You Can Call it Kismet or You Can Call it Karma

This falls under the heading not of "wishful thinking" but rather, more optimistically "planning with intention".  You know the whole Oprah thing - put your intentions out to the universe and through magic, willpower, or the mysteries of "The Secret" your intentions become realized?  I know, I know, it sounds all hokus-pokus-ish, but I promise you it isn't! 

So, last night, the one whom I adore and I were discussing the upcoming lottery draw and once again dreaming of all the things we would do when we win.  These include many things, not the least of which is sharing with some people that are pretty important to us.  But they also include things like spending 6 months of the year traveling (you know, Canada's off season) while the other 6 months would be spent lounging about our lakeside cottage in the Muskokas.  I would write the Great Canadian Novel (or at least a cookbook) and the one whom I adore would perfect his golf game.  Oh, throw in donations to the charities I currently volunteer for and of course some major liposuction for my ass, and you see, we're well on the way to happily ever after.

You might think I'm joking, but we have already had plenty of experience with putting our intentions out there and having them miraculously come true.  I'm not kidding.   Really I'm not!  I submit to you Exhibit A:

• In the summer of 2005 I was returning home to Vancouver from a wonderful vacation in Ontario at the cottage of my oldest friend.   Through my own bad planning I had missed my original flight where I had been booked in my customary aisle seat (because who can stand being stuck on the inside when you need to hit the lav.?).  Anyway, because I missed my original flight I went standby on the next available flight to Vancouver.  A seat became available, but not my customary aisle, only a window seat.  What are you gonna do when you HAVE to be back on the west coast for work the next day?  That's right people - suck it up and take the window seat.  As we're winging our way west, I sat looking out over the lakes of Northern Ontario and Manitoba and the prairies of Saskatchewan and eastern Alberta.  When our plane was right smack over the center of the Rocky Mountains I remember distinctly saying to myself - "I have to find a way to get back there - I miss those mountains".  Ladies and gentlemen, within a WEEK I had a phone call from someone with Fairmont Hotels & Resorts wanting to talk to me about going to work for their property in Jasper.  That's right, people.  Jasper, Alberta.  IN THE HEART OF THE CANADIAN ROCKIES.  

Okay, so maybe it was a coincidence, but I tend to think not.  You see, I was the most unlikely of candidates to be recruited to go to work in such a senior position in a resort - I had never worked in a hotel before in my life!  So clearly, they were desperate.  But I tend to think of it as "intention" being fulfilled.

I know, I know - still probably very suspect.  Well then, I now present to you Exhibit B:

• Two years ago the one whom I adore and I were lounging about a cafe in Florence, Italy having just discovered the joys of cheese & honey, we decided we needed to figure out where our next move would be (professionally speaking).  We had already determined that it would be his career that would lead us to our next stop because, after all, there were so many things I could do with my marketing background that finding a job wouldn't be an issue for me (one of God's little jokes on me).  ANYWAY, as I enjoyed the last of my wine and he the last of his sparkling water, we compiled a list of places we would be happy to live and create our life together.  Right at the top of the list (and I mean at the tippy top, not just *near* the top, but the tippy-tippy top) was Atlantic Canada.  Knowing full well that both Fairmont & Delta Hotels had plenty of properties in the area, we thought it likely that some day something might come available in the region.  We were not home from Europe 2 whole months before a posting came available for Comptroller at the Delta Prince Edward Hotel.  KISMET, I SAY, KISMET!   One trip down east to interview, one other to buy a house and wham, bam, thank you KARMA, we are now Maritimers.

Still not a believer?  Well, I can understand that.  But how about THIS...I now present....drumroll please...Exhibit C:

• So, Fairmont did make me an offer and I did accept.  So I had moved from my fabulous world of the West End of Vancouver where I loved living, but hated my job, to the heart of the Canadian Rockies, and, for a city-girl like me, the middle of nowhere.  I had been living at and employed by the hotel for less then a week when I was making the rounds of each department, being introduced to key people, one of whom was the 2nd in command in the Accounting Dept.  I reached out to shake his hand and received a jolt of lightening up my arm.  I kid you not.  It was not static electricity.  It was a current of electricity shooting up my right arm.  The thought that went through my head as I released his hand:  I'm going to marry this man.  Now, ladies & gentlemen, I had NO idea if this person was single or married, straight or not.  I knew NOTHING about him other than I was going to marry him.  Yes, the hand I was shaking belonged to none other than the one whom I adore.  Oh sure, it took 6 months for him to figure out that I even existed (he refers to those as his stunned months), but hey, here I am, betrothed.   To him.  The one whom I adore.

