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!

Week 1: No Crap for Kim

Week One of my new health & wellness program, titled "No Crap for Kim" has gone exceptionally well.  After indulging in such glorious things as ooey-gooey chelsea buns for my birthday, followed closely by copious amounts of home-made coconut macaroons, not to mention the newly discovered "whoopie pies" it seems that my ever-expanding back-end is now taking up residence on the front end of my body.  Yes, my ass has circled my hips and is setting up shop on my abdomen.

What is a girl to do?

Well, rather than start the usual starve myself and really screw up my metabolism further program I've been known to do a time or two, this week I decided it would simply be better if I took baby steps.  Step one, cut out the crap.  We love our crap in this house and there's no better place to enjoy crap then one is on a 7000-km road trip.  SmartCorn, pretzels, whoopie pies - the lot.  We were on vacation and you all know when you're on vacation those calories don't count.  Except when you get home from vacation and they've taken up their own postal code on your thighs.  Shit.  Not again.

So baby steps.  Right.  Our house is now a crap-free zone.  Except for the two bags of tortilla chips in the cupboard for the company I thought we might have last night but instead we went to their place and since it was so late didn't make the guacamole and so yeah, the chips are still here.  But I'm pretending they act like ice-cream to my body and shred my innards and I'll tell you there's no better deterrent from eating something than having it make you sick.  So, tortilla chips now officially make me sick.  I'm pretty sure if I say it enough it will be so!

Crap-free.   Healthy breakfast, monitor the amount of breads and keep it to two servings a day.  Lots of vegetables and a couple of servings of lean protein.  It's all fairly easy.  Except for the 4-o'clock crazies.  Seems my body can only go 4 hours without being fed - so that's easy with breakfast at 8am and lunch at noon - 4 hours all's good.  But then, we don't eat dinner here until the one whom I adore comes home and most nights that's somewhere between 7 & 7:30pm.  So right, that would be 7 hours between feedings and let me tell you, that is simply too long for me to bear.  I get cranky.  I get really tired.  I have even been known to be a tad bit petulant when STARVING.  

Back before the crap free zone that is now our home, the 4-o'clock crazies might be averted with a peanut butter sandwich or half (or a whole) bag of tortilla chips or something equally as not healthful.  This week I've substituted those with a small handful of almonds mixed with dried cranberries and guess what?  This small little snack sustains me long enough to get to the dinner hour without the crazies.   Thanks mom for the suggestion.  Oh, and guess what?  When you only have a HANDFUL, they don't incite a riot in your intestines!  So it's all good.

Week 2 of No Crap for Kim will involve getting more active.  I'm not sure yet what that looks like, but today it looks like a walk on the beach and several hours of gardening.   If you have any suggestions on how to work more activity into my day (because really, sitting on the sofa blogging cannot be called "active") send them along!  I can use all the help I can get!

Circling Sharks

If you've read my profile you'll note that I am currently living on an island in the Northumberland Straight (look it up) and while here my employment status is defined as "under".  Under-employed that is.  You see, we moved to this little berg for the career of the one whom I adore making the assumption that with my vast and varied talents that I could/would land a job in a blink of an eye.  After-all, I have before.  In fact, the last time I actively looked for work was 21 years ago.  Let me tell you folks that's a long time to be in the position of being "sought-after".   Much to our surprise (mine, his, ours) my landing the "big one" here hasn't been quite so easy.  

So, here we are - him working extra super long days and the occasional weekend making changes, transforming his department, leading a team, having an impact (in a positive way), getting rave reviews and accolades.  Me, I'm getting by doing any number of different things I can to either make some money or make a difference.  Earlier this year I was able to do both with a short-term contract teaching at the local college.  It damn near sucked the very life out of me, but it was a pay-cheque and had the added bonus of teaching me a couple of life and career lessons.   But with the end of the school year came the end of the contract and now with summer almost officially here, there will be no news on any future contracts until school is back in session in the Fall.

Most recently, I've been spending my time volunteering.  With the exception of Vancouver & Jasper, I have volunteered in every community I have lived in over the past 20+ years.  I've spent hours rocking "crack" babies at Atlanta's Grady Memorial Hospital and I've taught "Saturday" school to a group of Atlanta's inner-city youth.  I've supervised an after-school program at the Maui County YMCA (you know, the one in Hawaii) and I've been a volunteer whale-watching guide for the Pacific Whale Foundation.  Here on the island in the straight I volunteer with three organizations in a variety of capacities: as an in-school mentor to a young girl with socializing challenges, with the VIP hosting committee of the Canada Games Council and as the Auction Sub-committee Chair for the annual PEI Special Olympics Celebrity Sports Festival & Fundraising Gala.   To that, add: keeper of the house, cleaner of the laundry, cooker of the meals, payer of the bills, runner of the errands, occasional cutter of the grass and tenderer of the garden.  Oh, and the blogging thing.  Let's don't forget about the blogging thing, because really...really?  It makes me VERY happy to spend a part of my day writing.  

