New and Improved, with stain fiGHTING BLEACH!

It's become a bit of a game for me, I guess.  I've become obsessed.  When you're under-employed and you have lots of time on your hands the challenge, really, is to find different and interesting ways to fill up your day until the one whom you adore comes home again to entertain you with tales from the world of business.

For me, filling up my day has become an obsession with clean laundry the likes of which I could never have predicted.  When I was a kid one of my chores around the house was to do laundry.  Not such a big deal when you live in a high-rise apartment with a laundry room with no less than twenty washers and dryers.   Laundry gets done in ninety-minutes (or less if that mean old lady from the 7th floor is pacing behind you to get your dryer).  But now?  Now, when I have only one of each machine, well the act of doing laundry can fill up an entire day!  

Oh, sure, everyone does laundry every once in a while...once or twice a week, I'm sure.  But lately?  Me?  I'm washing, fluffing and folding every single day.   It's gotten to the point that I cannot walk past our changing room without glancing in the laundry basket to see if it is still indeed in a state of glistening white emptiness.  I quest for emptiness daily.  

The one whom I adore has a philosophy on laundry that goes something like this:  cram as much as you can into the machine and turn it on.  Colour, type of fabric, the need (or not) for the gentle-cycle seldom comes in to play when he's doing the laundry.  But when I do the laundry?  Oh, I have countless ways to sort...by colour...by fabric...by the need to bleach or not...delicates...dress shirts...towels...linens...I can take 10 different items in the laundry basket and create 8 different loads - I do not joke.

Even though I did 3 loads on Friday and we were out of town for half the weekend, on Monday, there were 5 new loads of laundry to be washed and dried.   Aha!  Something to do TODAY!   Game ON!   How many different sorts of laundry can I create?  

Part of the game for me is to see if I can wash & dry his no-iron dress shirts and get them on hangers before a wrinkle sets in.  This of course means emptying them out of the dryer the second the timer goes off.  Some days I can beat the clock...most days though, he has to do some some smoothing out before getting dressed, because despite my obsession with all things laundry, it does not include ironing.

Another game I've created for the game that is the doing of the laundry?  USR.  You know there's UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship) and now there's USR, Ultimate Stain Removal.  First, you sort your laundry.  As you sort the clothes review each item to determine if it needs the extra attention of a squirt of SHOUT! or bleach or the very best!  the 20-mule team power of Borax.  It's an old-fashioned stain remover to be sure...not as sexy as SHOUT! or Tide-stick, but it gets the job done...just like it did in Grandma's day.  Of course it does!  It has the power of all those mules pulling the stains off your clothes.  Of course, none of those stain-removers would be necessary if I could ever eat a meal without spilling part of it on the shelf that has become my chest...but that's a blog for another day.

So, yes, this is what I now do.  I do laundry and then I blog about it. Now that OxiClean's Billy Mays is dead, maybe I can GET HIS JOB!

Where Is Eva Gabor Now?

If you’re a child of the 60’s or a fan of Nick at Nite, TV Land or the Deja View channels you may recall the TV show, Green Acres, with Eddie Albert and Eva Gabor.  It’s the story of two New Yorkers who traded “city life” in Manhattan with it’s 5^th Avenue, Broadway, Central Park and penthouse suite for a old farm and a new life in the country.  The series of events that ensues while these two transplants figure out life in the country is pure slapstick and silliness.  Little did I know watching this show 40-odd years ago that it would foreshadow what was to become of my life.

Oh, sure, I never had the penthouse suite, but I had all the other trappings – a high-profile (read high stress) career; a taste for fine cuisine and even finer wines; the desire and ability to travel to places far and wide.  Let’s don’t forget about the shoes…oh, the shoes!  I had countless pairs of cute, sassy, serious, swanky, hip, cool and not to mention stylish shoes!  I was living in one of the best cities in the world, Vancouver, and loving every second of my life there.  I had some of the best friends I would ever know and in a word, my life was perfect.  Okay, not so much perfect as say…perfectly fine.  Of course there were things I would change (who wouldn’t?), but more or less, my version of city life was well, perfectly urban.  Oh, how things have changed.

One might ask how does a high-paid, equally high-stressed, but exceptionally creative and talented career woman come to find herself marooned on an island, living in the country, under-employed and wondering what to do with herself?

Honestly, it's because I fell in love.  That's how I came to live on this little island in the Northumberland Straight.  It's how I came to be "self-employed" (or "under-employed" depending on when you're reading this).  It's how I came to be sitting on my front porch, in my rocking chair, basking in the sun, looking out over our version of Green Acres and wondering to myself where the hell is Eva Gabor now and what will I do with my life next?

You'll have to check back here to learn how the story before the story began.

Frieda's Just Another Word for...

We have a ghost.  Oh, I know the skeptical amongst you are rolling your eyes and wondering if I’ve totally lost it, but let me assure you, I have not.   Our ghost has been corroborated.

When we first purchased our little piece of PEI history – that being the 85-year old farmhouse in Oyster Bed Bridge, we knew we were buying a home with a history, a home that had lots of stories to tell.  As we moved our things in and began talking to neighbors we learned about how our home had only had 3 previous owners…how the potato field out back used to be farmed by the first family that owned it…how there used to be 7 out-buildings on the property, including a cattle barn…how we used to only have a cold cellar not the full on finished basement we now have.  Stuff like that. 

