with illness or feeling sick, so this is causing me real consternation. I don't know what's happening or why, and what it's going to take to get this fixed. Hopefully I'll be okay this winter and won't have to experience the Mexican health care/hospital system (although I have heard good things). But, I'd rather get this dealt with where I can speak the language.
I think I will go lie down now!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I've had 5 "attacks" since late February 2010, and they are becoming more frequent and severe. I spent about 12 hours in agony yesterday, so am headed back to see the doctor next week.
So far, I've been really lucky that the debilitating attacks have hit me at times that didn't interfere with anything else going on in my work or life; I was able to spend a few uninterrupted hours huddled on the bathroom floor groaning. Heaven forbid one should hit when I am supposed to be getting on a plane, or spending a day leading a group workshop.
I can see no pattern or trigger for the attacks. They happen at differing hours of the day or night, and there doesn't seem to be a direct relation to having a full or empty stomach, or some particular food trigger. If I knew what was causing the attacks, maybe I could avoid it. I eliminated alcohol over 5 months ago, have been eating healthier, exercising more, and have lost over 14 pounds, but the attacks are still happening, and more frequently.
My internet research shows there is a hereditary aspect, and I do recall my father has his gall bladder removed in his early 50's. I don't really want to have to undergo surgery, and read that there is quite a high chance of ongoing problems post-surgery (from the symptoms continuing even after removal, to issues such as "bile dumping" which sounds pretty unappealing). But I can't see living the next 30 years coping with this unpredictable pain and incapacity during attacks.
I'm concerned that it's proving difficult to get this diagnosed. Again, all my symptoms (midsection pain and pressure under my ribs, especially down the right side, pain that can radiate through to my back, and vomiting) seem to best fit with gall bladder problems, but why didn't the ultrasound show anything? I don't have gall stones, but maybe that's all the ultrasound can definitively check for?
I don't deal well with illness or feeling sick, so this is causing me real consternation. I don't know what's happening or why, and what it's going to take to get this fixed. Hopefully I'll be okay this winter and won't have to experience the Mexican health care/hospital system (although I have heard good things). But, I'd rather get this dealt with where I can speak the language.
I think I will go lie down now!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Sherlock Mallett
Back on August 12, 2010 I wrote a blog post called "Witness Protection" complaining that I was getting dragged back from Mexico this winter because I had been supoenaed as a witness in a criminal trial (that didn't even involve me).
Four phone calls and 3 months later, I finally get an appointment to see the Crown Counsel who will be prosecuting the case (of a man charged with breaking into my mother's condo back in August 2005, assaulting and stealing from her in the process). Although the police have my mother's detailed statement about the events, and DNA evidence belonging to the accused that was found on a man's watch strap left at the scene (but it took them 5 years to test and match the DNA with the accused!), apparently this doesn't necessarily mean the case is a slam dunk.
The big problem is my mother died in January 2010, and cannot testify against the accused herself. It's falling to me (what else is new) to represent her and look out for the public's interests, by doing what I can to help put a criminal behind bars.
Okay, so there is no getting out of this - my "extradition" from Mexico is going to happen, so I may as well jump fully on board the "Prosecution Express." I have every confidence in the prosecuting lawyer, so that helps. I spent two hours with her so far, and really appreciated her approach and insights. Maybe it's her job to get reluctant witnesses to fully cooperate and, if so, she's very good at it.
There is also a large part of me that is a mix of detective and lawyer...quite frankly, I am good at gathering evidence and arguing a compelling case, and I probably have an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. And stuff that I see is wrong, I can't help but want it fixed.
So, this spring, this citizen will be tearing herself away from the sun, sea and sand in order to take the witness stand. I predict the accused will be wishing he'd simply pled guilty.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Four phone calls and 3 months later, I finally get an appointment to see the Crown Counsel who will be prosecuting the case (of a man charged with breaking into my mother's condo back in August 2005, assaulting and stealing from her in the process). Although the police have my mother's detailed statement about the events, and DNA evidence belonging to the accused that was found on a man's watch strap left at the scene (but it took them 5 years to test and match the DNA with the accused!), apparently this doesn't necessarily mean the case is a slam dunk.
The big problem is my mother died in January 2010, and cannot testify against the accused herself. It's falling to me (what else is new) to represent her and look out for the public's interests, by doing what I can to help put a criminal behind bars.
Okay, so there is no getting out of this - my "extradition" from Mexico is going to happen, so I may as well jump fully on board the "Prosecution Express." I have every confidence in the prosecuting lawyer, so that helps. I spent two hours with her so far, and really appreciated her approach and insights. Maybe it's her job to get reluctant witnesses to fully cooperate and, if so, she's very good at it.
There is also a large part of me that is a mix of detective and lawyer...quite frankly, I am good at gathering evidence and arguing a compelling case, and I probably have an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. And stuff that I see is wrong, I can't help but want it fixed.
So, this spring, this citizen will be tearing herself away from the sun, sea and sand in order to take the witness stand. I predict the accused will be wishing he'd simply pled guilty.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Adios, 2010!
I am getting excited about ringing in 2011, and not just because we'll be celebrating in Mexico with visiting friends P. & D. I am actually most happy about seeing 2010 from the rear view mirror.
There have been some wonderful things about 2010; I'm not discounting the high points and meaningful moments by any means. The high points, though, were mostly centrepieces in the lives of others that we celebrated from the periphery (no matter how wholeheartedly, we were more sideline witnesses than direct participants in the good stuff). But the 2010 good stuff that happened in the lives of the people we love comprises a list that should not be ignored:
- 2 healthy births;
- a romantic and celebrated engagement;
- positive and much deserved career advancement/career changes;
- world travels; and,
- visits/good times spent with friends and family.
The not-so-great stuff for us that I want to vigorously wave "bye bye" to includes:
- death;
- flooding;
- health issues;
- family estrangement; and,
- underemployment/economic challenges.
I'm willing to bet my lists would look similar to many other peoples'.
If I were to sum up my 2010 in one sentence, I'd say "My weight is down and my hopes are up." By "weight" I mean both the burdens I've been carrying that have weighed heavily, and my actual physical weight. Although I can't be sure of my exact weight loss (because I was living in a hotel without a scale at the time my weight started to shift), I think it's in the range of 14 pounds, maybe even more. I still need to lose another 8-10 pounds, and then keep it all off.
As to the psychological "weight", I hope to lay most of that down in 2011 with finalizing everything to do with my mother's estate. I am about 95% done with all that work. When it's finished, there will be no more need for any further interactions with my sole, distant sibling, who appears quite satisfied with her financial gains with nary a concern about the loss of her relationship with me. And I have to say I'm quite fine with letting that veneer of a relationship go. We haven't communicated (except about our mother's situation and estate) for about a year and a half; quite honestly, I don't miss her. And I would expect she'd say the same about me. We are who we are - neither of us is going to change to the extent that would be required to accommodate the needs and expectations of the other.
As to my hopes being up, well, 2011 holds a lot of promise. This is the year that will see us complete the addition at our cottage (it will have been a four year effort), and I have some interesting business prospects on the horizon.
Whereas 2010 was a lot about "unravelling", I hope 2011 will be more about a coming together of many pieces of my personal puzzle.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
There have been some wonderful things about 2010; I'm not discounting the high points and meaningful moments by any means. The high points, though, were mostly centrepieces in the lives of others that we celebrated from the periphery (no matter how wholeheartedly, we were more sideline witnesses than direct participants in the good stuff). But the 2010 good stuff that happened in the lives of the people we love comprises a list that should not be ignored:
- 2 healthy births;
- a romantic and celebrated engagement;
- positive and much deserved career advancement/career changes;
- world travels; and,
- visits/good times spent with friends and family.
The not-so-great stuff for us that I want to vigorously wave "bye bye" to includes:
- death;
- flooding;
- health issues;
- family estrangement; and,
- underemployment/economic challenges.
I'm willing to bet my lists would look similar to many other peoples'.
If I were to sum up my 2010 in one sentence, I'd say "My weight is down and my hopes are up." By "weight" I mean both the burdens I've been carrying that have weighed heavily, and my actual physical weight. Although I can't be sure of my exact weight loss (because I was living in a hotel without a scale at the time my weight started to shift), I think it's in the range of 14 pounds, maybe even more. I still need to lose another 8-10 pounds, and then keep it all off.
As to the psychological "weight", I hope to lay most of that down in 2011 with finalizing everything to do with my mother's estate. I am about 95% done with all that work. When it's finished, there will be no more need for any further interactions with my sole, distant sibling, who appears quite satisfied with her financial gains with nary a concern about the loss of her relationship with me. And I have to say I'm quite fine with letting that veneer of a relationship go. We haven't communicated (except about our mother's situation and estate) for about a year and a half; quite honestly, I don't miss her. And I would expect she'd say the same about me. We are who we are - neither of us is going to change to the extent that would be required to accommodate the needs and expectations of the other.
As to my hopes being up, well, 2011 holds a lot of promise. This is the year that will see us complete the addition at our cottage (it will have been a four year effort), and I have some interesting business prospects on the horizon.
Whereas 2010 was a lot about "unravelling", I hope 2011 will be more about a coming together of many pieces of my personal puzzle.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Winter Wonder
Judging from the few family photos that were taken in my very early years, you'd think I grew up wearing a snowsuit. There I am, stiffly bundled from head to toe, and standing in a snowy yard - positioned either on wooden skis, or next to a snowman, or on skis and next to a snowman.
Because I grew up in eastern Canada, for the longest time I thought I was one of those people who likes experiencing the four distinct seasons. I have slowly come to the realization I am not one of those people after all. I am actually a one-season-person, and that season is summer.
I moved to the west coast of Canada at 17 when my father retired from the Navy, and have lived here ever since. But I have never gotten used to the long, dreary, rainy winters...day after day of grey skies, and weeks on end with hardly a glimpse of the sun. Our cold rainy winter is preceded by a cool, rainy fall, and followed by a cool rainy spring. Sometimes we have temperate rainy summers! I don't have an actual diagnosis of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), but I bet I am close to it.
I take rain as a personal insult. Silly, I know, but I really dislike it. I know it's essential and the planet can't do without it, but we just get more than our fair share in this neck of the woods. At least we don't have to shovel rain; I am thankful for that aspect.
Victoria ground to a halt yesterday because it snowed a few inches. The city and its inhabitants are always caught off guard when this occurs because it is a rare event. A cold and snowy winter is in the forecast, and it has started early.