So if that isn't evidence enough that putting your intentions "out there" can pay off  huge dividends, I don't know how else to convince you.  All I can say is:  we're winning the lottery.  It might not be this week's draw (but that would be nice) or even next week's draw.  But one day we'll win the lottery.  And then lookout world - we've got some BIG plans!

The Never Ending List

She's a quick one today, Dear Internet because that list I refer to in the title?  Yeah, it just keeps growing.  Five days and counting until the Grand North American Tour or GNAT (as I now refer to our upcoming road trip) and holy smokes, where does the time fly?  Seems like only yesterday we had almost a week before we left and therefore PLENTY of time to get everything done.

It's times like these that I can actually truly appreciate being under-employed.  Because if I had to get everything done that  I need to before we go AND hold down a full time job, well, suffice it to say, we'd be flying and not driving!

You'd think that by having someone come stay in your home and mind your dogs would actually make things seem, er, EASIER.  Far from it!  With the thought of an almost perfect stranger staying here, of course there's now the added pressure of making sure all those things you don't clean every week (like the cobwebs in the basement staircase) well,  now need to  be cleaned.   Because heaven forbid she see you actually might have DUST.  In your HOUSE.

So there are floors to be mopped and cobwebs to be dusted, not to mention dogs that need bathing, oh, and right before the 30-hour road trip is the perfect time for your truck to blow some sort of electrical gadget so you don't have radio, electric door locks OR dash board lights.  So, yeah, you have to now run the truck back to the dealership where it just was LAST WEEK getting certified for license plate renewal - which you also have to get done before you think of leaving the province for the rest of the month the plates are actually valid for!

Then there's the whole go stand in line at Access PEI to renew those plates and pay your property taxes , because in this province GOD FORBID they allow you to pay by mailing a cheque to the department of treasury.  That, my friends would be far too easy.  For ME.

Do I sound bitter?  I think I sound bitter.  I have no time to be bitter though - because I also have to get my beautiful dahlia bulbs in the ground before I go and try to get that side perennial bed weeded and let's don't even begin talking about how badly the lawn needs to be cut.  The one whom I adore and I are very strategic when it comes to cutting the lawn.  Last year as new acreage owners we were very anxious to jump on our John Deere and begin trimming the lawn (acreage).   So we jumped on early in May and were mowing that freaking yard (acreage) all the way to November.  Sometimes twice a week.  This year we're trying to defer the first cut as long as possible, but I fear if we don't cut it before we head out on the highway we'll come back to a yard (acreage) of hay.  So, yeah, there's that too.

And what do you think I'm doing to aid in getting all of these (and so many more) things done?  That's right Dear Internet.  I am BLOGGING.  Say it with me now:  "PRIORITIZE!"  Amen.

My Get-Along's Done Got a Hitch

So I’ve got this hitch in my get-along.  The kind that starts at your lower back and travels along your glute, down the back of your leg, behind your knees and to your ankles, exiting somewhere in the foot region.  It starts as a minor tweak which then turns into a nagging ache and if left properly unattended as I have so expertly done the last 3 weeks, it escalates to a full on RAGING PAIN that nothing, not even the beloved one’s left-over T3s can eliminate.

Have you been paying attention, Dear Internet?  We’re getting ready for a 30-hour road trip next week and there’s no WAY I can sit for that long with this issue without totally losing my mind or the one of someone very near & dear to me.  So, after much moaning, groaning, belly-aching and complaining, not to mention a couple of really bad massages administered by the one whom I adore, complete with him kneading the back of my thigh with his knee pushing his full 238-lb weight into my leg, I broke down and called my regular massage therapist, the lovely and perfectly tanned & fit Keslie. 

Despite her perfect All-Canadian Girl-Next-Door looks Keslie is a fantastic massage therapist.   Even though I arrived for my appointment 10-minutes late, she carefully went over the full retinue of what ailed me.  My self-diagnosis was sciatica (which interestingly on the island is pronounced SKY-at-IT-CA, not SIGH-At-ic-a), but I could tell by the look on her face she thought it might be the fact that I could stand to lose 40-lbs and get my ass to the gym on a more regular basis.  But, as I said, she’s a sweet girl and so didn’t actually say this out loud.  Instead she talked about stretching and “engaging my core” and IT-bands and other such ways I could reduce my current pain and avoid further episodes altogether in the future.