When we first purchased the house, our little dog, Gidget had a hard time making the adjustment from apartment living in the Rockies to full-blown two-story house in the country.  Any strange noise would bring forth an episode of barking the likes of which you’ve never heard.  We used to lie in bed at night, listening to the house settle around us, floor boards groaning under the weight of a dog lying in the hallway, the sound of the wind as it whipped its way in one window and out the other. Gidget would, at the mere hint of a creeky floor board, begin a cacophony that literally took us bringing her into our bed to quiet her down.  We would lie there and joke that she was barking at the ghost.  Little did we know.

The week before our wedding my dear friend came to stay with us and help us get to the chapel on time.  My friend is sensitive to energy fields.  All her life she’s known things before they’ve become public.  She feels things and sees things that you and I are blissfully unaware of.  Like dead people.  Yes, she sees dead people.

After her first night in our 85-year old house she came downstairs for breakfast and casually mentioned that we have a ghost.   Picture the look on my face and that of the one whom I adore… “A ghost you say?”

She quickly clarified and said – “oh it’s a spirit.  And I think it’s a young girl.  She’s very friendly.  She seems very happy here.”

I thought, well, that’s good, because if you’re going to go to the trouble of sharing your house with a ghost, it better damn well be a happy one!

We laughed and joked about our little girl ghost the whole time my friend was on the island.  What does she wear?  How old did you think she is again?  Does she have the run of the house, or does she just hang out in one area?  When you have a friend who can see things that you can’t, well, curiosity can sometimes get the best of you.  My friend didn’t have a lot of answers other than our spirit was a girl, she was young and she seemed happy.

Fast forward a few months later to a dinner party we were hosting for our neighbors, whose grandmother just so happened to once own our home.  After a lovely stuffed pork tenderloin and enough wine to loosen us up, I ventured forth with the question “has anyone ever died in this house?”

Well, the look on her face told it all.  Her husband responded with “why do you ask?”

Why do you think we asked?  Because we think we have a ghost! is what I wanted to say, but I was polite and responded “well, we have this friend who senses things and she stayed with us recently…and well…she sensed that perhaps we might have a spirit in the house.”

With that our neighbor couldn’t spill the beans fast enough.  Seemed that yes, in the 1940s a young girl, about the age of 12, died of burns she sustained in an oil-lamp fire here at the house.  Our house.   While she didn’t die at home (she passed away in hospital) and our house didn’t burn down, it seems that this was her family home (therefore the aunt of my neighbor) and she had been really happy here.  So happy, I guess she came home to stay…in a sense.

Her name is Frieda.

I damn near choked on my Pinot Grigio.  I know, I know, coincidence, right?  Maybe.   But if one of your best friends is psychic, you don’t just shrug this kind of stuff off and certainly learning about Frieda from our neighbors only confirmed what my friend told us.  I couldn’t wait for them to leave so I could call and tell her that YES!  YES!  We have a ghost and now we know her name!

We think Frieda’s pretty happy here.  I never hear or see her.  I think the dogs do.  Occasionally they’ll  stand straight up for no apparent reason and start barking at nothing that we can see or hear.

We like Frieda.  We think it’s cool that our home not only has a history, but it’s own personal historian. 

We’ve even created a song about her.  It’s to the tune of Kris Kristofferson’s “Me & Bobbie Magee” and it starts like this…

Frieda’s just another word for little spooky ghost…

 

 

Missing: My Mojo

Where'd it go?  My mojo?

I have no less than 10 different posts sitting in my draft folder, none of them are good enough to hit the publish now button.  Want to hear about the time I got in the way of machine-gun toting army officers at a European Airport?  You'll have to wait.  Or how about the time I got drunk on a job interview and still got the job?  That's coming too, but not today.  Or, what about the fact that I've struggled through yet another week of no crap for Kim, but am seriously considering eating that whole pan of home-made cinnamon rolls in the freezer?  Hopefully that one will never get written.

It's been rainy and foggy here for over a week and I do think that most definitely impacts my creativity, or at the very least my ability to string 5 words together to construct a coherent sentence.   So, yeah.  My mojo ain't no mo'.  

So, check back here because I do promise to some day, perhaps when the sun returns to our crimson shores, have something worth saying here.   

But not today.

Sometimes I Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me

I’ve heard mothers of small children complain over the years that they never have time for themselves, never have a moment alone. There is always a nose to be wiped, a scratch to be kissed, a game to be played, a dinner to be negotiated. Mothers of older children are no different what with soccer practice or band rehearsal to get to, shuttling kids here there and everywhere. No time for themselves. No time to just sit and relax and take time for them.

I’m here to tell you, having a dog (or two) is no different. For eleven years I have had two shadows…mine and the one belonging to Snickers. There is not one thing I do in the course of my day that he isn’t there to supervise. Not that I’m complaining, but really, how would you feel if you were being watched? All. The. Time.?

I wake up in the morning and there he is, sitting in my doorway, staring at me, willing me to open my eyes because that’s his signal to jump on the bed for his morning rub. I (read “we”) head downstairs to the bathroom and despite a closed door, there’s his nose poking through just to make sure I don’t need anything. Extra roll of toilet paper? Out of toothpaste? I’m here! I can help! I’m your buddy, you can count on me!

Throughout the day we dance around each other. Occasionally, we get stuck. Usually by the garbage cans, with him ever hopeful I’ve got something for him and me, just wanting to get to the can. His constant surveillance really isn’t a problem, until we’re in the kitchen. Then, he’s so worried that a scrap or a crumb may fall in his path he is on my heels so closely that if I stop short, his nose is impaled in my fanny. I do not joke.