I can't wait to escape to Mexico from "The Great White North." It's freezing cold today (see photo of the downtown frozen fountain), but the snow has stopped and the sun is shining. I used to think I could take the cold if it was sunny. Nope. Cold and rainy is the worst. Cold and sunny is a step up, but still not acceptable.
I have officially become a "winter wussy".
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Because I grew up in eastern Canada, for the longest time I thought I was one of those people who likes experiencing the four distinct seasons. I have slowly come to the realization I am not one of those people after all. I am actually a one-season-person, and that season is summer.
I moved to the west coast of Canada at 17 when my father retired from the Navy, and have lived here ever since. But I have never gotten used to the long, dreary, rainy winters...day after day of grey skies, and weeks on end with hardly a glimpse of the sun. Our cold rainy winter is preceded by a cool, rainy fall, and followed by a cool rainy spring. Sometimes we have temperate rainy summers! I don't have an actual diagnosis of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), but I bet I am close to it.
I take rain as a personal insult. Silly, I know, but I really dislike it. I know it's essential and the planet can't do without it, but we just get more than our fair share in this neck of the woods. At least we don't have to shovel rain; I am thankful for that aspect.
Victoria ground to a halt yesterday because it snowed a few inches. The city and its inhabitants are always caught off guard when this occurs because it is a rare event. A cold and snowy winter is in the forecast, and it has started early.
I can't wait to escape to Mexico from "The Great White North." It's freezing cold today (see photo of the downtown frozen fountain), but the snow has stopped and the sun is shining. I used to think I could take the cold if it was sunny. Nope. Cold and rainy is the worst. Cold and sunny is a step up, but still not acceptable.
I have officially become a "winter wussy".
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Light My (Reading) Fire!
I am so excited; I just got a Kindle (a digital book reader)! Once I learn how to use it, it is going to make my reading life so much easier and simpler, especially when travelling. No longer will I have to devote so much suitcase space and weight to books! I am a really fast reader and can easily devour a substantial book in a day or two, when I am focused.
The Kindle also solves the problem of shelf and storage space for books, which is kind of good and bad at the same time. I do like the look and feel of books on shelves. Funny (and rather sad) to think I probably won't be adding any more books to my bookshelves.
I am probably going to start downloading digital books to my Kindle today. I drew a big blank when I first thought about what I want to read this winter while we are down south. It's the same blank mind experience I have when thinking about what music I might want to download from iTunes! In those instances, it seems I can't remember a single song title.
I solved my book shopping dilemma by spending some time at a Chapters store location yesterday. I cruised all my favourite sections with my BlackBerry in hand and just e-mailed myself a list of book titles and authors to come home and download.
I felt a little guilty doing my window shopping at Chapters, as I will be purchasing and downloading to my Kindle from Amazon. I attracted a bit of attention from the Chapters' clerks, and was approached several times and asked if I needed assistance. I just said I was just putting a Christmas reading wish list together, which was kind of true - but allowed them to think I might actually be giving Chapters my business. I didn't buy the Chapters "Kobo" digital book reader because it doesn't have a highlighting function and, when I read (especially business and leadership books) I have a highlighting compulsion.
I know I am going to miss the feel and smell of having a real book in my hands - but the sheer convenience of the Kindle outweighs any of my nostalgic leanings. It is just a very cool little device, and even techno-dunce moi is happy to have made this switch.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
The Kindle also solves the problem of shelf and storage space for books, which is kind of good and bad at the same time. I do like the look and feel of books on shelves. Funny (and rather sad) to think I probably won't be adding any more books to my bookshelves.
I am probably going to start downloading digital books to my Kindle today. I drew a big blank when I first thought about what I want to read this winter while we are down south. It's the same blank mind experience I have when thinking about what music I might want to download from iTunes! In those instances, it seems I can't remember a single song title.
I solved my book shopping dilemma by spending some time at a Chapters store location yesterday. I cruised all my favourite sections with my BlackBerry in hand and just e-mailed myself a list of book titles and authors to come home and download.
I felt a little guilty doing my window shopping at Chapters, as I will be purchasing and downloading to my Kindle from Amazon. I attracted a bit of attention from the Chapters' clerks, and was approached several times and asked if I needed assistance. I just said I was just putting a Christmas reading wish list together, which was kind of true - but allowed them to think I might actually be giving Chapters my business. I didn't buy the Chapters "Kobo" digital book reader because it doesn't have a highlighting function and, when I read (especially business and leadership books) I have a highlighting compulsion.
I know I am going to miss the feel and smell of having a real book in my hands - but the sheer convenience of the Kindle outweighs any of my nostalgic leanings. It is just a very cool little device, and even techno-dunce moi is happy to have made this switch.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, November 7, 2010
"Warning - Entering Unmarked Map Area"
We took a road trip to visit family and dear friends over the Canadian Thanksgiving holiday in October. It was really exciting, not only to go visit and spend time with our loved ones, but also because we got to drive our brand new SUV ("Henry")inland through the Rocky Mountains. What a gorgeous drive, made all the more enjoyable in our new vehicle.
"Henry" performed admirably in all respects but one: a expensive built-in-dash navigation system does NOT take the worry (or arguments!) out of finding your way around in unfamiliar places.
Even with up-to-date software loaded into the "nav" system, we regularly found the computerized female voice intoning: "Warning - entering unmarked map area - proceed with caution." In other words, the nav system didn't have a frigging clue where we were, or how to direct us to the destination we had programmed in! We'd look at the nav screen display to see our vehicle, represented by a disembodied arrow, floating in unmapped space - even as we travelled down a major six lane highway. Alternatively, the nav system would direct us to make illegal U-turns, or tell us we had arrived at our destination while we were still blocks away.
It was really frustrating, and caused us far more angst and irritated verbal exchanges than any low-tech map reading and navigating we have done in the past! We were especially infuriated (for different reasons, mind you) by the learning curve involved in finding out what nav functions are actually disabled while the car is in "drive." This is for safety reasons, of course. The car doesn't have any way of knowing it is actually the passenger doing the programming and allowing the driver to stay focused on the road. The manufacturers had to assume they would need to keep drivers from attempting to program the nav system while underway, so ensured you would need to be pulled over to do more complicated functions.
Until we figured this aspect out, there were some nasty words uttered while I figured the nav system was utter crap for not accepting my inputs, and John figured I was utterly stupid for not being able to punch the right stuff in!
But what has stuck with me since that trip was the warning about "entering unmarked map area" and needing to use caution. Right now, my life (especially my business/career) feels much like that disembodied arrow floating on the nav screen. Essentially I am in uncharted midlife territory, daily trying to figure out how to move forward to an as-yet unknown ultimate destination.
Like that drive through the Rockies, I want a beautiful, exhilarating, but safe trip (it's okay to include some some bumps and surprises) that ends in the arms of loved ones.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
"Henry" performed admirably in all respects but one: a expensive built-in-dash navigation system does NOT take the worry (or arguments!) out of finding your way around in unfamiliar places.
Even with up-to-date software loaded into the "nav" system, we regularly found the computerized female voice intoning: "Warning - entering unmarked map area - proceed with caution." In other words, the nav system didn't have a frigging clue where we were, or how to direct us to the destination we had programmed in! We'd look at the nav screen display to see our vehicle, represented by a disembodied arrow, floating in unmapped space - even as we travelled down a major six lane highway. Alternatively, the nav system would direct us to make illegal U-turns, or tell us we had arrived at our destination while we were still blocks away.
It was really frustrating, and caused us far more angst and irritated verbal exchanges than any low-tech map reading and navigating we have done in the past! We were especially infuriated (for different reasons, mind you) by the learning curve involved in finding out what nav functions are actually disabled while the car is in "drive." This is for safety reasons, of course. The car doesn't have any way of knowing it is actually the passenger doing the programming and allowing the driver to stay focused on the road. The manufacturers had to assume they would need to keep drivers from attempting to program the nav system while underway, so ensured you would need to be pulled over to do more complicated functions.
Until we figured this aspect out, there were some nasty words uttered while I figured the nav system was utter crap for not accepting my inputs, and John figured I was utterly stupid for not being able to punch the right stuff in!
But what has stuck with me since that trip was the warning about "entering unmarked map area" and needing to use caution. Right now, my life (especially my business/career) feels much like that disembodied arrow floating on the nav screen. Essentially I am in uncharted midlife territory, daily trying to figure out how to move forward to an as-yet unknown ultimate destination.
Like that drive through the Rockies, I want a beautiful, exhilarating, but safe trip (it's okay to include some some bumps and surprises) that ends in the arms of loved ones.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Behind The Door
This is the new front door at our cottage. We have been working on this major addition and new front entryway for about three years. Like everything in life, progress is significantly dictated by time and money. Getting and installing the front door was a big step forward in the direction of completion.
The front door is custom, and quite impressive - bigger than average and solid wood with some nice hardware accents. John, my husband, was adamant he was having a "speakeasy", which is that little grate and small section that opens so you can look out and ask "Who's there?" before you open the door. Our good friend who helped John install it calls it the "Viking door" because he thought it made such a strong architectural statement (and probably also because he thinks John's such a bold guy who is hardly ever daunted, which is true!).
But, for now, there is nothing behind that fine looking door. The addition is still an empty shell of stud walls and plywood floors. It is an unfinished work-in-progress. You can open and walk through the door, but the future beyond the door sill is yet to be created.
That door is the perfect metaphor for where I am in my life. I've created a lot of fine looking and impressive exterior stuff but, at this time, there isn't much behind the door.
What I mean is that my future is waiting to be designed and brought into being. Just like we are facing a ton of choices and decisions around finishing that interior space (e.g., plumbing, electrical, drywall, lighting, flooring, millwork, paint colours, window coverings etc.) I have to make a lot of choices/decisions that will generate the final look of my future. There are many doors I can open and walk through.
What I want to ensure is that I love, feel comfortable, and can really thrive in the inside space that lies beyond the fabulous doorway.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Saturday, October 2, 2010
But Who's Counting?
By my best calculations, I have had about 130 to 150 people visit my blog since installing a stat counter in late June 2010 (thanks to my techno-adept pal Duffy).
I started my stat counter at 25 and, once I have accounted for my own "count" from posting/editing (i.e., every time I post or log on, the count ratchets up), I can estimate the site visitors.
It makes me wonder who is visiting; no one leaves any comments. I know I have two friends who read my posts here but, beyond that, it's a total mystery. These two can't possibly account for the 130-150 actual "visits" to date. They are good friends, but no one's that good!
