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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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).

The Long and Winding Repair Job

We supposedly move back into our condo tomorrow, after four months of sewer back-up flood repairs. Final repairs and cleaning are still taking place even as I type this, and the kitchen cabinets and drawer fronts are still off being painted (hopefully they will all match this try) and will need to be reinstalled.

They never could get the dishwasher installed the way it was originally, even after four attempts. So, I am stuck with seeing the black base as they can't shove it back far enough to allow for painted baseboard and quarter round to be placed across the front - the way it was before. I don't know what changed in the physical universe of my kitchen that this has turned out to be such an impossible task, to put it back the way it was.

The fridge has also turned into Rubik's Cube, with multiple efforts failing to get it set into the cabinetry so it is square, level, not jiggly on its base, and so that the door opens and closes properly. Everthing is askew and no amount of professional effort seems capable of putting it right. Boggles my mind.

I've been carefully watching my diet for the past two months - no refined carbs and zero alcohol. But the stress of the final stretch of condo repairs, and tomorrow's prospect of moving back in, is taking its toll - I ate half a cinnamon bun at breakfast and then had beef dip (with salad, no fries!) for lunch.

So, I have fallen off the no-refined-carb wagon and now find my mind is continuously showing me luscious images of red wine. I feel bad enough about the 1/2 cinnamon bun and beef dip roll (I only ate 2/3's of that) - I just can't cave into a "Resveratrol" craving now! But the temptation to just take the edge off with a nice, big glass of pinot noir or tempranillo is very alluring.



One nice thing happened - we were packing up our hotel suite in preparation for the move home tomorrow, and the three ladies on the housekeeping staff told us they liked us and will miss us! I will certainly miss the clean towels and having my bed made daily. But, it's really time to go home.

Todo bien. (It's all good.)

Where I'm At

I'm currently conserving my psychic and physical energy for later this week when we move back into our condo after 4 months of flood repairs. This Thursday morning, the movers will be arriving with all our furniture and boxes, and the unpacking will begin. I am assuming our kitchen cabinets will have been completed/installed and the paint finish will now actually match the existing cabinetry. And I am assuming I will be able to react calmly and sanely if they do not match.

I just keep telling myself "this, too, shall pass" and that soon it will be like the sewer back-up/flood, move out, and 4 months of living in a hotel never happened. These are the times when I really wish life had a fast-forward button.

I'm very happy that I'm finally losing weight due to proper, complete BHRT (now including replacement thyroid hormone, which has made all the difference), diet (elimination of alcohol and refined carbs), and exercise (Rebounder trampoline and 3 lb hand weights).

I haven't been on the Rebounder lately as much as I should. I need to do it first thing in the morning before I eat and drink, otherwise I get acid reflux from jumping up and down, and also have to go to the bathroom 3 times during a half hour work-out if I've drunk coffee (diuretic effect)!

If I sit down and look at Vibrant Nation first thing in the morning, I usually get involved in reading and posting, and there goes my work-out time. Next thing I know, my husband is serving me breakfast (lucky me!) and my work-out goes by the wayside. I kid myself that I will do it later on, after I've digested my food and before my next meal...and that just never happens. But I never stop thinking it might.

Lately, I've been surprised to find out who has discovered and been reading my blog, either here at VN or on Blogspot. Different things surprise and/or resonate with different readers. Lucky I'm really just writing this for me, and not for any particular audience, because I could drive myself crazy wondering and worrying about what a reader will feel or think in response to my unvarnished feelings and thoughts.

I recently heard from a former client who was concerned to read about the state of my life, and the "jolting" (for them) realization that there is a difference between the professional coach they thought they "knew", and this menopausal woman quite openly and frankly airing her life in cyberspace.

This former client found it hard to reconcile the "cluttered" existence revealed on my blog with the "minimalist" and "psychologically unshakeable" coach they thought they knew. The thing is, I am all these things and more. I am capable of being cluttered and minimalist. I am capable of being psychologically unshakeable and breakable. I am capable of being completely available for other people and being completely self-focused. I could go on.

The point is we are all capable of contradictions and are not just purely one way or another all the time. There's some kind of famous quote around this...something about a developmental benchmark of being capable of simultaneously holding two opposing thoughts in your mind without going insane. I walk that tightrope a lot!

My coaching clients require me to be spacious and uncluttered in my work with them, and I abundantly bring that. Coaching is all about the client; the successful coach should actually be invisible in facilitating the process. But being invisible for years on end, facilitating the processes and championing the success of others, while rewarding in many ways, has probably led to my blogging because of my need to express my own voice at this time in my life.

I think, for most women, there comes a time in midlife when something has to be about, or for, just you. The bulk of our lives are made up of phases where we have to fulfill others' needs and expectations - from our boyfriends to husbands, to our employers, co-workers and clients, to our children/grandchildren, and then our aging/failing parents...someone always needs something from us. If you aren't careful, you can wind up with nothing left for you. Blogging is the means through which I currently explore and claim my voice and existence.

Others read my blog for entertainment and have told me some of the posts read like a mini-movie script which they find themselves mentally casting actors to play the various roles. For my blog post "Once Upon a Time in Rome", a reader told me he was thinking John Cleese for the role of the amorous Italian front desk clerk. We then discussed Helen Mirren or Judi Dench to play my mother and, when asked who I saw playing me, I yelped "Duh, why Cameron Diaz, of course!" So I haven't completely lost my sense of humour...yet.

Todo bien. (It's all good.)