I spent the better part of an hour face down on the massage table while she dug into the most sensitive regions of my legs (that is anywhere above the ankle).  Kneading, massaging, stretching my ligaments like they were salt-water taffy.  Oh, let me tell you, it hurt so good.  There were a couple of times I almost came up off the table and hit her square  in the face she hurt me so bad.  But it was all in the name of reducing my current level of pain, so I refrained from said swinging at one who was helping me. 

At one point, I’m lying down with my face firmly planted into the little cradle at the top of the table and with my gluteus maximus partially revealed to she who was healing me, she quietly says “God your ass is tight.”  People, it’s the first time ANYONE has ever said that about my ass.  Given that’s where I’m genetically pre-dispositioned to carry my excess poundage, I’m pretty sure, she didn’t mean it in the “good” way.

 

 

To Every Season Turn, Turn, Turn

The changing of seasons is here and you know what that means don’t you?  Yes, it means it’s time to switch closets from warm, comfortable winter wear to lightweight and sporty summer attire.  I hate this time of year.  I am most assuredly NOT a fan of summer clothes.  Never have been, never will be.  I am much more at home in my winter woolies of bulky oversized sweaters, thick, fuzzy socks, blue jeans or track pants, turtlenecks and pull-overs.  No summer shifts for me.  No cute scooter skirts or heaven forbid shorty shorts.  No Polo shirts or sleeveless cotton blouses.  No, no, I’m not a fan.  Not at all. 

It’s no secret that we’re heading out on vacation in a week…heading to climates that are about 20-degrees warmer than what we’re currently experiencing on PEI.  Of course this calls for summer clothes.  The same summer clothes I put away at the end of last summer when I vowed that by next summer (um, that’s right about now) that I would be several sizes smaller and therefore won’t be needing those clothes.  It’s a good thing I only packed those pieces away and didn’t donate them or throw them out, because, let’s face it, I didn’t exactly achieve my weight-loss goal.

Don’t get me wrong.  I weigh less today than I did at my wedding last August.  Considering that was an all-time high point on my scale, weighing “less” is a good thing, I guess.  I just wish I weighed “lesser” than I do. 

So, today marks the day when I scavenge through the wardrobe, pulling out last summer’s skirts, tops, summer dresses and capris and begin the daunting task of trying everything on in the hopes that it all still fits.  Hoping against hope that I don’t have to go shopping before hitting the road.  Wishing I were a size 10 instead of size 16.  It’s enough to wreck your weekend.

 

 

8 Days To Go – Or – Why This Vacation Will ROCK!

• Getting off the island.  I know it sounds like we’ve been trapped in our own personal reality show with that one, but it’s true.  We cannot wait to hit the Confederation Bridge heading west, then south, then east, then south, then west, then south, then west again. Seriously.  It’s not that life on the island isn’t good, because it is.  It’s just that, well, um, it’s an ISLAND and we’re really more like mainlanders.  So on this trip we’re going deep into the mainland.  So deep we may even hit the heartland.

• Staying up past 9 o’clock.  We are such party animals.  The one whom I adore has been putting in very long days at work, coming home most nights to slip into a quiet, exhausted sleep on the sofa after dinner.  Our hope is that without the daily sucking of his lifeblood that perhaps he can keep it together past 9 o’clock and we can enjoy staying up late, just like anyone else over 10 years old.

• No dogs allowed.  This is HUGE.  Not since the 2007 European Trip of a Lifetime have we traveled without Thing 1 and Thing 2.  This time they’re having their own vacation, but for them it’s more like a “stay-cation” where they get to stay at home, lounging about the house, hanging out with their new girlfriend, the lovely Rhonda the Vet Student who will feed, clothe, pamper and spoil the varmints for two whole weeks.  In return for this, we get to enjoy two glorious weeks without worrying about leaving the dogs unattended in a hotel room and Snickers won’t have to worry that we’ll leave him at the next gas stop. It’s a win-win for everyone, really.

• Road trippin’ to road tunes.  Get yer motor runnin’.  Head out on the highway.  Lookin’ for adventure.  In whatever comes our way!  Yup, there is nothing better than a new playlist of classic rock to cruise the highways and byways of America.  Born to be wiiiiiillllldddd!

• One word:  BOSTON.  Need I say more?