On the off chance that anyone reading this knows comedian/pundit Bill Maher, can you tell him I love his HBO show "Real Time with Bill Maher" and that I have a goal to be on the show one day? Thanks.
I used to want to be on "Oprah" (for something groundbreakingly worthy, NOT for experiencing/overcoming a tragedy), but that time horizon and my focus has changed; now my goal is to be guest-worthy for "Real Time."
Bill Maher is smart, hilarious, and effectively engages diverse, well-informed people in real conversations about serious issues. That is what I'd like to be a part of. Just need to figure out my angle and what would make for being a compelling guest panelist (I'm not yet aspiring to be the show-opener interviewee, or the anchor panelist who joins the show near closing).
I really enjoy Cornell West's appearances on "Real Time." On the October 1st show he referenced humans essentially falling into two categories, saying we can choose to be "wounded hurters or wounded helpers." This remark was glossed over and lost in the subsequent conversation, but I felt it was profound. It acknowledges that absolutely everyone is dealing with wounds of some sort, be they psychological, physical, or both...and each of us chooses what to do as a result of our wounds.
Too bad so many people these days seems to be choosing "wounded hurter" over being a "wounded helper." I'm definitely in the wounded helper category, and perpetually seeking ways to make that experience meaningful - for myself, and for the benefit of others. Now I just need to figure out how to match that agenda up with the goal of getting on Bill's show.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I started my stat counter at 25 and, once I have accounted for my own "count" from posting/editing (i.e., every time I post or log on, the count ratchets up), I can estimate the site visitors.
It makes me wonder who is visiting; no one leaves any comments. I know I have two friends who read my posts here but, beyond that, it's a total mystery. These two can't possibly account for the 130-150 actual "visits" to date. They are good friends, but no one's that good!
On the off chance that anyone reading this knows comedian/pundit Bill Maher, can you tell him I love his HBO show "Real Time with Bill Maher" and that I have a goal to be on the show one day? Thanks.
I used to want to be on "Oprah" (for something groundbreakingly worthy, NOT for experiencing/overcoming a tragedy), but that time horizon and my focus has changed; now my goal is to be guest-worthy for "Real Time."
Bill Maher is smart, hilarious, and effectively engages diverse, well-informed people in real conversations about serious issues. That is what I'd like to be a part of. Just need to figure out my angle and what would make for being a compelling guest panelist (I'm not yet aspiring to be the show-opener interviewee, or the anchor panelist who joins the show near closing).
I really enjoy Cornell West's appearances on "Real Time." On the October 1st show he referenced humans essentially falling into two categories, saying we can choose to be "wounded hurters or wounded helpers." This remark was glossed over and lost in the subsequent conversation, but I felt it was profound. It acknowledges that absolutely everyone is dealing with wounds of some sort, be they psychological, physical, or both...and each of us chooses what to do as a result of our wounds.
Too bad so many people these days seems to be choosing "wounded hurter" over being a "wounded helper." I'm definitely in the wounded helper category, and perpetually seeking ways to make that experience meaningful - for myself, and for the benefit of others. Now I just need to figure out how to match that agenda up with the goal of getting on Bill's show.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Middle Class Extinction
The television news and political commentary I watch, and the print news, magazines and books I read, and the information I view on the internet, plus my own personal experience all combine to give me the sinking feeling that the middle class is on its way out.
At a minimum, the middle class is being seriously eroded, especially over the last 2 years, but prior to that as well. If the current rate of erosion doesn't stop and actually turn around, the middle class will be on its way to becoming extinct. If that happens, watch out. The world will be composed of two classes: the super-rich and the super-poor.
I am so convinced in this regard that I don't feel the need or desire to do a bunch of research that would prove this discomfiting feeling beyond the shadow of a doubt. The cumulative picture is pretty damn clear. But today the CBS show "Sunday Morning" cited these statistics from the US Census Bureau, and they prove my gut fears:
- the American poverty rate is 14.3%, the highest it's been in 15 years.
- 4 million more Americans fell into poverty last year, increasing the total number living in poverty from 40 million to 44 million. This means 1 in 7 Americans live in poverty. The child poverty rate is 1 in 5.
- The number of Americans without health insurance climbed from 46 million to 51 million last year.
I've no doubt that Canada and Europe have the exact same sort of issues, except for the health insurance problem (thank goodness).
And what about the millions upon millions of people hovering just on the edge of the poverty stats? That is a really scary thought. The world's economic woes are far from over; we will never be out of the woods.
People all over are experiencing these fears, and reacting in different ways. These fears are probably at the root of the "Tea Party" movement in the US that is currently accused of "hijacking" the Republican party. Movements like this are polarizing and cloud the real issues we all need to grapple with.
Constructive, democratic, consensus-building leadership is under serious threat as the politics and political style (negative campaigning, fear mongering, "attack" politics that disregard the facts etc.) continue to proliferate and succeed. But, as long as people are deeply angry and scared witless, and are without any better leadership ideas and options, they will continue to rally to the simplistic and polarizing wings as it makes them feel better and that they are doing something.
Unfortunately, while they are busy raging and splintering society, the very things they seek to protect (jobs, economic security, freedom to pursue happiness etc.) continue to fade away.
A major, collective attitude adjustment is needed, one that the recent wake-up calls (e.g., economic collapse) have failed to produce. But will it happen?
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
At a minimum, the middle class is being seriously eroded, especially over the last 2 years, but prior to that as well. If the current rate of erosion doesn't stop and actually turn around, the middle class will be on its way to becoming extinct. If that happens, watch out. The world will be composed of two classes: the super-rich and the super-poor.
I am so convinced in this regard that I don't feel the need or desire to do a bunch of research that would prove this discomfiting feeling beyond the shadow of a doubt. The cumulative picture is pretty damn clear. But today the CBS show "Sunday Morning" cited these statistics from the US Census Bureau, and they prove my gut fears:
- the American poverty rate is 14.3%, the highest it's been in 15 years.
- 4 million more Americans fell into poverty last year, increasing the total number living in poverty from 40 million to 44 million. This means 1 in 7 Americans live in poverty. The child poverty rate is 1 in 5.
- The number of Americans without health insurance climbed from 46 million to 51 million last year.
I've no doubt that Canada and Europe have the exact same sort of issues, except for the health insurance problem (thank goodness).
And what about the millions upon millions of people hovering just on the edge of the poverty stats? That is a really scary thought. The world's economic woes are far from over; we will never be out of the woods.
People all over are experiencing these fears, and reacting in different ways. These fears are probably at the root of the "Tea Party" movement in the US that is currently accused of "hijacking" the Republican party. Movements like this are polarizing and cloud the real issues we all need to grapple with.
Constructive, democratic, consensus-building leadership is under serious threat as the politics and political style (negative campaigning, fear mongering, "attack" politics that disregard the facts etc.) continue to proliferate and succeed. But, as long as people are deeply angry and scared witless, and are without any better leadership ideas and options, they will continue to rally to the simplistic and polarizing wings as it makes them feel better and that they are doing something.
Unfortunately, while they are busy raging and splintering society, the very things they seek to protect (jobs, economic security, freedom to pursue happiness etc.) continue to fade away.
A major, collective attitude adjustment is needed, one that the recent wake-up calls (e.g., economic collapse) have failed to produce. But will it happen?
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The State of My Nation
I just read a blog post with some good financial tips, and also took a survey about money, financial planning and investing. In addition, this week I have been taking financial stock of my business (earnings to date and year end projections), so I've got money on the brain.
It's certainly official in my world - the economy completely tanked starting in the fall of 2008, and I'm not seeing much in the way of recovery as of this date (2 years later). My 2010 earnings will be 19% of the amount I earned in 2008. That is an 81% drop in earnings.
I am just the tip of the iceberg. My circumstances and experience are replicated and experienced by untold thousands of people just like me - self-employed consultants who only get jobs if our prospective clients can afford our services. And far fewer businesses and individuals can afford anything these days. They are all trying to keep the lights on themselves. Things continue to be pretty grim.
I immediately have to look on the bright side. I am currently paying a mere fraction of the income taxes I usually pay. I also managed to earn this 19% of my previous income level working for just 7 months (I used to work for 9 months when generating the higher amount). And I am still able to set my own hours and working conditions, which is priceless to me. No office-prison and wage-slave situation for me! I can still earn more, and in far fewer hours, working for myself than entering the salaried workforce.
Things would have to get much, much worse than this before I'd look for a regular job. And then, if things were much, much worse there likely wouldn't even BE any salaried jobs available. So I must do what I can, where I am, with what I've got.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
It's certainly official in my world - the economy completely tanked starting in the fall of 2008, and I'm not seeing much in the way of recovery as of this date (2 years later). My 2010 earnings will be 19% of the amount I earned in 2008. That is an 81% drop in earnings.
I am just the tip of the iceberg. My circumstances and experience are replicated and experienced by untold thousands of people just like me - self-employed consultants who only get jobs if our prospective clients can afford our services. And far fewer businesses and individuals can afford anything these days. They are all trying to keep the lights on themselves. Things continue to be pretty grim.
I immediately have to look on the bright side. I am currently paying a mere fraction of the income taxes I usually pay. I also managed to earn this 19% of my previous income level working for just 7 months (I used to work for 9 months when generating the higher amount). And I am still able to set my own hours and working conditions, which is priceless to me. No office-prison and wage-slave situation for me! I can still earn more, and in far fewer hours, working for myself than entering the salaried workforce.
Things would have to get much, much worse than this before I'd look for a regular job. And then, if things were much, much worse there likely wouldn't even BE any salaried jobs available. So I must do what I can, where I am, with what I've got.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Hurting "Henry"
I feel like a complete idiot. We've had "Henry", our brand new Ford "Adrenalin" model Sport Trac for 8 whole days...and this evening I backed Henry's left rear fender smack into a concrete planter in a parking lot...while my husband stood and watched in total disbelief.
I've been driving for over 33 years and have never had an accident. Other people have hit me, but I have never caused an accident. I did put two minor scrapes on our old Sport Trac, but nothing that dented anything or that affected the paint job. That pretty clean track record ended this evening.
It happened at the parking lot of the marina where we moor our boat. John had dropped me off in Nanaimo from our cottage early this evening as I have to deliver a full day workshop tomorrow in Victoria. I was worried about backing out of the marina parking spot because close on my left side was a boat stored on a trailer, and I didn't want to make too sharp a turn backing up and scrape my front left end. I turned completely around to look directly out the back of the truck and it all looked clear. Due to heavy rain this weekend, not many people had taken their boats out, so the parking lot was completely empty at the end where I was backing up.