All day. Every day. Except of course on those days when I bring out the monster, the dreaded vacuum cleaner and then, then this dog who does not leave my side for a moment? Then, he’s a basket case and can’t get away from me fast enough. Heaven forbid the sucking monster might come near him and suck him into its vortex. So, when I vacuum, instead of walking on my heels he firmly tucks his tail between his legs and cowers in the corner, upstairs (if I’m downstairs), downstairs (if I’m upstairs), under the table, on top of the sofa. He’d even try under the bed if only he’d fit. 

Even as I sit here at the kitchen counter typing this entry, here he sits. Staring. I know someday when he’s gone I will miss this constant monitoring, but honestly, it would be nice if when I leave the room to plug in my laptop, it would be nice if he just stayed here in the kitchen secure in the fact that I’ll return. Unfortunately, that’s just not his style.

A Real Broad.

In her house, the Tooth Fairy left $5 under your pillow, instead of the usual 50 cents .

In her house, there was always something fantastic coming out of the oven.

In her house, the "good" china got used on a regular basis.

In her house, there were treasures from decades past that she liked to show off and if you were a really good little girl, she'd let you play with.

In her house, the idea of a great weekend was a day on the lake, in the boat, with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

In her house the idea of a great lunch included trips to nearby Chicago to the top of the Sears Tower, where the girls would gather after a morning of shopping on the Magnificent Mile.

She hadn't lived in her house for quite some time now, having spent the last number of years in a Senior's home.

Now, she doesn't live there either.

Lillian Ashby Scavone Wohler passed away last weekend and with her goes my mom's last sibling.

But what remains are the memories I have of an aunt who loved to bake, loved to entertain, loved to shop for antiques and then loved to party on a hot summer day at Holiday Lake.  

I'll always remember getting that $5 from the tooth fairy on a visit to Chicago when I was 7 or 8.  I'll never forget the summer vacations at Holiday Lake in my teens when I discovered that girls could ride dirt bikes and drive the boat - because she said so.  I'll always remember poking around antique shops throughout Illinois with her, hunting for that one treasure to take home.  I'm the keeper of a couple of those treasures in my home now.   I'll always remember the love of baking she, along with my mom instilled in me.  I'll never forget the gusto, gumption and let's face it...obstinance she lived her life with. She was someone you'd want on your side in an argument - chances are she'd win.   She was only 5'2" or 4'11", (depending when you asked her) but she had all the might of someone twice her height.

In better days she loved to laugh.  She hadn't done a lot of laughing in the last few years.  Her health didn't give her much to laugh about.  But one thing that brought her so much joy were her grandchildren, "Little" David, Catherine & Meredith.   Showing that old Ashby fiesty-ness she was hell bent she would pack up her oxygen tank and travel to Tennessee for David's wedding last year.  I know she was at Catherine & Meredith's recent college graduations, although  only in spirit.  I know she would have loved to have been at my wedding last summer.

Lil lived 80 years and all in all, it was a good run.  She's someone I would define as a real broad, in every sense of the word.

She's in a better place now...no more pain...reunited with her friends and family that predeceased her.  

Her husband passed a number of years ago, but I can just here him now..."what the hell took you so long?"

Lillian's Pecan Chewies:

Ingredients:

1 c Light Brown Sugar

1 c Dark Brown Sugar

2 sticks of butter

2 Eggs, beaten

1 tbsp Vanilla

2 c self-rising flour

2 c pecans

Method:

Pre-heat oven to 350-degrees.

Melt butter and add brown sugar one cup at a time.  Add beaten eggs & vanilla.  Fold in flour & nuts.  Place in glass pan & bake for 30-40 minutes.

Cool completely before cutting and then dig in!

It Sounded Like a Good Idea at the Time

It was a close call.  If anyone has known me for any amount of time you know that despite my occasional extreme swings of, um “mood”, I really don’t like things that fall in the “extreme” category. “Very cold?”  OMG.  I can’t get more layers on fast enough.  There’s nothing worse than being “very cold”  unless, of course, it’s “very hot” and then, look out.  I lose my mind at “very hot”.  I’ll sweat. I’ll whine.  I’ll complain and moan.  You would think the world is ending if the mercury rises about 23-C.  I’m so not kidding.

“Very wet.”   Oh come on now!  No one likes being “very wet” unless of course you’re in a swimming pool, cooling off from 25-C temperatures, enjoying a very wet cocktail.  “Very wet” wrecks your hair and if your clothing has even an ounce of non-natural fibres, well, “very wet” does the same thing to your clothes.

 “Very dry” is not as bad as “very wet” and certainly no where near the terror of “very hot” but none-the-less it falls in the category of “very” and I am just not a fan.  The only thing I like “very dry” is my martini.  No kidding.

So yeah, I don’t like things that fall in the realm of “very.” 

Which makes it curious, don’t you think that recently for my birthday we purchased tickets to an outdoor concert that will be held across the Straight next weekend?  Curious, indeed.  And knowing myself as I do, just a little bit stupid.

Because, did you catch the part about it being an outdoor concert venue?  Where, in the summer, it could be VERY HOT?  Or given that it’s near a body of water, which regulates the amount of precipitation we get at any one time, it could equally be VERY WET?  Where I could be sitting in a field, in the mud, miserable and trying desperately to hold my stuff together…trying not to complain about being hot…or wet…or miserable.  And likely not doing a very good job of it.

 What were we thinking?

Well, I (and not the one whom I adore) was thinking it might be fun to see Jon Bon Jovi shake his money-maker all night long.   But last week, as we began looking at the long-range forecast and saw that it could be both very hot and very wet next weekend in Moncton – sanity returned to our home and I put our tickets up for sale.  Some lovely person from Summerside is now going to enjoy a concert in the mud and heat and meantime, we’ll be over in Nova Scotia where the forecast is decidedly very warm but not very hot, visiting with friends from our Jasper days, keeping very cool with very dry martinis.  