• Another word (or two):  BOSTON BARS.  Right up there with staying out past 9 o’clock is the prospect that we can do some pub crawling in the Back Bay or Beacon Hill or even Battery Wharf districts of the city.  Just.  Like.  Grown-ups.

• Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you, away, you rolling river.   We’ve never been and just like the lyrics of the song, I imagine it to be a beautiful place and we think we might just take our time here to meander along the Blue Ridge Parkway for a spell.

• Dollywood.  Okay, NOT my choice, but the one whom I adore seems pretty fixated on droppin’ in to Pigeon Forge for a visit.  But, upon further research and seeing the cost of admission ($59 per person) for ONE DAY just to see if those things are REAL (and we already know they aren’t)…I’m thinking that he may be rethinking this side trip.

• BBQ.  If you’re going all the way down south you can’t escape the simple fact that they are superior BBQers.  I don’t really know about that claim because I refuse to eat meat off the bone…but again, the one whom I adore is pretty keen to wrap his mouth around some lip-smacking ‘Q, so who am I to say “no”?  I only ask for equal time for some lip-smackin’ Mexican fare.

• Visit with the Family – we haven’t seen them since our wedding last August and so much has happened since then.  People have been sliced and diced, territories have changed, new houses have been decorated.  Wedding albums are ready for viewing.  Need I say more?

• Time alone with the one whom I adore.  Despite the fact that we have abundant time together here stranded on the island, there really is nothing better then discovering a new place together.  Just like when we explored the medieval streets of Florence and the sights of the Roman Empire, we anticipate two weeks full of discovery and we cannot wait. 

• Sleeping in past the crack of dawn.  I’m thinking this might be a by-product of staying up past 9 o’clock like anyone else over the age of 10, and it sure would be a welcome change from our normal routine.  I mean, who the hell gets up at 6:30am ON A SATURDAY?

• Photos of every oversized monument, tacky tourist sign and the landscapes of America. We’ll be traveling through some beautiful parts of the country and I’m looking forward to adding shots of the one whom I adore staged beside a wall of ham, or in this case a life-size Elvis cut-out.

• Hanging with the Amish.  Our return drive home will take us through Lancaster, PA, home to the Amish and that world famous Pennsylvania Dutch Apple Pie.  We can race our Cranberry Cruiser against the horse & buggy…I’m pretty sure we’ll win.

• 28-foot tides.  Our last stop will be at the Bay of Fundy, home to the world’s largest tides.  A photo opportunity if ever there was one. 

• But perhaps the best thing of all…two weeks of no cares, no worries, no work, no schedules…just two weeks of unplanned, free time with the one whom I adore.  That my friends, is priceless!

I've Got My Eyes on You

It's been a bleary day here in the O.B. B.  The rain that started yesterday has not let up one drop.  Good for the grass and flowers, but not for my mood.  Or my writing.  Or my productivity.  Or my desire to do anything other than nap lazily between bursts of activity.

The day began in its usual way, me at the kitchen counter hunched over a bowl of all fibre cereal, him, taking his regular position up in the kitchen doorway, staring at me, imploring me with his eyes to take action of some sort (but no-one, least of all me, really knows what action he wants me to take).  For 10 minutes I dutifully paid our monthly bills on-line, surfed a couple of job sites I peruse daily and finished my morning tea while he was 3 feet away boring holes into the side of my head.  He didn't moan or whine.  He simply stood and stared.  Stared and stood.  He didn't blink.  He occasionally stamped his feet.  Stood and stared.  Stared and stamped.  

This might make sense if he had been looking for some food, but he'd just finished wolfing down his morning quota, not to mention what he stole from she who rules this house's bowl.  I'd understand if he had the burning need to venture to the great outdoors, but both he and I knew he'd been outside 3 times in the 1.5 hours he'd been up.  It might even had made sense if he was say, begging for some of the left-over milk from my bowl of cereal.  But he'd already had that too.  This morning ritual is at the top of my list of things that make me go hmmmm.  Another one of life's little mysteries that I'm not smart enough to figure out.

And so began another day in my life in the O.B.B. 

Wordless Wednesday - Sort of

Today's a busy day here in the O.B.B. so I'll leave you with a few snapshots from my garden - the same daffodil photographed last Friday, Sunday and Tuesday.  Boing!  Spring is here!

And then there's this little treasure I came home to on Tuesday.  He was sitting right at the front door waiting for me.  Of course I waited for the one whom I adore to come home to deal with it.