With no cars anywhere in sight, I backed up in a much wider arc than I would have if cars had been parked in all the marked spots. My arc kept me clear of the boat on the trailer, but took my left rear end directly into a concrete planter that was out of my range of vision. It would have been visible in my left side mirror, but I was looking out the back over my right shoulder and it was not visible from that vantage point. As John looked on (before heading back to the cottage in our boat), I bumped into and scraped along this colourful concrete planter thing.
I couldn't hear him yelling at me when he saw what I was headed for. First, that truck is soundproof! Also, John had just been trying out playing his downloaded songs via the USB port built into the truck's audio/tech system. It worked just fine. I hadn't adjusted the volume down yet, so James Taylor was wailing about "fire and rain" as I splashed through the rain to kiss some concrete.
This just doesn't sit right. It's so unlike me. Yet, I did it.
It. Is. My. Fault.
I'll take Henry in to get the repairs done this week. I won't feel better until he's fixed. But now I am scared to drive him, especially parking and backing up. Sigh.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I've been driving for over 33 years and have never had an accident. Other people have hit me, but I have never caused an accident. I did put two minor scrapes on our old Sport Trac, but nothing that dented anything or that affected the paint job. That pretty clean track record ended this evening.
It happened at the parking lot of the marina where we moor our boat. John had dropped me off in Nanaimo from our cottage early this evening as I have to deliver a full day workshop tomorrow in Victoria. I was worried about backing out of the marina parking spot because close on my left side was a boat stored on a trailer, and I didn't want to make too sharp a turn backing up and scrape my front left end. I turned completely around to look directly out the back of the truck and it all looked clear. Due to heavy rain this weekend, not many people had taken their boats out, so the parking lot was completely empty at the end where I was backing up.
With no cars anywhere in sight, I backed up in a much wider arc than I would have if cars had been parked in all the marked spots. My arc kept me clear of the boat on the trailer, but took my left rear end directly into a concrete planter that was out of my range of vision. It would have been visible in my left side mirror, but I was looking out the back over my right shoulder and it was not visible from that vantage point. As John looked on (before heading back to the cottage in our boat), I bumped into and scraped along this colourful concrete planter thing.
I couldn't hear him yelling at me when he saw what I was headed for. First, that truck is soundproof! Also, John had just been trying out playing his downloaded songs via the USB port built into the truck's audio/tech system. It worked just fine. I hadn't adjusted the volume down yet, so James Taylor was wailing about "fire and rain" as I splashed through the rain to kiss some concrete.
This just doesn't sit right. It's so unlike me. Yet, I did it.
It. Is. My. Fault.
I'll take Henry in to get the repairs done this week. I won't feel better until he's fixed. But now I am scared to drive him, especially parking and backing up. Sigh.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Customer Disservice
I feel I have officially entered "Old Fogey Codgerville" because I am continuously dissappointed and upset by the incredibly poor service we experience almost everywhere.
We bought our new vehicle from a very chipper and upbeat "Gen Y" fellow who seemed unable to hear/understand and deliver on our expectations (i.e, when you get the phone call that your new car is "all ready for pick-up", you don't expect to arrive and spend 2.5 more hours while they dick around with final prep). It was clear truck sales is not his dream job; he really came to life telling us about his true passion for marine biology and studying whales. We were told to expect to receive a customer satisfaction survey and that ticking anything other than "Complete Satisfaction" constituted a failing mark for him. Suffice it to say the survey will be going in the garbage. We weren't completely satisfied and I have no confidence they would understand what we felt they needed to do to improve. We told him verbally several times what our expectations were and how to meet them, and it all fell on deaf ears.
I can't seem to convince my Internet Service Provider (ISP) that hosts my business e-mail and .com site to permanently give me adequate memory space on their server. They expand it for a while, and then rejig something on their servers, my space gets reduced, and business e-mail starts bouncing back undeliverable. I really need to switch ISPs, but feel in my heart it's likely I will have problems with any ISP to whom I give my business. I just don't have a lot of faith that anyone knows what they are doing, especially in tech area.
My husband has been living a nightmare with the phone company (Telus). He dropped his cell phone in the water, so needed a new one. Telus's website and phone support leave a lot to be desired. No matter when you phone them, you get the message that "call volumes and wait times are higher than expected" and then you spend hours getting bounced around, sometimes cut off, and poor, inattentive service when you do get a live person on the phone.
In John's case, he ordered a new phone and specified in some detail that he wanted a flip phone (i.e., covered buttons so it doesn't "pocket dial") and the Telus rep assured him that's what he was getting. John checked later on what had been recommended and ordered for him, and it was NOT a flip phone, and customer reviews complained it "pocket dialled" - in other words it was exactly what he had said he did not want. He called back and waited all over again to explain and correct the problem.
The new phone finally arrived and he was unable to get it activated by using the website. He had to call Telus, wait in that purgatory of a phone queue, argue with them about their ridiculous $25.00 fee to turn his new phone on and, when they did do an activation (by a supervisor!) they activated an old Samsung phone he used to have and not the new one they just sent him, so he had to call again and repeat the whole process to get this corrected. I sincerely thought his head was going to explode.
On top of the cell phone nonsense, our Telus wireless modem at the cottage isn't working and it took another 3 hours with two technicians before they were finally convinced to comply with John's original request to simply send us a new modem. Fingers crossed it works when it arrives.
That's my venting. No solutions in sight. Seems you just have to expect problems these days, and be pleasantly surprised if there aren't screw ups.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
We bought our new vehicle from a very chipper and upbeat "Gen Y" fellow who seemed unable to hear/understand and deliver on our expectations (i.e, when you get the phone call that your new car is "all ready for pick-up", you don't expect to arrive and spend 2.5 more hours while they dick around with final prep). It was clear truck sales is not his dream job; he really came to life telling us about his true passion for marine biology and studying whales. We were told to expect to receive a customer satisfaction survey and that ticking anything other than "Complete Satisfaction" constituted a failing mark for him. Suffice it to say the survey will be going in the garbage. We weren't completely satisfied and I have no confidence they would understand what we felt they needed to do to improve. We told him verbally several times what our expectations were and how to meet them, and it all fell on deaf ears.
I can't seem to convince my Internet Service Provider (ISP) that hosts my business e-mail and .com site to permanently give me adequate memory space on their server. They expand it for a while, and then rejig something on their servers, my space gets reduced, and business e-mail starts bouncing back undeliverable. I really need to switch ISPs, but feel in my heart it's likely I will have problems with any ISP to whom I give my business. I just don't have a lot of faith that anyone knows what they are doing, especially in tech area.
My husband has been living a nightmare with the phone company (Telus). He dropped his cell phone in the water, so needed a new one. Telus's website and phone support leave a lot to be desired. No matter when you phone them, you get the message that "call volumes and wait times are higher than expected" and then you spend hours getting bounced around, sometimes cut off, and poor, inattentive service when you do get a live person on the phone.
In John's case, he ordered a new phone and specified in some detail that he wanted a flip phone (i.e., covered buttons so it doesn't "pocket dial") and the Telus rep assured him that's what he was getting. John checked later on what had been recommended and ordered for him, and it was NOT a flip phone, and customer reviews complained it "pocket dialled" - in other words it was exactly what he had said he did not want. He called back and waited all over again to explain and correct the problem.
The new phone finally arrived and he was unable to get it activated by using the website. He had to call Telus, wait in that purgatory of a phone queue, argue with them about their ridiculous $25.00 fee to turn his new phone on and, when they did do an activation (by a supervisor!) they activated an old Samsung phone he used to have and not the new one they just sent him, so he had to call again and repeat the whole process to get this corrected. I sincerely thought his head was going to explode.
On top of the cell phone nonsense, our Telus wireless modem at the cottage isn't working and it took another 3 hours with two technicians before they were finally convinced to comply with John's original request to simply send us a new modem. Fingers crossed it works when it arrives.
That's my venting. No solutions in sight. Seems you just have to expect problems these days, and be pleasantly surprised if there aren't screw ups.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Before I Am Dust
Last Sunday, I scattered my mother's ashes at the stretch of beach she had specified. She died earlier this year, and I was keeping the ashes until my older sister (who I refer to as "Gigi") decided what she was comfortable with regarding timing and her participation in scattering the ashes.
As readers may know from other blog posts, my sister and I are seriously and permanently estranged due to our differences over our mother's final months (managing her illness and finances, and related disagreements and hurts, led us to mutually tear our relationship apart).
Personally, I would have been fine scattering the ashes immediately after the cremation, but Gigi wasn't ready. She didn't know if she could be present (she has a sick, elderly husband), or if she even wanted to be present.
Because of the state of our relationship, and the fact Gigi had been so distant and uninvolved in the years leading up to this point, I told her I'd be fine if she decided she wanted to take care of final act on her own somewhere in the future. I would give her the ashes and the rest would be up to her. I didn't have to be there (frankly, I felt I had been there throughout our mother's life).
I put the ashes away on a shelf in a closet and waited. A few months passed. Gigi eventually e-mailed me that she'd decided she was not coming west any time soon, nor did she want to take over this responsibility; she said I should just go ahead and take care of scattering the ashes sometime this summer. I told her I would. And I let her know the date and time I would be doing it so she could observe the moment however she chose.
The chosen beach is where my mother hung out in her beautiful, glorious youth; she and my father conducted a lot of their courtship there. It is the beach where I learned how to swim, on a family vacation in 1962. It's the beach where Gigi crossed paths with a huge Dungeness crab while wading, and screamed her head off - while our maternal grandmother waded out to her, caught the crab with her bare hands, and cooked him for dinner. This beach is where my father's ashes were scattered. Now my mother has joined him.
You can't scatter the ashes of the generation before you without a keen awareness that you are next up. The knowledge that our lifetimes are incredibly finite and quickly fleeting presses in. One moment I was three years old and learning to swim in that ocean. In what seems like the blink of an eye, I am 51 and scattering my mother's ashes into that same surf. One more eye blink and I will be within range of being dust myself.
I think my job in life right now is to figure out what I want to be, what I want to do, what I want to have, before I become dust. I am not talking about a "bucket list" so much as figuring out a path to the crematorium that is not paved in regrets.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
As readers may know from other blog posts, my sister and I are seriously and permanently estranged due to our differences over our mother's final months (managing her illness and finances, and related disagreements and hurts, led us to mutually tear our relationship apart).