Disaster -  narrowly averted.

 

 

From My Front Porch

With the conclusion of the fundraiser on Monday night I've had lots of time this week on the front porch.  Lots of time to reflect on the future.  Lots of time to search the internet looking for job opportunities here on the island.  Lots of time to write.  Lots of time to daydream.   Lots of time, lots of time, lots of time.

While I've been sitting on the front porch, sometimes in the sun, sometimes not, sometimes with the dogs and sometimes alone, I've had many things to take in.  

Yesterday I watched the farmer across the road make hay.    Mid-June is time for the first cut and, as the farmer circled his field cutting his crop, he released all sorts of allergens into the air.    If you're an asthmatic with a severe allergy to all things named GRASS, (ahem) well, it probably wasn't a wise thing to sit and watch him cut & bale his hay.   I sat and rocked, watching the tractor create row upon row of cut grass which was soon bundled into round bales of hay, all while sucking on my inhaler like a baby with a pacifier.

I also got to observe two robins doing "it".  Usually the bird show we have here in the OBB is the Birds of Prey Show, with Eagles chasing Osprey, Osprey chasing Hawks, Hawks chasing Ravens and Ravens chasing anything they can get their beaks on.  But yesterday, yesterday it was bird lovin' brought to you by the rockin' Robins.   It's not a very pretty show, and suffice it to say, if people did "it" the way these birds were going at "it" well, there'd be a lot of black eyes at the end of "it".  

Today, our farmer-neighbour out back completed the soil preparation for planting potatoes.  With two tractors he carved out raised beds to plant the potatoes in and then followed up with spraying a healthy does of liquid fertilizer over the beds.   And how do I know it was liquid fertilizer and not something else?  Well, my friends, it was because of the unmistakable smell of liquid fertilizer.  It smells like shit.  Oh, we've been here before...a certain sign that spring has hit the island is the distinct scent of manure in all its forms permeating the air and lingering, like the bad odor it is.

Summer arrives this weekend and here on the island, that means that Parks Canada will start charging entrance fees into the national parks and beaches there-in.  It also means that there's an endless stream of campers making their way up our road to campgrounds in Cavendish and points beyond.  With the steady stream of traffic making their way north, one in ever 4 or 5 vehicles is a big-ass camper trailer.  How these people afford to drive these behemoths, I'll never know, but there's certainly no shortage of them making their way to their summer campsite.  

Our little old farmhouse is perched across from the island raceway, where the local car clubs  run drag races and stock-car meets every other weekend.   It's not the sound of the modified engines that we hear as the local rednecks race their way around the track...oh no...it's the rumbling sounds of modified motorcycles careening up and down our road, with 50+ year old men living out their 'born to be wild' fantasies.  If one out of ever 4 or 5 vehicles is a camper trailer, then one out of every 3 or 4 vehicles is a modified motorcycle.  I kid you not.

People ask if I'm lonely out here in the country, far removed from the city centre (a mere 20-minutes which for me is NOTHING, but for people on the island it's almost on another planet) and all the hub-bub that comes with city life.  I can honestly say though with all the comings, goings, bird-whoopie, hay-making and the like, it's hardly tranquil, seldom quiet and definitely not lonely. 

Jobs Available on PEI

Hoo boy - you know you've reached a low point in your career when you scour the daily listings of jobs available on the island.  I've included a sampling of today's listings.  

My personal favourite is the swine herder, but unfortunately, Summerville is just too far away from the OBB.   The other one I'm sort of fascinated by?  Working at the "Dollaroo".   Sadly I think I'm over-qualified.  But still, I bet I can make change in my head without the cash register telling me how much to give back on a $20 for a sale of $9.82.  The answer is $10.18 and yes, I can thank my career as a Country Style Donut girl for that skill.  I still haven't lost it after 30 years away from the till.

The ones in red type are ones I actually clicked on to read more about.  And I wonder why I'm under-employed?

Charlottetown area, PEI
Hospitality
Line cook  
  Peake’s Quay
Seasonal, full time. Salary to be negotiated, plus gratuities, and other benefits. Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Retail
Retail sales associate  
  Xpressions
Seasonal, full time. Wages: $8.20 per hour, CAVENDISH, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Transport
Driver salesperson  
  Island Milk Distributors
Seasonal, full time. Wages: $13.00 per hour, Hazelgrove, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Hospitality
Cook  
  Marco Polo Land
Seasonal, full time. Wages: $9.50 to $11.00 per hour, Cavendish, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Retail
Cashier  
  Bulk Barn
Permanent, full time. Wages: $8.75 to $9.25 per hour, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Part Time & Seasonal
Food and beverage server  
  Sam’s Seafood and Grill - Cavendish
Seasonal, part time. Salary to be negotiated, plus gratuities, and other benefits. CHARLOTTETOWN, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Hospitality
Banquet chef  
  Best Western Charlottetown
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Hospitality
Dishwasher  
  Rachael’s Ristorante
Seasonal, full time. Salary to be negotiated, plus gratuities, and other benefits. Cavendish, Prince Edward Islan, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Sales
Food products sales representative  
  Liberty Swine
Permanent, full time. Salary based on commision only, commission, and other benefits. Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Service Sector
Housekeeper  
  Royalty Maples Motel & Cottages
Seasonal, full time. Salary to be negotiated, West Royalty, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Retail
Store clerk  
  Agro Co-op
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Service Sector
Hairdresser  
  Fascino Hair Studio (inside Ch’town Superstore)
Permanent, part time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Professional
Consulting mechanical engineer  
  Halliwell Consulting
Permanent, full time. Wages: $30.00 to $35.00 per hour, commission, and other benefits. Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Retail
Sales associate - retail  
  Dollaroo
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Retail
Cashier, customer service  
  True Value Hardware
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Administration & Office
Office assistant  
  PEI Allied Youth Inc.
Temporary, full time. Wages: $8.20 per hour, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Primary Industry
Swine herdsperson  
  JARI PORK INC.
Permanent, full time. Wages: $12.00 per hour, Summerville, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Service Sector
Housekeeping room attendant  
  D.P. Murphy Inc.
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, CHARLOTTETOWN, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Hospitality
Food service attendant  
  D.P. Murphy Inc.
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, WEST ROYALTY, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Hospitality
Food service attendant  
  D.P. Murphy Inc.
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, ST. PETERS LOCATION, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Part Time & Seasonal
Cleaner  
  Maid Clean Professional Cleaning Services
Seasonal, part time. Wages: $10.00 per hour, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Professional
Special needs counsellor  
  Town of Cornwall Parks & Recreation Department
Seasonal, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Cornwall, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Service Sector
Office cleaner  
  Sylvan Learning Centre
Permanent, part time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Sales
Insurance sales representative  
  Combined Insurance (Health Division)
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Service Sector
Maid - cleaning services  
  The Nanny Cleaning Service
Permanent, full time. Wages: $10.00 per hour, piece work, and other benefits. Island wide, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Education
Early childhood educator  
  Little Blessings Childcare Centre
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Stratford, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Service Sector
Oil burner technician  
  Oil Heat 2000
Permanent, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

