Remembering...

On this day of Remembrance when we pause at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month to remember and honour those men and women that serve in our Armed Forces today, tomorrow and yesterday, well, I was at the gym, honouring my two minutes of silence as I stretched out the massive pain in my back from sleeping on the blow up bed the past few nights.

I had three uncles that served in WWII, Bill, Art & Dick Ashby. They were my mother's brothers. Two served for the Canadian Forces and one was a sailor for the US Navy. All of them served overseas and none of them met my mom, their sister, until they were home from the war and she was 5 years old. It was a different time to be sure, but I always think of that on Remembrance Day.

Today is a statutory holiday here on the sandbar. School is out. Businesses are closed. And as much as I take issue with a lot of things that happen here, I like the fact that here, in this place, we stop for one day to respectfully honour the men and women that keep us safe and help make the world a better place...just like Canadians have for over two hundred years.

But while I was at the gym, preparing for my workout, I couldn't help but think about all the strange things I see & overhear there on any given day. Today it happened in the change room. I rounded the corner and as I pushed open the door to the ladies change room I knew it was full of little old ladies who had just finished their aqua-aerobics class. I knew this because one would have to be completely deaf not to hear the cacophony of the hens as they gossiped and giggled. As they were changing from swimsuits to street clothes I noticed two things:

1) One older lady (she is pushing 90 if she's a day) was standing at the mirror dressed only in her old-lady undies (no bra, so boobs hanging lll-ooo-www) with a hair-dryer in each hand blowing her hair dry from both sides. I guess it's more efficient?

2) Around the corner from the dueling dryers are the shower stalls. Both were occupied and while one lady was busily showering away in the far stall, her friend was cheerily standing outside the stall having a conversation with her. You think there's nothing weird about that? How about the fact that the lady outside the shower was standing with her nose about one millimeter away from the shower curtain YELLING her part of the conversation. Maybe you had to be there...but it was odd. And just a little bit funny. Trust me.

Anyway, the ladies were all in a rush to get to our Cenotaph for the 11am service. So, good for them for squeezing in a workout and still making it to the parade on time. Me, I made it out in time to drive right into the parade route and salute our soldiers at the Charlottetown Armoury as I made my way home, listening to the CBC and the tribute from Ottawa.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.

- John McCrae

Good Things Come to Those that Wait

Under the heading "You just don't know what the day will bring" Thursday brought a day I had long been dreaming of ever since we arrived here on the sandbar. I've written lots and lots and lots about my search for meaningful work in a place that has little to no turn-over and where people admittedly die at their desks. I've spent almost two years wondering what the hell is a newcomer supposed to do here?

I've also spent the better part of the last two years checking the want ads daily. Two years of networking. Two years volunteering my time and talents to help organizations reach their goals. Two years of pinching every single penny to squeeze the most out of it. Two years of debating whether to continue using my Estee Lauder face cream that has kept me looking strikingly youthful, or whether to switch to a more economical version of Oil of Olay. Two years, people.

Last January in one of my outreach efforts I contacted the local college where I discovered much to my surprise you don't need a degree in order to teach. And since I didn't have a degree in anything but Life University, I thought, hey, maybe there's something I can do in education so I set about working my way into the college, taking any little opportunity I could to teach any subject they'd assign me.

Along the way I've met some great people. People that have encouraged me to apply for any and every posting that comes up that I'm remotely interested in. People that have suggested that one sure fire way to get hired on a more permanent basis was for me to enroll in their Certified Adult Educator program, because once I have a CAE designation there's little to no chance I'll be eliminated from consideration for a job. I've gotten lots of advice from lots of people. People that saw me interacting with my students who came to me afterward to compliment me on how I handled a specific situation. People who could overhear me in my classroom (because yes, people, even though I've been unemployed I'm still loud as ever) who took the time to stop by afterward to tell me how engaging they think I am as an instructor. People who gave me suggestions on how to deal with an entire class showing up either still drunk or so hungover they were wasting their time in school that day. People that for no other reason other than they are born educators and caring people took me on as someone they believe in and wanted to encourage.