Personally, I would have been fine scattering the ashes immediately after the cremation, but Gigi wasn't ready. She didn't know if she could be present (she has a sick, elderly husband), or if she even wanted to be present.
Because of the state of our relationship, and the fact Gigi had been so distant and uninvolved in the years leading up to this point, I told her I'd be fine if she decided she wanted to take care of final act on her own somewhere in the future. I would give her the ashes and the rest would be up to her. I didn't have to be there (frankly, I felt I had been there throughout our mother's life).
I put the ashes away on a shelf in a closet and waited. A few months passed. Gigi eventually e-mailed me that she'd decided she was not coming west any time soon, nor did she want to take over this responsibility; she said I should just go ahead and take care of scattering the ashes sometime this summer. I told her I would. And I let her know the date and time I would be doing it so she could observe the moment however she chose.
The chosen beach is where my mother hung out in her beautiful, glorious youth; she and my father conducted a lot of their courtship there. It is the beach where I learned how to swim, on a family vacation in 1962. It's the beach where Gigi crossed paths with a huge Dungeness crab while wading, and screamed her head off - while our maternal grandmother waded out to her, caught the crab with her bare hands, and cooked him for dinner. This beach is where my father's ashes were scattered. Now my mother has joined him.
You can't scatter the ashes of the generation before you without a keen awareness that you are next up. The knowledge that our lifetimes are incredibly finite and quickly fleeting presses in. One moment I was three years old and learning to swim in that ocean. In what seems like the blink of an eye, I am 51 and scattering my mother's ashes into that same surf. One more eye blink and I will be within range of being dust myself.
I think my job in life right now is to figure out what I want to be, what I want to do, what I want to have, before I become dust. I am not talking about a "bucket list" so much as figuring out a path to the crematorium that is not paved in regrets.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Monday, September 6, 2010
A Scattering of Ashes
I've done the last thing I will ever officially need to do for my mother. Yesterday, on a quiet, calm, sunny Sunday morning, I scattered her ashes at the beach location she had specified.
The tide was low, so I walked quite far out on the firm, grey sand to reach the pebbly tidal pools where I could release her ashes onto some rippling waters.
I mentally said "The Lord's Prayer" as I carefully shook her ashen remains back into nature. I lingered momentarily over the "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us" part. I haven't forgiven her trespasses, and don't think I ever completely will. I certainly won't ever forget them.
What was most comforting about this final act was the full realization there can be no new trespasses. And I can deal with the memories of by-gone trespasses.
My mother wasn't the only one spiritually "released" on that beach yesterday.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
The tide was low, so I walked quite far out on the firm, grey sand to reach the pebbly tidal pools where I could release her ashes onto some rippling waters.
I mentally said "The Lord's Prayer" as I carefully shook her ashen remains back into nature. I lingered momentarily over the "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us" part. I haven't forgiven her trespasses, and don't think I ever completely will. I certainly won't ever forget them.
What was most comforting about this final act was the full realization there can be no new trespasses. And I can deal with the memories of by-gone trespasses.
My mother wasn't the only one spiritually "released" on that beach yesterday.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Saturday, September 4, 2010
"Henry" Saves Us From Disaster
John and I have always named our cars; even before we met each other, we each had this habit. Not that every single car got named (John's owned more cars but named fewer), but the important ones seem to get dubbed with something. There's been Betty-Lou (a.k.a. Toyo-Glide), Dawson, Arrow, Beep, The Boss, and Dart, to name just a few of the vehicles that have been in our lives.
Late this past week, we did a trade-in and struck a deal for a new Ford. They had to locate the model and colour we wanted as they did not have it on the lot, so we knew it could be a few days before the new vehicle arrived for pick up.
We kept with our plans to leave town for the long weekend, tidied up the condo, closed drapes, and made sure lights etc. were off before locking up. Our last stop before leaving town for several days was at the dealership to sign the paperwork - then it would be off to the cottage.
We signed the paperwork and got the news that our new vehicle could be delivered as soon as the next day (today)! Being immediate-gratification-types, we decided to stick around town for one more day to get the new vehicle as soon as possible. So, we delayed the trip to the cottage for one night and headed home to put the groceries and some frozen food back in the fridge to be re-packed up today.
We got back to our condo and opened the front door to a loud noise and burning smell...John investigated and discovered the paper shredding machine in my office had turned on all by itself and was running full bore! We'd been gone about 2 hours at this point and, judging from the heat and smell of an overheated motor, this thing had been running for a while!
We just shuddered to think what could have happened if we hadn't unexpectedly decided to come home; I had not been due back for 4 days. We could easily have had a fire...and this would have been right on the heels of our condo flood disaster and the past 4 months of repairs.
We feel our new vehicle purchase spared us from another terrible disaster (not sure of the message though...spend thousands to save even more thousands?!?). John named the new truck "Henry" (as in Henry Ford) so we have Henry to thank for sending us home to avert a possible fire.
The evil paper shredder is now in "lock" mode and will not be able to run without a human to turn it on.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Late this past week, we did a trade-in and struck a deal for a new Ford. They had to locate the model and colour we wanted as they did not have it on the lot, so we knew it could be a few days before the new vehicle arrived for pick up.
We kept with our plans to leave town for the long weekend, tidied up the condo, closed drapes, and made sure lights etc. were off before locking up. Our last stop before leaving town for several days was at the dealership to sign the paperwork - then it would be off to the cottage.
We signed the paperwork and got the news that our new vehicle could be delivered as soon as the next day (today)! Being immediate-gratification-types, we decided to stick around town for one more day to get the new vehicle as soon as possible. So, we delayed the trip to the cottage for one night and headed home to put the groceries and some frozen food back in the fridge to be re-packed up today.
We got back to our condo and opened the front door to a loud noise and burning smell...John investigated and discovered the paper shredding machine in my office had turned on all by itself and was running full bore! We'd been gone about 2 hours at this point and, judging from the heat and smell of an overheated motor, this thing had been running for a while!
We just shuddered to think what could have happened if we hadn't unexpectedly decided to come home; I had not been due back for 4 days. We could easily have had a fire...and this would have been right on the heels of our condo flood disaster and the past 4 months of repairs.
We feel our new vehicle purchase spared us from another terrible disaster (not sure of the message though...spend thousands to save even more thousands?!?). John named the new truck "Henry" (as in Henry Ford) so we have Henry to thank for sending us home to avert a possible fire.
The evil paper shredder is now in "lock" mode and will not be able to run without a human to turn it on.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Back in the Saddle
Today is the first day I have worked in my home office in about 7 months. First we were out of the country earlier this year, and then we couldn't live in our home for 4 months due to damage and repairs from a freak sewer back-up.
We moved home in early August. I've made progress in moving back into and re-setting up my home office while clearing out the crap, winnowing out the unwieldly, and purging the papers. I'm still nowhere near done, but it's sure a hell of a lot better than it was.
I was surprised to find I've gotten used to working off a laptop, and my home office PC set-up is unfamiliar to me and uncomfortable. I am having difficulty typing on my keyboard and even seeing my (comparatively speaking!) huge screen - funny, I guess my new reading glasses are actually better suited to laptop viewing. Then there's the whole issue of operating systems and software compatibility between XP (home office PC), compared to Vista on one laptop, and Windows 7 on my newest laptop. Technology. Sigh.
But, I'm under a deadline this week for completing a contract I've been tasked with, and must plunge back into working from my home office. Although, there is a temptation to fire up my Toshiba laptop and work from the kitchen eating bar as it would feel more comfortable. And I could watch John make pot roast.
Prior to the upheaval of the past few months, my working location of preference was always my home office. I'm pleasantly surprised by how well I adapted to not having an office, and to working from a number of places...from the little dining table in our Mexican condo, to a hotel room desk, to the kitchen table at our cottage. I realize I was getting used to being a laptop vagabond!
I hope I can retain some of that vagabond spirit and not get too anchored back into my home office.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
We moved home in early August. I've made progress in moving back into and re-setting up my home office while clearing out the crap, winnowing out the unwieldly, and purging the papers. I'm still nowhere near done, but it's sure a hell of a lot better than it was.
I was surprised to find I've gotten used to working off a laptop, and my home office PC set-up is unfamiliar to me and uncomfortable. I am having difficulty typing on my keyboard and even seeing my (comparatively speaking!) huge screen - funny, I guess my new reading glasses are actually better suited to laptop viewing. Then there's the whole issue of operating systems and software compatibility between XP (home office PC), compared to Vista on one laptop, and Windows 7 on my newest laptop. Technology. Sigh.
But, I'm under a deadline this week for completing a contract I've been tasked with, and must plunge back into working from my home office. Although, there is a temptation to fire up my Toshiba laptop and work from the kitchen eating bar as it would feel more comfortable. And I could watch John make pot roast.
Prior to the upheaval of the past few months, my working location of preference was always my home office. I'm pleasantly surprised by how well I adapted to not having an office, and to working from a number of places...from the little dining table in our Mexican condo, to a hotel room desk, to the kitchen table at our cottage. I realize I was getting used to being a laptop vagabond!
I hope I can retain some of that vagabond spirit and not get too anchored back into my home office.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Is A Picture Worth 50,000 Words?
I've been puzzling over this photo of me in my mother's lap. I think it's an example of "What's wrong with this picture?"
I was a month away from turning 5 years old (so my mom had just turned 31) and our family was on a winter vacation in Florida. But I don't think this is a happy, warm family photo.
My mother looks like she is somewhere else mentally; she seems checked out and unaware that I am even in her lap. I'm not snuggled there, more like plunked, and looking rather glum at that. We seem about as far apart as two people can be who are actually in physical contact with each other.
Mind you, this was the family holiday where it was discovered I had a thing for bright shiny objects, having shoplifted a faceted glass door handle from a hardware store (I think I thought it looked like a diamond), and I also tucked a large, rectangular glass ashtray from the motel room into my little suitcase. I can only imagine that I was somehow attracted to the heft and gleam of that object. I guess I developed my passion for travel souvenirs at a young age!
I plan to write a book about my mother and the experience of being the daughter of this singular woman. I've started writing the stories that could be the basis of the book many times over the years, but have yet to find the exact right angle and approach. I continue to experiment, partly through blogging.
The yet-to-be-book is captured in this photo of a knock-about, skinned-knee, tomboy daughter and her glamorous, remote mother. I just have to find the right 50,000 words (length of a typical novel) to capture and convey the journey we had.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I was a month away from turning 5 years old (so my mom had just turned 31) and our family was on a winter vacation in Florida. But I don't think this is a happy, warm family photo.