Charlottetown area, PEI
Retail
Sales consultant - retail  
  Vogue Optical
Seasonal, full time. Salary to be negotiated, Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island … more

The Ties that Bind

My mom always told me that it didn't matter how many friends a person has, but how many of those friends you can count on to call at 3 in the morning when you're sitting in a police station.  Think about it.  How many of your friends would you call in an emergency?  Like being in the police station at 3 in the morning?  Or the hospital emergency room at 11 at night when your boyfriend is on a gurney being rolled in to emergency surgery after being air-lifted from the place you live - 5 hours away from a major hospital and city centre?  THOSE people that you'd call - they're the ones you can count on for sure.

I've been very lucky to have collected some amazing friends all around the world.  Despite the fact that on average I've lived 4 years in any one place since I was 21 (except for Atlanta - that was an uncommonly long time for me to live anywhere) I still have friends in each and every one of those places.  And thank God I do, because here?  Here on the island in the Northumberland Straight?  It seems that everyone made friends when they were in elementary school and no one really needs any more.

Oh sure, people are very nice to you.  In a "I want to know everything about you, your life and how you're trying to find meaningful employment" kind of way.  But not in the way that is particularly meaningful to me and the one whom I adore.  It's all rather superficial and that's okay because to quote my mother again, "it is what it is."  

Which is why I'm so happy that my friends near and far are still a part of my daily life.  They are my "go to" people for advice, encouragement, laughter, outrage, commiseration and let's face it a good glass of pinot grigio while we analyze the contestants from "So You Think You Can Dance" over long distance phone calls.    From our shared experiences over (in some cases) 30 years or even just 7 years, my friends and I have created ties that bind us together.  No matter where I live in this world, they are there for me, as I am for them.

Having a shared history with people, people that you don't work with or for, are that much more important.  It's nice to spend an evening around a campfire talking about "life" issues - which we did a couple of weeks ago with childhood friends of the one whom I adore.  It'll be nice next week to visit with friends from  Jasper who are vacationing in Nova Scotia.  I'm looking forward to seeing my high school friend Kathy, (whom I have not seen in over 20 years) in a few weeks when she's (hopefully) visiting after a trip to New Brunswick.  It's why I'm looking forward to spending time this summer at Loon Lake outside of Gravenhurst.  

Which brings me to the point of this post.  No matter that I am not meeting new people here, no matter that work continues to be a conundrum, no matter that I sometimes spend my days daydreaming away, no matter what comes up, I know I have a group of people that I can call on at 3 in the morning or any other time of day or night for that matter.  This whole blogging thing, just makes it all the more easier for my friends (be they in Australia, Vancouver, Atlanta, Ontario  or points in between)  to stay involved in our lives here on the east coast.  

Whomever invented this thing here, called the internet and then the guy that invented blogging  - they could be my friends too, because honestly, the internet and blogging are part of the ties that bind me to my friends around the world.  I should really thank them for that.

In My Past Life...

..I'm sure I was Italian.  Or, maybe in this life I'd like to be Italian.  Or more specifically I'd like to be living in Italy... preferably somewhere in the Tuscan region.  But until we win the lottery and buy our Tuscan Villa I will have to make do with this season's vegetable garden!

It finally warmed up enough last weekend to put in the garden...about three weeks later than last year, which I guess means that instead of harvesting in August & September, this year it will be September & October.  

But who cares, because this year we planted 18 tomato plants.  You can say tomato, or you can say tomaaaato, but I say YUM!  Tomatoes!  In sandwiches, in soups, homemade sauce, in salads, or with just a little bit of salt & pepper & fresh basil on a plate as a side dish.  This to me is a slice of heaven here on earth.  I guess since there's only two of us, but 18 of those plants, I'll be "putting up" tomatoes for a while this Fall.  Something to do besides making countless quarts of applesauce!

To add to our little Italian garden we planted 6 pepper plants - red, yellow, baby, jumbo, we've got 'em all.  And celery and onions.  Can you smell the spaghetti sauce now?  I can!