So a few weeks ago I applied to the CAE program and that same day a new job was posted for a Core Business Instructor to cover a 6-month term from November to the end of April. I jumped on it and sent my resume to HR that very same day. As one of my informal mentors said "Kim, we've all read a page and taught a page at one point or another in our careers and there's no reason you can't do the same."

So I sent my resume in and I waited. And I waited some more. And still a little longer.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in fact was only a week after the posting came down I contacted the program manager responsible for hiring the position. We had a lovely conversation. One in which he told me I had lots of talent and experience, I was lacking in a key area and so therefore, I was not be considered for the job.

Okay, I thought. It was a bit of a long shot. I was disappointed but I wasn't surprised. And so I moved on...back to teaching B-Comm to my Pastry Arts students and thinking about ways I could fill up my days again now that I don't go to school every day, because according to Buzz, "Employed Kim" is a whole lot happier than "Unemployed Kim" (I suspect it's that 1) I thrive in a busy environment and 2) I really want to upgrade back to my Estee Lauder face cream but there's no way I can justify it on one salary, so yes...you can understand why Employed Kim with her own paycheque might be a tad bit more...um...fun to be around?).

On Monday I got my acceptance letter from the College. I was accepted into the CAE program and so starting in January I begin my journey towards my B-Ed degree. If I'm successful (and I have no doubt I will be) then I will be the first Cameron in my generation to have a college degree. Granted I'll be around 50 when I graduate, but hey, better late then never!

On Thursday I got a phone call from the HR department of the college. They offered me the very job I had been told a week before I wasn't being considered for. I asked the nice lady if she was sure she had the right applicant because I had already been told I wouldn't be considered. I could hear her smile on the other end of the line...."Yes, Kim, we want to hire you. We've reconsidered the qualifications and if you're willing to take it on, we'd like you to be the one to teach the Sports & Recreations students."

So, in a household where I frequently argue with my husband the accountant that "words are more important than numbers" this coming Thursday I will begin teaching Business Communications and Introduction to Accounting to first year Sports & Recreation students. I find the whole thing very ironic.

Santa Booby

Ah, the holiday season. We've nary finished with Hallowe'en and already the stores are decked out for Christmas. With such a rush to get to market, Christmas is now competing for shelf space with ghosts & goblins and this year's favourite monster costumes. But whatever, recession be damned consumerism is still alive and well, and as far as I can tell, living on PEI.

So back to Christmas. This year our family has decided to cut back on all the Christmas chaos by reducing the amount of presents we give and receive. We've decided the adults get to pull one name from a hat and that's the one person (besides the kids & spouse) that we'll buy for. Given the distance between us, this not only makes good economical sense, but logistically it works really well too because there's nothing worse than spending $120 to mail a $60 gift. You know what I mean? So, this week my niece put our assorted names into a hat and did a virtual draw and now the real work begins; which is figuring out what to get my lucky recipient!

Now, I've been making up Christmas lists for years - all the better to ensure I don't get a stocking full of coal, but mostly to ensure that hopefully, if people are careful readers I won't get duplicates of anything AND I'll be guaranteed to get at least one or two things that I'd really like to receive. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck people...I like to make giving me a present easy on the people doing the buying.

When I was 13 my Christmas list looked something like this: new figure skates, a polaroid camera, some books and even materials to make a craft or two. But the really big item on my Christmas list that year was a chest. Not a wooden chest. Not a jewelry chest. Not even a hope chest. Nope. The chest I was looking for would sit about 6 inches below my collar and 6 inches above my navel. That's right, I asked Santa Claus for some boobs.

It's true!

I come from a long line of let's just say, less then endowed women. I thought if there was a Santa Claus and if I asked really nice, I'd be gifted with something other than the 30AA training bra I had been sporting for a couple of years.

Well, let's just say Christmas 1975 was a bit of a disappointment. Oh, I got my shiny new, white figure skates and while I didn't get the polaroid camera, I got lots of other things I wanted. It was a white Christmas and everything was just perfect. Except. Well except for one thing. It was the year that it was confirmed for real. There was no such thing as the Man with the Jingle, 'cause, that's right - I woke up Christmas morning completely boobless...just like I was on Christmas Eve.