My mother looks like she is somewhere else mentally; she seems checked out and unaware that I am even in her lap. I'm not snuggled there, more like plunked, and looking rather glum at that. We seem about as far apart as two people can be who are actually in physical contact with each other.
Mind you, this was the family holiday where it was discovered I had a thing for bright shiny objects, having shoplifted a faceted glass door handle from a hardware store (I think I thought it looked like a diamond), and I also tucked a large, rectangular glass ashtray from the motel room into my little suitcase. I can only imagine that I was somehow attracted to the heft and gleam of that object. I guess I developed my passion for travel souvenirs at a young age!
I plan to write a book about my mother and the experience of being the daughter of this singular woman. I've started writing the stories that could be the basis of the book many times over the years, but have yet to find the exact right angle and approach. I continue to experiment, partly through blogging.
The yet-to-be-book is captured in this photo of a knock-about, skinned-knee, tomboy daughter and her glamorous, remote mother. I just have to find the right 50,000 words (length of a typical novel) to capture and convey the journey we had.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Summer Gems
These little summer gems caused me to do something bad...I ate blackberry shortcake with whipped cream last night. Shortcake was all John's idea, but it was my lack of willpower that led me to chow down on more sugar than I've had in well over two months.
I picked these blackberries up the road from our cottage. There weren't a lot of them and I had to do battle with hungry wasps competing for these juicy tidbits.
I carefully rinsed the road dust from my hard-won treasures and proudly announced to John "They're totally organic!" I think he took that as a challenge to make them less healthy, hence the trip to town (by boat) for the mini short cakes and whipping cream that created my downfall.
I don't have a scale at the cottage, but I can just feel my body has taken hold of those refined shortcake carbs and is not going to let go easily. I would have been better off, and happier, eating just the berries with a spoonful of whipped cream. The supermarket shortcake was just not worth it. A good reminder, really, that I am not missing much by skipping refined carbs.
I must have suspected the shortcake would leave a hollow feeling. While at the grocery store, I grabbed a bar of 85% cacao dark chocolate...for the next time temptation decides to visit. Chocolate never disappoints!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I picked these blackberries up the road from our cottage. There weren't a lot of them and I had to do battle with hungry wasps competing for these juicy tidbits.
I carefully rinsed the road dust from my hard-won treasures and proudly announced to John "They're totally organic!" I think he took that as a challenge to make them less healthy, hence the trip to town (by boat) for the mini short cakes and whipping cream that created my downfall.
I don't have a scale at the cottage, but I can just feel my body has taken hold of those refined shortcake carbs and is not going to let go easily. I would have been better off, and happier, eating just the berries with a spoonful of whipped cream. The supermarket shortcake was just not worth it. A good reminder, really, that I am not missing much by skipping refined carbs.
I must have suspected the shortcake would leave a hollow feeling. While at the grocery store, I grabbed a bar of 85% cacao dark chocolate...for the next time temptation decides to visit. Chocolate never disappoints!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Friday, August 27, 2010
Camp Counsellor
It had been a while since I'd made the "Thirsty Thursdays" junket over to The Surf Pub. John goes weekly with the boys from Mudge Island, and I am usually home alone in Victoria (looking despairingly through the boxes and files in my office - woo hoo, wild times).
I've been able to spend this whole week at the cottage, so have caught up on some of the Mudge Island grapevine. Some of it's happy news, some of it's troubling.
I'm often asked, and try to help, with the problems that crop up in the lives of our friends and fellow islanders - from dispensing dating advice to advising on dealing with an ex-wife who is withholding access to the kids, to dispensing "Betaine" - a supplement to help with stomach acid problems; and from researching the in-utero impact on a fetus of drug use by a pregnant woman, through to researching and identifying local marine mechanic training programs and admission requirements. It's definitely a mixed bag!
I'm a little like a camp counsellor for the grown kids on Mudge - sort of an interface between their world on Mudge and the outer world-at-large, often via the computer. Guess that makes me a "Google" Camp Counsellor! I'm just happy to be able to help.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I've been able to spend this whole week at the cottage, so have caught up on some of the Mudge Island grapevine. Some of it's happy news, some of it's troubling.
I'm often asked, and try to help, with the problems that crop up in the lives of our friends and fellow islanders - from dispensing dating advice to advising on dealing with an ex-wife who is withholding access to the kids, to dispensing "Betaine" - a supplement to help with stomach acid problems; and from researching the in-utero impact on a fetus of drug use by a pregnant woman, through to researching and identifying local marine mechanic training programs and admission requirements. It's definitely a mixed bag!
I'm a little like a camp counsellor for the grown kids on Mudge - sort of an interface between their world on Mudge and the outer world-at-large, often via the computer. Guess that makes me a "Google" Camp Counsellor! I'm just happy to be able to help.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Before and After
Hints of fall are already in the air here on the west coast. I find my thoughts are heading south, well ahead of the rain and cooler temperatures that are in our near future.
I know I should be focused on being present where I am currently, but that's just not how my mind works. I like anticipating the future, especially when it's not anticipation tinged with worry.
What I am looking forward to is returning to our southern hide-away for the winter. In a little over two years (and five trips) we turned our plain "Neo-Gulag style" concrete shell of a condo into a cosy little haven. Check it out -
I still have a few changes I want to make, and other touches to add (like I am replacing the accent pillows on that leather sectional - those came with the couch and I do NOT like them, plus they're scratchy!), but we're comfortable and it feels like home.
Just this morning, John mentioned he's got Mexico on the brain and is starting to think about our return - so it's not just me. He's sensitive to the sun being lower in the sky and more shade on our deck at the cottage every day - signs that the Canadian summer is quickly waning.
Today is Thursday, which means $3.00 pints of beer at the Surf Pub for the guys working on our addition (a highlight of their work week!). I'm rarely here on Thursdays, but today I'll get to go to the Surf Pub with them - although I will be drinking sparkling water and being the designated driver.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I know I should be focused on being present where I am currently, but that's just not how my mind works. I like anticipating the future, especially when it's not anticipation tinged with worry.
What I am looking forward to is returning to our southern hide-away for the winter. In a little over two years (and five trips) we turned our plain "Neo-Gulag style" concrete shell of a condo into a cosy little haven. Check it out -
I still have a few changes I want to make, and other touches to add (like I am replacing the accent pillows on that leather sectional - those came with the couch and I do NOT like them, plus they're scratchy!), but we're comfortable and it feels like home.
Just this morning, John mentioned he's got Mexico on the brain and is starting to think about our return - so it's not just me. He's sensitive to the sun being lower in the sky and more shade on our deck at the cottage every day - signs that the Canadian summer is quickly waning.
Today is Thursday, which means $3.00 pints of beer at the Surf Pub for the guys working on our addition (a highlight of their work week!). I'm rarely here on Thursdays, but today I'll get to go to the Surf Pub with them - although I will be drinking sparkling water and being the designated driver.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Surprise Finds
A lot of my life has been in boxes lately. Some of the contents of these boxes were recently packed and some have been languishing, forgotten, for quite some time. The boxes are quite a metaphor for how compartmentalized the various phases of my life have become.
Some things in some of the compartments I am quite happy to forget about and hope they never re-surface to see the light of day again. Some things truly do need to stay out-of-sight-out-of-mind. I've become blissfully ignorant of them and am content to stay that way.
Sometimes I make a simple, happy discovery, like when I unearthed a half a package of my favourite Mexican coffee (Cafe de Olla - can't get it in Canada) when we moved back into our condo and unpacked the kitchen. I am making that half package l-a-s-t!
John and I were up in the attic at our cottage this week, rooting through boxes he moved up here a while ago from our condo storage locker. I wasn't expecting a trip down memory lane, as most of the stuff in the attic is his. I was quite disconcerted to unearth this 8 x 10 black and white shot from my early 20's when I was doing a bit of modeling.
I was upset to see how young and fresh-faced I looked, and it triggered a weird kaleidoscopic re-experiencing of my life since age 24 when that shot was taken.
It's even more of a shock for me to see this image because I have so very few photos of myself in my 20's. That was the decade I spent with R., and he took a lot of photos which we had nicely organized into many albums. When we divorced, he made a specific request for custody of the photo albums and I graciously gave them all to him. After all, he took most of the photos, and it struck a chord in me that it appeared he wanted to keep these mementoes of our life together. He didn't want me any more...but he wanted to keep pictures of me, and us...odd, but whatever.
About eight years after giving R. the photo albums, I wound up working closely with a girlfriend he'd had for a while, quite long after our divorce. She was an odd young woman who became quite fixated on me (apparently because I had succeeded in getting R. to marry me, and she had failed in her efforts to do the same).
We did speak a bit about R., and she told me she'd asked him about his ex-wife. Apparently he wouldn't say much, but it did come across that he felt I'd rather inappropriately "gotten busy" with someone else (after he'd left me for another woman...sort of along the lines of the "Friends" Ross & Rachel "we were on a break!" episode. Good grief.)
I digressed - my point was she had asked him to show her photos and he said he didn't have any. She claims he told her I had kept all the photo albums and then burned them! I was so shocked. I can understand him declining to show her the photos, but to portray me as someone who would withhold and then destroy these items of sentimental value was quite a chicken-shit thing to do. It also made me think he either burned them (and can't take responsibility for their destruction) or he keeps them squirrelled away and secretly looks through them from time to time. I'm not sure how I feel about either scenario.
Given my reaction to seeing this one photo I found, I don't think that I'd want to see those photo albums, even if given a chance to flip through them. Youth is fleeting and I don't need to be reminded that I didn't appreciate it or make the most of it.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Some things in some of the compartments I am quite happy to forget about and hope they never re-surface to see the light of day again. Some things truly do need to stay out-of-sight-out-of-mind. I've become blissfully ignorant of them and am content to stay that way.
Sometimes I make a simple, happy discovery, like when I unearthed a half a package of my favourite Mexican coffee (Cafe de Olla - can't get it in Canada) when we moved back into our condo and unpacked the kitchen. I am making that half package l-a-s-t!
John and I were up in the attic at our cottage this week, rooting through boxes he moved up here a while ago from our condo storage locker. I wasn't expecting a trip down memory lane, as most of the stuff in the attic is his. I was quite disconcerted to unearth this 8 x 10 black and white shot from my early 20's when I was doing a bit of modeling.
I was upset to see how young and fresh-faced I looked, and it triggered a weird kaleidoscopic re-experiencing of my life since age 24 when that shot was taken.