New to our garden this year is fennel.  Another "perfect" food, it goes in soups and salads and honestly, if I think about it, I can say I've eaten both tomatoes and fennel every day for about the last 3 weeks.  I wasn't sure about starting fennel from seeds, but Martha Stewart is growing it in her garden in Maine, and by God, if she can do it, so can I.

Until such time as we have our villa in Tuscany, I will make do with eating tomatoes & fennel.  From our own garden.  That I grew from seeds.  And picked myself.  Who knew gardening could be so satisfying?

Okay, I know it doesn't look like much now...but just wait 'til August.  

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33,000

It's not the number of calories in 10 Big Macs (although it could be).  

It's not the number of miles to the moon.

It's not the number of minutes I could sleep.

It's how much we raised last night for Special Olympics PEI at the annual Special Olympics Festival.  

With 260 people in attendance, two different auctions (one silent and one live) and countless volunteers setting up, tearing down and working the bid tables, we were able to raise $33,000.  

I am far too exhausted and conflicted to write about the whole thing tonight, but suffice it to say, even though we packed a ballroom with some of the "deepest wallets" on Prince Edward Island, we were unable to achieve our goal on the silent auction.  This is a huge disappointment for those of us that worked so hard to come up with creative and unique items for the auction.  The biggest lesson here is that islanders put greater value in a $40 gift card then they do in private cooking lessons with Culinary Team PEI, or private photography lessons with one of the island's renowned photographers.  Who'd have thought?

Thankfully we had two last minute special items added to the auction that raised almost $10,000 alone.  Without those, we would have fallen short.  As it stands, I understand we exceeded past fundraising by over $3,000.  

So good for us.

Will I do it all over again next year?  Honestly, I don't know.  I believe in the work of SOPEI, but after the last few weeks feeling like I've been pushing this cart uphill without much help, I'm not sure I want to do the heavy lifting  again next year.

I guess asking myself that question the day after the event  is probably not fair.  But it is an honest assessment of how I feel right now.

$33,000.  You can create a lot of opportunities for athletes with $33,000.

If I Only Knew Then...

...what I know now, well, suffice it to say, I might not have eaten every single one of those 1-lb bags of M&Ms before I went to bed at night.

Your 20's are a time of self-discovery - figuring out who you are, what you believe in, what you want to do with your life and who you want to become.  Long about that time of my life I was living in Atlanta, working crazy and countless hours, spending money I hadn't yet earned, traveling to some pretty incredible places all around the globe and searching.  Searching for something I hadn't yet realized I was looking for.  And because I didn't really know what it was  I was looking for, my 20s were also all about dealing with all that uncertainty, stress and searching by soothing myself by eating countless M&Ms, Reece's Peanut Butter Cups and let's don't even talk about all those Coffee Crisps imported from Canada.

If I only knew.  See, at the time, I had a metabolism.  In the 20-odd years since those days, I've misplaced it.  Probably in a vat of chocolate somewhere.  I'm hoping it's not lost forever, but with my advancing years, not to mention my advancing waistline, it's time I began searching for it again.

Here's the good news - in the 20-odd years since then, I have learned a few things.  

• Stop searching - things will somehow find you if you're meant to have them.  So, let the search for "it" (whatever "it" is) go.
• Don't spend money you don't have in the bank.  I've actually gotten exceptionally good at this and even though my mom desperately tried instilling this in me most of my life, it took marrying a financial wizard for the lessons to really sink in.
• Ice-cream is a fun food - fun because it comes in so many flavours.  Fun because you can eat it in a cone, with a spoon or sandwiched between two chocolate cookie/cakes.  Unfortunately, it's not so much fun when it hits my belly and makes me sick.  I've learned to let go of ice-cream.
• Probably most importantly (or relevant to this blog anyway) is the fact that I've learned the right way to eat.  I know I cannot eat unlimited quantities of bread and cheese and expect to drop a pound a week.   I know I have to have vegetables or fruit with every meal.  I know what foods make me feel full and what ones just leave me craving more.  I know I cannot metabolize white wine, but I can slug back vodka till the cows come home.  
• I also not only know what to eat, but I do believe, I know how much to eat.  Like for example, a serving of pasta is ONE cup.  Not the six cups you normally get at the Olive Garden.  Or that a piece of bread is 180 calories.  So much for something so little.  So unfair.

Anyway, all of this to say that week 2 of No Crap for Kim is successfully behind me.  Getting as active as I wanted hasn't been as easy what, with putting in all the hours I have been getting ready for our big fundraiser tonight.  But I did manage to get a beach walk in every day the weather allowed me to, including a nice long walk this morning.  So, activity-wise, I'm not where I want to be, but I am getting more active than I have been, for sure.

But, you want to know something.  I was recently looking for a picture of my cousin Lori to post about her not-yet 50th birthday and I came across some of my old pictures I had totally forgotten about.  Like this one:

That's me on the far right.  Can you believe that around the time I had this picture taken, I had visited my doctor for a yearly physical and he told me I was OBESE.  Yup, there I was, 5'7" and 170-lbs and I was considered obese.  If you just look at the numbers, I guess that'd be right.  But look at me.  I was wearing a size 10 in this photo.  Do I look fat to you?  I don't think so and what I wouldn't give to be that size again.

Which brings me to the point of this blog.  For way too long, I have let everyone and their opinion rule how I feel about myself.  I know for a fact that after that Dr. visit where I was told I was not just a little chubby, but that I was OBESE that I went home and ate a great big plate of brownies, trying to squash the inadequacy I felt.  So his little pep talk to motivate me to lose weight actually back-fired and it sent me right out to start putting on even more.