I would remain boobless until my mid-twenties.

But, better late then never, suddenly, long about the age of 25 or 26, I started to get some shape north of my navel and south of my neck. No padded bra for me anymore...suddenly, I had a rack! This is the part where we're not going to focus on the fact that along with my ample bosom, I also gained a significant real estate on my ass, but whatever, boobs are boobs and I don't care how you go about getting them. I had them, and I planned on keeping them.

So, stay with me here people, I will eventually get to the point.

About 9 weeks ago I embarked on a serious quest called No Crap for Kim - The Redux, Return of the Apocalypse or better known as "I really mean it this time I have to lose some freaking weight!" Campaign. Nine weeks ago I was 15 lbs heavier than I am today. Nine weeks ago I was several inches bigger than I am today. Nine weeks ago I still had a rack. Today? Not so much.

Aside from working out 6 days a week and measuring & counting everything I put in my mouth, the rest of the plan is to weigh-in once a week and then once a month I take my measurements. I took mine today and while I am ecstatic at the pounds and inches I've lost, I am less then happy about where I'm losing them. I've lost a total of 7 inches from various points around my body. THREE of those inches I've lost from my boobs.

The lesson here? Now we know that aside from there not being a Santa Claus? We also know that Mother Nature is also a total bitch!

Bud the Spud from the Bright Red Mud

It's potato season here on the sandbar! Yukon golds, bakers, russets, white and plain old "table" potatoes are being harvested from Tignish to Souris which means we've been on the lookout for the farmer that works the field behind us because, this year, instead of a field of rag weed, they planted potatoes.

We watched and we waited. And we waited and watched. It poured rain almost every day for three weeks which put a bit of a damper on the whole pull potatoes out of the field thing. I guess it's hard to move those big machines on a field of mud.

But this week it finally happened. I came home from the gym Saturday morning to the sight of a harvester, a big potato truck and what looks like an earth-mover roaming about our back field. Potatoes being root vegetables grow underground, so first they have to dig up the top of the plants. Despite standing at the window and watching for what seemed like hours, I still couldn't figure out how the potatoes got from the ground through the harvester and into the truck because at no point did the truck ever approach the harvester. And yet, when it finished up yesterday, there was a big truck full of spuds pulling out of the field. So, beats me.

The crew worked two whole days and long into the night on Saturday. It reminded me of the Carol Ship Parade at Christmas in Vancouver, this ginormous machines, lit up and beeping their way around the pitch-black field, pulling potatoes. If only we had music to accompany them, it might have looked like a ballet of sorts.

One of the weirdest things in this whole harvesting of potatoes though? The weirdest thing was the sight of seagulls and shore birds that were dogging the harvester like they do deep-sea fishing boats at sea. With every yard the harvester moved, the birds swooped and soared, landing on the freshly dug field, foraging for food. I don't know about you, but it kinda makes sense to me that a seagull would tail a deep-sea fishing boat hoping to catch some bait or even a fish...but to tail a potato harvester? Really? Is there not enough fish in the sea for you? Is the sea too far away? I mean, we can see it from the front porch, why can't you birds? Why scavenge in a newly harvested potato field?

I don't know. But in an effort to keep our grocery bill in line, I'm going to take a bag and make like a seagull and go forage a few potatoes my own self!

Quintessentially Canadian

It really doesn't get much more Canadian than this. Trying to compete with our neighbours to the south and all those "reality" competitions, this Fall the CBC embarked on their first foray into the "reality" realm. Their entry?

The Battle of the Blades!

The concept is brilliant and really, just couldn't be more Canadian unless you included an igloo building competition followed by a dog-sled race.

When I was growing up you really only had two choices of recreation in the winter - if you were a girl you took figure skating lessons and if you were a boy, well - you played hockey. So how smart was it for the CBC to capitalize on two of Canada's most time-honoured sports by combining both in one competition?

Every Sunday night, live from Maple Leaf Gardens, the CBC has paired former NHL hockey players with some of our country's most award-winning figure skaters for a skating competition. They've taken big lumbering hockey jocks out of their pads and onto their picks to glide around the ice to music of Barry Manilow and Frank Sinatra trying desperately to keep their rhythm without dropping their partner.