It's even more of a shock for me to see this image because I have so very few photos of myself in my 20's. That was the decade I spent with R., and he took a lot of photos which we had nicely organized into many albums. When we divorced, he made a specific request for custody of the photo albums and I graciously gave them all to him. After all, he took most of the photos, and it struck a chord in me that it appeared he wanted to keep these mementoes of our life together. He didn't want me any more...but he wanted to keep pictures of me, and us...odd, but whatever.
About eight years after giving R. the photo albums, I wound up working closely with a girlfriend he'd had for a while, quite long after our divorce. She was an odd young woman who became quite fixated on me (apparently because I had succeeded in getting R. to marry me, and she had failed in her efforts to do the same).
We did speak a bit about R., and she told me she'd asked him about his ex-wife. Apparently he wouldn't say much, but it did come across that he felt I'd rather inappropriately "gotten busy" with someone else (after he'd left me for another woman...sort of along the lines of the "Friends" Ross & Rachel "we were on a break!" episode. Good grief.)
I digressed - my point was she had asked him to show her photos and he said he didn't have any. She claims he told her I had kept all the photo albums and then burned them! I was so shocked. I can understand him declining to show her the photos, but to portray me as someone who would withhold and then destroy these items of sentimental value was quite a chicken-shit thing to do. It also made me think he either burned them (and can't take responsibility for their destruction) or he keeps them squirrelled away and secretly looks through them from time to time. I'm not sure how I feel about either scenario.
Given my reaction to seeing this one photo I found, I don't think that I'd want to see those photo albums, even if given a chance to flip through them. Youth is fleeting and I don't need to be reminded that I didn't appreciate it or make the most of it.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Diamond in the Rough
I am looking for "diamonds." What I mean is I am endeavouring to bring to light the things in my life and thinking that have only attained clarity and some measure of brilliance over time, and under great pressure.
Sometimes it's hard to distinguish these "diamonds" (insights formed over time and from being under great presssure) from the rocks and stones that hide them. Sometimes, all I see is rocks and stones - or even boulders.
Rarely is a "diamond" simply nestled, easily visible for plucking. Usually you have to break out the pick axe, and break a sweat, to uncover things of true value.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sometimes it's hard to distinguish these "diamonds" (insights formed over time and from being under great presssure) from the rocks and stones that hide them. Sometimes, all I see is rocks and stones - or even boulders.
Rarely is a "diamond" simply nestled, easily visible for plucking. Usually you have to break out the pick axe, and break a sweat, to uncover things of true value.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Monday, August 16, 2010
Marinating in The Wine Jug
Our cottage is located on Wine Jug Bay; seriously, that is the actual name on the map - and it's right next to Moonshine Cove. Obviously this little island was sub-divided by some serious drinkers! We're quite certain the "Moonshine Cove" moniker is not a reference to the play of moonlight on the waters, and we find the name "Wine Jug Bay" completely unambiguous.
Taking a dip in Wine Jug Bay is as close as I get to wine these days; more than 2 months in, my no alcohol and no refined carbs regime is going swimmingly, if I may say. I am down at least 10lbs from where I started, and the numbers on the scale continue to descend. But I have to lose at least another 10 lbs yet. And then I have to keep it off.
Today I may even swim out to our raft, which is nicknamed "The Poop Deck" because of the family of otters that use it as their biffy. Otter poop is evil stuff, so I rarely go onto the raft, and the wood ladder is rotted and needs replacing. So, it's just a destination to swim out to, and not currently a place to hang out. Next summer we'll probably install a metal pool ladder onto The Poop Deck and take it back from the otters, or at least make them share.
The weather has been fabulous the last few days. Our aspect means we enjoy both sunrise and sunset glimmers, which leads to some creative photography - we call shots like this one "catching the sun". My husband, John, is a great sun-catcher.
We had dinner on our deck last evening with some island friends - one was celebrating a birthday, so that made for some festivity and a satisfying conclusion of another wonderful day on Wine Jug Bay.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Taking a dip in Wine Jug Bay is as close as I get to wine these days; more than 2 months in, my no alcohol and no refined carbs regime is going swimmingly, if I may say. I am down at least 10lbs from where I started, and the numbers on the scale continue to descend. But I have to lose at least another 10 lbs yet. And then I have to keep it off.
Today I may even swim out to our raft, which is nicknamed "The Poop Deck" because of the family of otters that use it as their biffy. Otter poop is evil stuff, so I rarely go onto the raft, and the wood ladder is rotted and needs replacing. So, it's just a destination to swim out to, and not currently a place to hang out. Next summer we'll probably install a metal pool ladder onto The Poop Deck and take it back from the otters, or at least make them share.
The weather has been fabulous the last few days. Our aspect means we enjoy both sunrise and sunset glimmers, which leads to some creative photography - we call shots like this one "catching the sun". My husband, John, is a great sun-catcher.
We had dinner on our deck last evening with some island friends - one was celebrating a birthday, so that made for some festivity and a satisfying conclusion of another wonderful day on Wine Jug Bay.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Witness Protection
A police officer was just at my door serving me with a subpoena to appear in court in mid-January 2011. I gather that Crown Counsel feels I am a witness "likely to give material evidence for the prosecution" related to an August 2005 break & enter and uttering threats offence. Yes, the offence was committed 5 years ago, and didn't directly involve me. But now I am the only person who can speak for the person who was involved - my mother.
I have a lot of problems with this situation, not the least of which is that I will be in Mexico for most of this winter. The airline reservations are made and the tickets are paid for. I'll be happy to show them to the Crown Prosecutor's office whenever they call me back. I phoned them as soon as I got the subpoena to tell them I am not in the country during the projected trial date; they are to get back to me.
This all takes me back to five years ago. I had just returned from a fantastic 3 day seminar in Seattle given by Lou Tice and The Pacific Institute (ground breaking leaders in human and organizational development in alignment with positive psychology philosophy). It was a great event; I met people from all over the world, and formed a friendship that would shortly take me to do leadership coaching work in the South Pacific.
It was 8:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. John had gone to work and I was getting ready for a full day of coaching clients, listening to my Lou Tice motivational CDs. Life was good. Then the phone rang. It was the police informing me that my mother's condo had been broken into in the wee hours of the morning and she had been physically assaulted. She was at the police station and they needed me to come get her and tend to the situation.
I quickly called all my clients scheduled for the day and cancelled their appointments. I admit I was wincing at the fact my earnings for the day would now be zero - the hazards of self-employment and being the only kid in town when your widowed mom has a crisis. This wasn't her fault, and I wanted to support her in the situation, but losing a day's pay hurt - especially the fact she was never able to acknowledge I ran my own business and didn't have paid leave of any sort.
Thankfully things like this only happened about once a year - usually it was health-related, like the times she fell and broke bones. Always on a week day, first thing in the morning, I'd get the emergency call and have to start cancelling my clients. I never said anything to her about my lost income except for one time. She was in the ER bed but nattering on and on about the fact I had paid for parking in the hospital lot and thought I should have saved the $4.00 and parked on a neighbouring side street. When she magnanimously announced she'd reimburse me for the parking, I could not help myself and told her the $4.00 was nothing compared to the hundreds of dollars of lost income from cancelled client appointments that day. She clammed right up; even the $4.00 was off the table! But, really, money was just a hot button indicator of much deeper issues. And, in these crisis situations, money was just an irritant - my main focus was always on helping my mother with whatever had happened. Broken bones and break-ins are no small matter.
I arrived at the police station and got the whole story of what had transpired. An obviously drug-addicted fellow had climbed up and gotten into my mother's 3rd floor condo through a window that opened onto her balcony. She'd woken up and seen a flashlight beam roving around her living room and got up to investigate. She confronted the burglar, they tussled and he slammed her down on the floor, sat on her chest and restrained her hands. He eventually let her sit up and she watched while he ransacked her home and purse, making off with some money. In their tussle, his watch had come off and been left at the scene. She'd called the police and they had attended and taken her to the station to give her statement.
I took her home with me and she stayed with us for a few days until she felt safe enough to go home. In the meantime, my husband beefed up all the security and locks around her condo doors and windows so this could not happen again.
Just a few days later, there was a report in the news of a similar incident right in my mother's neighbourhood. A man had broken into an elderly woman's apartment while she slept. She'd woken up and he'd kept her hostage while he ransacked her place (this kind woman actually cooked him breakfast!). Odd noises coming from her unit alerted neighbours who phoned the police and the burglar was arrested leaving the woman's apartment. A slam dunk case of being caught red-handed that somehow did not get immediately linked to my mother's break-in.
I was recently contacted by the police who sheepishly admitted it had taken all this time (almost 5 years!) to test the DNA from the burglar's watch left at my mother's condo and to identify the man now charged with the crime (yes, it's the same guy who was arrested and charged with the break in at the other woman's home). They are looking at proceeding with the case, but the main problem now is my mother died in January 2010, so they no longer have their victim/eye witness.
I've been trying to help and get my mom some posthumous justice. I have given some written statements in answer to questions posed to me by the Crown Counsel and I guess the information I provided was substantive enough that they'd like me in court as a witness. But I can't tell them anything more than what I've already submitted to them - that my mother was an active senior, living independently who had a full life with many elderly female friends whom she'd known her whole life. She was cautious and security conscious and did nothing to bring this on herself. She relied on me and my husband and was not inclined to deal with strangers. No one but family and close friends were ever invited into her home. She'd been very upset by the break-in and wanted the fellow arrested and brought to justice. She would be testifying if she were still alive.
So, once again (even after death), it feels like one of my mother's crises is interfering with my life and plans. She's gone and won't get any satisfaction or increased sense of security from sending this guy away. I don't believe that my testimony would be pivotal to a conviction. They have his DNA found at the scene, my mother's statements from 2005, and he's already been convicted of an identical crime - what more do they need?
I'll tell you what is needed - the justice system needs to do its job. I will be in Mexico.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I have a lot of problems with this situation, not the least of which is that I will be in Mexico for most of this winter. The airline reservations are made and the tickets are paid for. I'll be happy to show them to the Crown Prosecutor's office whenever they call me back. I phoned them as soon as I got the subpoena to tell them I am not in the country during the projected trial date; they are to get back to me.
This all takes me back to five years ago. I had just returned from a fantastic 3 day seminar in Seattle given by Lou Tice and The Pacific Institute (ground breaking leaders in human and organizational development in alignment with positive psychology philosophy). It was a great event; I met people from all over the world, and formed a friendship that would shortly take me to do leadership coaching work in the South Pacific.