20-odd years later and I still struggle with this.  But, I am getting better.  I am eating smarter.  I have one cheat day a week where I give myself permission to enjoy that piece of dessert, if there is some (like that fabulous slice of blueberry pie Sat. night at the beach party - yum!).  I am now aware that I manage my emotions through food.   When I have those moments now, I do something else...like blog...or go pull weeds...or water my garden.  

I haven't been on a scale since I started No Crap for Kim, so I cannot put a number to my results...but I am getting results.  I can now wear pants I wouldn't wear  a month ago.  I've tweaked what I'm eating and the result is I feel full much of the time.  And when I'm hungry I eat.  But definitely not a 1-lb bag of M&M's.

Connecting the dots

Funny how a series of events, seemingly unrelated can come together to cause mayhem and pandemonium.  Like, when a group of butterflies on the coast of Africa flap their wings thus  setting off a hurricane that will make its way across the Atlantic and devastate a whole city.  Yeah, stuff like that.

Thursday I came home from my volunteer job to discover I had forgotten to close the bathroom door before I left that morning.  In most households that's no big deal, but here in the OBB we have two garbage hungry dogs who will take every opportunity they can to sniff around and sort through things that they shouldn't.  Like bathroom garbage cans.

In my rush to get to a meeting with our local DJs who are helping us promote our event I failed to shut said bathroom door and believe me when I tell you, I paid the price for it that night.  I came home to a living full of shredded paper products...used tissues, q-tips, the like, strewn throughout the lower level of the house.  

Now who's to blame here?  The one who gave birth to me says there are no bad dogs, just bad owners...so I guess it serves me right that after a very full day of fundraising I should have to come home to clean up this mess.

Oh, but wait.  It gets better.

Friday morning begins as it normally does.  Me letting the dogs out before filling their bowls with dog food.  Them sitting, staring at me, boring holes into my back as they wait with much anticipation for me to fill their bowls with the left-over milk from my Bran Flakes.  As I said, all very much the way things happen here almost every morning.

As I was scanning the on-line edition of our daily newspaper, reading the late breaking news about a 16.04 oz baby born FIFTY years ago today - you can read about it here:  http://kimberlycameron.blogspot.com/2009_06_12_archive.html

I hear the unmistakable sounds of our little dog retching her guts up.  There's really nothing as appetizing as the sound of a dog making themselves sick to eat your Bran Flakes by, but I digress.  After several minutes (really, I'm sure it was seconds, but it seemed like FOREVER) The Gidge deposited a big gift of dog-vomit on the floor at my feet.  Now she had room for that bowl of milk she was anticipating.

Another isolated incident.  Or so it seemed at the time.

Last night, as the one whom I adore and I were lounging about watching a very scary movie ("Taken," with Liam Neeson) Snickers got up off his dog bed, quietly walked into the kitchen where he hurled up a pile of dog barf the size I hadn't seen in quite some time.  His entire dinner plus whatever snacks he had been given by you know who while I was out.   The good news is, he had the presence of mind not to be sick all over our antique hardwood floors in the living room, but had the good graces to go to the kitchen which has ceramic tile and is much easier to clean up! 

A stand alone incident?  Maybe...but I'm beginning to get suspicious.

Now it's Saturday morning and as I am wont to do, I lounged about bed dozing in and out of sleep past my usual 6am walk-up.  As I was rousing myself from a very disturbing dream (where I was searching for my now deceased Uncle Dick's wet suit because he had misplaced it) I could hear the sound of the upstairs toilet being plunged.  This usually can only mean one thing and that's that the one whom I adore had too much fiber and thus, ahem, caused some blockage.

Such was not the case today.  Seems somebody (probably Snicks) up-chucked in the night in our upstairs hallway.  It's now a pandemic, I tell you!  He who was up first saw the deposit and had the foresight to realize the longer it sits there, the worse the stain will be, so best get it cleaned up now.

So he does.  He gets it all cleaned up - chunky mess that it is and flushes it down the toilet.  Except.  Yes, that's right.  It doesn't go down.  And why, you might ask, would dog vomit not go down the toilet?

The answer really is quite simple.

Because the dog vomit was not just stomach fluids.  Oh no.  The dog vomit was laced with previously used feminine hygiene products that had been fished out of the downstairs bathroom garbage TWO DAYS AGO.  How is that for nasty?  Note to self and anyone else - never let our dogs kiss you - they are disgusting animals.  

And now, the dots are all connecting.  I failed to close the bathroom door.  Dogs scavenged the garbage, ate the nasty contents there-of.  Dogs have sporadic episodes of upset stomach for two days until the big dog finally (hopefully) passes the last of the nasties.  It's all connected.

Aren't you glad you read this post all the way to the end?

Above the Fold News on PEI

There are a lot of things our local newspaper can choose to put above the fold on the front page...things like the H1N1 virus being updated to a pandemic or how about the Iranian elections that took place yesterday?  If those issues are too big, how about the fact that the leader of the opposition will decide today whether or not to challenge the current sitting government and call an election?  Or tonight's game 7 of the Stanley Cup?  Did ANY of these make the newspaper?

Nope.

Instead, our above the fold story today is this:

Bill Shepard of Brudenell celebrates his 50th birthday today, but the milestone event will be much quieter than the news sensation he caused on June 12, 1959, at the hospital in Montague.

Shepard came into the world weighing a staggering 16 lbs., 4.5 ozs. By one year of age, he was 36 lbs. 

The size of the baby was considered almost unprecedented at the time.  His birth resulted in a front-page story in The Guardian, and coverage in newspapers across Canada and the United States.