Buzz and I are glued to the show every Sunday night at 8pm. We love it. Watching Ty Domi shake his groove thing or Ron Duguay shake his coiffure out of his eyes while he lifts Canadian sweetheart Barbara Underhill over his head is something to be seen. With guest judges Don Cherry and Lanny MacDonald, and host Kurt Browning they've secured a cross section of Canadian sports hall of fame, not to mention an Olympian or two.

I think there's probably only 3 or 4 weeks left and my money is on Stephan Richer and Marie-France Dubrueil, but I have a sneaky suspicion that our most recent Olympian Jamie Sale and her partner Craig Simpson will win the popular vote.

If you're not watching tune in tonight at 8:00pm for the results show. You'll get a brief snapshot of last night's performances before finding out who's eliminated. I promise you - if you have an ounce of Canadian pride, you'll love this show!

Just Shove(l) It

It's supposed to snow today in the Maritimes. Yes. It's only Oct. 21st and we can expect our first "significant" snowfall. Oh joy.

A couple of weeks ago while listening to the island's evening news broadcast the weatherman, "Boomer" Gallant (that's his real name folks), informed us that there's an old island saying that goes something like this: "Rain in the Fall means no Winter at all."

It's been pouring for weeks here and I'm guessing old Boomer's got it wrong if we're expecting snow in October and thus an early start to winter.

Time to dust off the shovel.

Redemption

Just because I haven't been writing as often as I usually do doesn't mean I'm lost for something to say. Oh, ye of little faith - you should know me better than that!

So here's a little update:

The Great Turkey Disaster of 2009

If you missed the original story you can read about it here. It was less a disaster and more like a massacre. Seriously. Upon further research and reflection we discovered what we had done wrong. No, it wasn't too much salt. In fact, we had every single ingredient for the brine correct. Well, except for one. The recipe called for a cup of brown sugar and my husband being my husband, and that is a man who worships all things savory but not sweet, insisted we not include the brown sugar because hey! HEY! He didn't want a sweet bird! So, okay, we left out the brown sugar. Guess what adding brown sugar does to a brine? That's right people, it helps to balance out the salt. Ahem. So yes, the great turkey disaster was our own damn fault. Oops.

To rub salt into the wound (ahem), last night Buzz informed me that although he likes the occasional drumstick, really? Really, he prefers the things you can make from the leftover turkey than the actual turkey dinner itself. People, we've had turkey every Thanksgiving and Christmas since I've known the man and I'm only learning this little tidbit now? Now?

At the end of the day, that salty bastard of a turkey did redeem itself...in a big pot of turkey barley soup and last night in a decadent but not fattening turkey pot pie. I followed the WeightWatchers recipe to the "t" but omitted any reference to salt and guess what? It was delicious. And by using no-fat condensed milk, it was thick and creamy and rich, but NOT fattening. Oh the joy!

I Said Doctor....

Remember last week when I was lamenting here about the health care system here on the sandbar and how it's been two years of living without a family doctor? Remember saying how frustrated I was? And the lengths I'm going to in order to secure medical treatment for my long-suffering, but quintessentially male husband who, when I try to get to see a doctor I think it would be easier to get healthcare reform through the US Senate then to get my man on an examination table? Well, guess what? Soon, his ass will be draped in a tiny white gown sitting on a cold slab of paper because ladies and gentlemen, this weekend I received a letter in the mail from the department of health informing me that our file has been sent to Dr. Jamal who will gladly see us for an interview for family doctor. That's right folks, my plea to "Janice" seemed to have worked. Or maybe it was because "Janice" was so mortified at "Claire's" initial response to me that she felt the only way to rectify the situation was to assign us to a doctor, but I DON'T CARE because WE WILL SOON HAVE A DOCTOR!

I don't really know how else to end this other than to say...it's about damn time some things started turning around on this island. Hopefully this is just the first step. The next step would be for me to have a full-time job. Would I be tempting Fait too much by asking for one more favour? Just one!