It was 8:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. John had gone to work and I was getting ready for a full day of coaching clients, listening to my Lou Tice motivational CDs. Life was good. Then the phone rang. It was the police informing me that my mother's condo had been broken into in the wee hours of the morning and she had been physically assaulted. She was at the police station and they needed me to come get her and tend to the situation.
I quickly called all my clients scheduled for the day and cancelled their appointments. I admit I was wincing at the fact my earnings for the day would now be zero - the hazards of self-employment and being the only kid in town when your widowed mom has a crisis. This wasn't her fault, and I wanted to support her in the situation, but losing a day's pay hurt - especially the fact she was never able to acknowledge I ran my own business and didn't have paid leave of any sort.
Thankfully things like this only happened about once a year - usually it was health-related, like the times she fell and broke bones. Always on a week day, first thing in the morning, I'd get the emergency call and have to start cancelling my clients. I never said anything to her about my lost income except for one time. She was in the ER bed but nattering on and on about the fact I had paid for parking in the hospital lot and thought I should have saved the $4.00 and parked on a neighbouring side street. When she magnanimously announced she'd reimburse me for the parking, I could not help myself and told her the $4.00 was nothing compared to the hundreds of dollars of lost income from cancelled client appointments that day. She clammed right up; even the $4.00 was off the table! But, really, money was just a hot button indicator of much deeper issues. And, in these crisis situations, money was just an irritant - my main focus was always on helping my mother with whatever had happened. Broken bones and break-ins are no small matter.
I arrived at the police station and got the whole story of what had transpired. An obviously drug-addicted fellow had climbed up and gotten into my mother's 3rd floor condo through a window that opened onto her balcony. She'd woken up and seen a flashlight beam roving around her living room and got up to investigate. She confronted the burglar, they tussled and he slammed her down on the floor, sat on her chest and restrained her hands. He eventually let her sit up and she watched while he ransacked her home and purse, making off with some money. In their tussle, his watch had come off and been left at the scene. She'd called the police and they had attended and taken her to the station to give her statement.
I took her home with me and she stayed with us for a few days until she felt safe enough to go home. In the meantime, my husband beefed up all the security and locks around her condo doors and windows so this could not happen again.
Just a few days later, there was a report in the news of a similar incident right in my mother's neighbourhood. A man had broken into an elderly woman's apartment while she slept. She'd woken up and he'd kept her hostage while he ransacked her place (this kind woman actually cooked him breakfast!). Odd noises coming from her unit alerted neighbours who phoned the police and the burglar was arrested leaving the woman's apartment. A slam dunk case of being caught red-handed that somehow did not get immediately linked to my mother's break-in.
I was recently contacted by the police who sheepishly admitted it had taken all this time (almost 5 years!) to test the DNA from the burglar's watch left at my mother's condo and to identify the man now charged with the crime (yes, it's the same guy who was arrested and charged with the break in at the other woman's home). They are looking at proceeding with the case, but the main problem now is my mother died in January 2010, so they no longer have their victim/eye witness.
I've been trying to help and get my mom some posthumous justice. I have given some written statements in answer to questions posed to me by the Crown Counsel and I guess the information I provided was substantive enough that they'd like me in court as a witness. But I can't tell them anything more than what I've already submitted to them - that my mother was an active senior, living independently who had a full life with many elderly female friends whom she'd known her whole life. She was cautious and security conscious and did nothing to bring this on herself. She relied on me and my husband and was not inclined to deal with strangers. No one but family and close friends were ever invited into her home. She'd been very upset by the break-in and wanted the fellow arrested and brought to justice. She would be testifying if she were still alive.
So, once again (even after death), it feels like one of my mother's crises is interfering with my life and plans. She's gone and won't get any satisfaction or increased sense of security from sending this guy away. I don't believe that my testimony would be pivotal to a conviction. They have his DNA found at the scene, my mother's statements from 2005, and he's already been convicted of an identical crime - what more do they need?
I'll tell you what is needed - the justice system needs to do its job. I will be in Mexico.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Cost of a "Free" Lunch
"Hell Week" is over. We are moved back into our condo after four months of flood repairs and living in a hotel.
It was painful - two trips in our Ford truck to move out of the hotel and get all our accumulated stuff (from some kitchen necessities, to clothes/shoes, and toiletries, to my makeshift office) back to our condo. Then the big moving truck arrived bringing back our entire household that has been in storage.
The kitchen cabinets were installed on day 2 of the move back in, and the colour match is satisfactory. Of course, they forgot some hinges and parts so couldn't install everything, and will be coming back this week to finish the job.
The built-in dishwasher (which has already been adjusted four times) requires a fifth adjustment; it currently doesn't drain on completion of the entire cycle, so obviously a hose got crimped. It makes me very nervous to see a gallon of water sitting in the bottom of the dishwasher, inches away from all the brand new hardwood flooring that got installed as a result of the flood in April.
Things emerged from storage pretty much unscathed. My KitchenAid mixmaster obviously spent some time on its side, as its gear oil leaked everywhere, and the one and only Christmas decoration (a large 3-wick candle holder) I've kept over the years came out of a box broken.
We took a much-needed lunch break and got an outdoor table at the Irish Times Pub on Government Street. We've eaten there once before and I knew they had a good Shepherd's Pie on the menu (made with ground lamb). I felt I needed a substantial lunch to get me through the rest of the day.
I knew the movers may need to call us so left my large handbag open and accessible on the chair next to me, so I could get to my Blackberry if it rang. I got this handbag about a month ago - creamy beige DKNY bag large enough for all the crap I tote around, including my daytimer and files/papers when I see clients. I like and need a roomy bag.
Our young server arrived with our food. While putting my husband's salad down in front of him, she lost control of the two hot dishes balanced in her other hand. In s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n I watched this huge dish of rather soupy Shepherd's Pie slide through the air to empty itself entirely into my open handbag! Not a speck went anywhere except into the interior of my handbag with its cream coloured satin lining. Of course the bulk of it hit on the inside pocket where I keep my Blackberry (in a case, luckily). It looked like someone had puked into my purse.
The server seemed shocked and paralyzed. I first grabbed my Blackberry out of the mess and and started mopping it off with my one paper napkin. As she continued to stand there staring I said "Uh, do you think you could get me some towels to clean this mess up?" and off she went.
I emptied my bag and started to de-crud everything with the towels that materialized. My Blackberry still worked - whew. The manager took my bag away to dab at the lining with soda water, which did nothing. She told me to get it cleaned and, if damage remained, to let her know and we can "talk". The lining of my bag now gleamed with orange-coloured grease stains and smelled like mutton.
They brought me another Shepherd's Pie, but it was completely unappetizing to me. I could only manage a couple of bites as the image of that mess in my purse killed any appetite I'd had. When they took our plates away they assured us there would be no charge for anything, but I certainly felt I had paid a steep price to visit their establishment.
We got home after lunch and between scrubbing and soaking with Tide and OxyClean, I got most of the stains out, but it still smelled like stew - yuck. I stuffed Bounce dryer sheets into my bag and left it to air out on the deck overnight. John claims it doesn't smell anymore, but I can still detect a slight scent.
We came up to the cottage yesterday and my favourite dog, Lou, the black lab, confirmed that the aroma lingers. I took my Blackberry out of my bag and had it in my hand, and Lou came right over and licked it!
Todo bien. (It's all good).
It was painful - two trips in our Ford truck to move out of the hotel and get all our accumulated stuff (from some kitchen necessities, to clothes/shoes, and toiletries, to my makeshift office) back to our condo. Then the big moving truck arrived bringing back our entire household that has been in storage.
The kitchen cabinets were installed on day 2 of the move back in, and the colour match is satisfactory. Of course, they forgot some hinges and parts so couldn't install everything, and will be coming back this week to finish the job.
The built-in dishwasher (which has already been adjusted four times) requires a fifth adjustment; it currently doesn't drain on completion of the entire cycle, so obviously a hose got crimped. It makes me very nervous to see a gallon of water sitting in the bottom of the dishwasher, inches away from all the brand new hardwood flooring that got installed as a result of the flood in April.
Things emerged from storage pretty much unscathed. My KitchenAid mixmaster obviously spent some time on its side, as its gear oil leaked everywhere, and the one and only Christmas decoration (a large 3-wick candle holder) I've kept over the years came out of a box broken.
We took a much-needed lunch break and got an outdoor table at the Irish Times Pub on Government Street. We've eaten there once before and I knew they had a good Shepherd's Pie on the menu (made with ground lamb). I felt I needed a substantial lunch to get me through the rest of the day.
I knew the movers may need to call us so left my large handbag open and accessible on the chair next to me, so I could get to my Blackberry if it rang. I got this handbag about a month ago - creamy beige DKNY bag large enough for all the crap I tote around, including my daytimer and files/papers when I see clients. I like and need a roomy bag.
Our young server arrived with our food. While putting my husband's salad down in front of him, she lost control of the two hot dishes balanced in her other hand. In s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n I watched this huge dish of rather soupy Shepherd's Pie slide through the air to empty itself entirely into my open handbag! Not a speck went anywhere except into the interior of my handbag with its cream coloured satin lining. Of course the bulk of it hit on the inside pocket where I keep my Blackberry (in a case, luckily). It looked like someone had puked into my purse.
The server seemed shocked and paralyzed. I first grabbed my Blackberry out of the mess and and started mopping it off with my one paper napkin. As she continued to stand there staring I said "Uh, do you think you could get me some towels to clean this mess up?" and off she went.
I emptied my bag and started to de-crud everything with the towels that materialized. My Blackberry still worked - whew. The manager took my bag away to dab at the lining with soda water, which did nothing. She told me to get it cleaned and, if damage remained, to let her know and we can "talk". The lining of my bag now gleamed with orange-coloured grease stains and smelled like mutton.
They brought me another Shepherd's Pie, but it was completely unappetizing to me. I could only manage a couple of bites as the image of that mess in my purse killed any appetite I'd had. When they took our plates away they assured us there would be no charge for anything, but I certainly felt I had paid a steep price to visit their establishment.
We got home after lunch and between scrubbing and soaking with Tide and OxyClean, I got most of the stains out, but it still smelled like stew - yuck. I stuffed Bounce dryer sheets into my bag and left it to air out on the deck overnight. John claims it doesn't smell anymore, but I can still detect a slight scent.
We came up to the cottage yesterday and my favourite dog, Lou, the black lab, confirmed that the aroma lingers. I took my Blackberry out of my bag and had it in my hand, and Lou came right over and licked it!
Todo bien. (It's all good).
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