Dr. Preston MacIntyre, a medical legend in Montague, was the presiding physician as Florence Shepard delivered her ninth and last baby by natural childbirth.  As a thank you to the doctor, the child was baptized William Preston Shepard.

Despite the obvious potential to be a very tall and large man, today Shepard is a normal six-foot-two and weighs approximately 200 lbs.

James Shepard and his wife raised their nine children on the Seven Mile Road near Cardigan. James passed away more than 20 years ago and his wife Florence died of cancer in 1997 at aged 74.

Dan Shepard of Seven Mile Road, a brother of Bill, says their mother was a small woman of Acadian descent, (nee Fougere) from West Arichat, Cape Breton Island.  Dan said this week that he heard lots of stories over the years resulting from his brother’s famous birth.

“There was a guest book at the hospital signed by numerous people,” said Dan. “After Bill came home from the hospital, many people, including complete strangers, came to the house just to catch a glimpse of the newborn celebrity.” 

Another of Bill’s siblings, Stella, also had stories to add. “After Bill came home, Mom was still in the hospital. So Dad had to take Bill to a neighbour to take care of him till Mom got home a week or so later,” said Stella, who was five years old at the time.  “Dad drove Bill in his old truck, using his arm as a seat belt around Stella who was trying to hold on to Bill,” added Dan. 

Bill became a well-known cook in the area, working for 10 years at the Whim Inn in Poole’s Corner. 

After the Whim Inn closed its doors, Bill got employment with the provincial government.

Bill and his wife Aura Lee reside in Brudenell.

Now, I know I might sound cynical here, but this? This?  This is breaking news here on PEI?  Honest to heaven and I do not kid, this is the type of news coverage we get EVERY DAY HERE.

Is it well written?  I think not!  Did you see the sentence that started with James Shepard - who the hell is James Shepard?  I thought the story was about Bill Shepard?  Not until you see the reference to Florance do you think maybe James was the father!  How about the fact that this BIG STORY only quotes his siblings, despite the fact that HE STILL LIVES ON PEI?  Why wasn't he interviewed?  

Makes me think I could get a job at The Guardian.  Clearly they don't require a journalism degree in their reporters.  Ugh.

Robbing Peter, but Not Paying Paul

Four more days until the BIG FUNDRAISER I've been working on the last couple of months.  Four more days until we find out if the record breaking items we've secured for the auction will fetch record breaking bids.  Four more days until I'm unemployed for the summer.  Crap.

It's been fantastic being as involved as I have in this charity - I've been doing work that calls on my talents and plays to my comfort zone.  I've met some interesting people and I've enjoyed working with the employees of the charity.  It's been an eye-opener to understand just how under-funded and under-served this group really is.  

They've survived almost a year of scandal with their former executive director being charged with theft in excess of $5000.  The fact of the matter is, his theft robbed them of much more than just $5000, (and believe me, the dollar amount is much greater than that).  He robbed them of their momentum.  He stole their enthusiasm.  He took opportunity and potential away from one of the most under served populations on the island.  

But he didn't take their determination.  He didn't steal their resolve.  Their dedication to the organization and to each other has been left in-tact.  Fueled by their anger at him, and their dedication to their members, the staff have carried on and continued to move the organization forward.  

Good for them.

Lorraine Hissa

She taught me how to drive a stick.

And the correct way to inhale.

She plied me with enough rum & coke that I haven't had either ever since.

And force-fed me black coffee to off-set the effects.

She's held my hair back while I up-chucked rum, coke & black coffee.

She's the reason I was late for my curfew (honestly, that's my story & I'm still sticking to it)

She fought the unfair rules for granddaughters that didn't apply to grandsons

She's raised two kids, mostly on her own

She's creative & funny

She's one of the hardest working women I know

Today she turns almost 50 

But not quite

At least not this year

Happy Birthday 'cuz!

Anticipation...Making Me Wait

Yesterday I was going to put in the garden...all 15 of those tomato plants plus the peppers, fennel, carrots and peas and all the other vegetables I have standing by waiting for their moment in the sun.  But, given that I live on an island in the Northumberland Straight whose weather is controlled by the ocean's temperatures and given that those same temperatures plummeted last night to near freezing (yes, you read that right) I opted to wait. 

Only problem is, the forecast doesn't show it warming up in the foreseeable future!  So I'm in a bit of a pickle as it were, or I would be if I could plant those damn cucumbers!  Most of what I'm planting takes a minimum of 70 days to mature...so by the time I get them in the ground, it's going to be Sept. or Oct. at the earliest before we can enjoy our home-grown food.  Patience has never been one of my virtues so you can only imagine how pleased I am at this turn of events.

On the good news front...the French Lilac I planted last year is in full bloom!  Isn't it pretty?

Monday, Monday

Ah, Monday, Monday...After a FULL weekend of visiting with old (for him) and new (for me) friends, working the land (ie slave to the lawn), weeding, weeding and more weeding and then cultivating the garden, planting rose bushes and peonies and  the whole movie marathon thing (go see the new Star Trek it is AWESOME!)...well, it seems I didn't have time to think about or write anything blog worthy.  I suck.

So instead I'm posting a picture of Friday's sunset at Argyle Shores on the south side of the island.    This is what surviving the winter is all about here on the island in the Northumberland Straight.  A lovely bonfire rivaled in colour by the brilliant sunset.

 

Did I mention it's gardening season here on the island?  For us that meant prepping the soil for our tomato & pepper patch - which really involved the one whom I adore getting out there with shovel, spade & hoe and tilling bags of manure & compost into the soil then organizing it all into beautiful raised beds.    But for the guy that owns the field behind us, "prepping the soil" means something entirely different:

Ah, potato season will soon be upon us!