With all of this I'm keeping plenty busy.  And I'm really satisfied.  Yes, I'd like to improve our financial status by working even part-time, but overall, I'm making life on the island work for me and subsequently for the one whom I adore as well.  I'm really enjoying the work I'm doing and believe me when I tell you it is work.   I'm meeting new and interesting people and I'm starting to learn all about the world of not-for-profit and how in some cases it's vastly different than the for-profit organizations I've always worked for.  Perhaps most surprisingly is in how many ways the two are very much the same.  Regardless, I'm really enjoying the work and the people and making a contribution to the greater island community.  

It's all good.

Really.

But then, yesterday when I was being grilled by a friend of ours about my career prospects for the summer why did I feel like I'm not doing enough?  Not looking hard enough for a job?  Not talking to enough people?  Not being in the right place at the right time?  Not enough of the time anyway?  Why did one person's relentless questioning make me feel that what I'm doing isn't important because there isn't a pay-cheque attached to it?  How did feeling so good about the work I'm doing so quickly devolve into feeling so worthless because I'm not contributing equally to our household finances?  Why would that conversation make me feel so damn bad about myself?  Why does what this one person thinks matter so much to me?

I guess it's because like sharks circling around chum, our friends are constantly on alert for any signs that we not happy here and might leave.  But I have to say that when the time comes for us to leave the island it will NOT be because I haven't found meaningful work.  I have.  I'm just not getting paid to do it.  

Yet.

Baby, You Oughtta Be in Pictures!

Recently, the place where the one whom I adore goes to work each day was having a Health & Wellness Fair.  Very much in keeping with life in the hospitality industry, once a year the Human Resources types like to trot out their H&W Fair to give the impression that when one  works in this industry that indeed you have both Health & Wellness.  Nothing could be further from the truth, but in fairness to this particular organization, they do seem to have a  focus this year on community involvement and whose to say that doesn't contribute to wellness?

Anyway...as the one whom I adore is an executive committee member (read very important senior boss-man type of job), they often get charged with providing to the colleagues some glimpse into their inner lives.  This year the exec. committee members were asked to provide props & imagery that showed what they do for "wellness" (as in how they spend their time the other 2 or 3 hours a week when they are not otherwise working).  Oh, and they also wanted to see what the execs looked like as babies and could they please provide a baby picture with their other props.

Now, the one whom I adore is VERY lucky to be married to me (that being the under-employed, too much time on my hands, but no longer stressed and still very creative former marketing executive) because as soon as he mentioned it, I whipped up this little poster to display at the fair:

This was accompanied by other various and sundry props and while we thought this was quite sufficient for the task at hand, the H&W types still insisted that they needed his baby picture.  I guess they were playing some sort of name that executive from his baby picture kind of game, I dunno. 

Of course, all of this was requested a mere day before we were leaving on vacation so the likelihood of him getting a baby picture to the H&W types in time were severely limited given that:

1)  we don’t have a copy of any of his childhood photos, let alone a baby picture and;

2)  we’re not from here and the likelihood of his parents being able to find a picture, get it to his brother’s office, have it scanned and then emailed – well, you might as well have asked them to climb a mountain, because it wasn’t going to happen.  Not that they wouldn’t be happy to do everything they could to assist – it was just a ridiculous request at the very last moment when the one whom I adore simply had NO time to deal with it.

But, the one whom I adore (which we will now start to abbreviate to TOWIA because frankly the other is just getting too long) also likes to play nice in the sandbox and so after consulting with me (the formerly high-paid, high-stressed, now under-employed marketing genius) we decided to submit this baby picture:

You’ll notice how damn handsome that kid is?  Kinda looks like a model, doesn’t he?  Jeese, do you even remember cloth diapers?  Do you believe that little guy grew up to be this big guy?

Yeah, well, the H&W types sure thought he did.  Too bad the baby TOWIA picture was an image borrowed from an on-line photo bank.  No, it was not TOWIA – it’s some random kid – we have no idea who – but suffice it to say, the H&W types got a baby picture, TOWIA checked it off his “to do” list and me, I just got a big laugh.

 

Are Arms the New Legs?

I've known plenty of men in my time who are "leg men" and even more that are "breast men."  Seems this was the standard, aside from facial features, men used to determine if a woman was attractive or not and therefore worth spending any energy pursuing.  Clearly neanderthals all of them, because not a one actually gave an ounce of credence to a woman's brain let alone soul - but that's another story for another blog.

Anyhoo, back to this subject.  Last night as I was channel surfing with the one whom I adore snoozing on the couch beside me, I had a sudden realization.  In the words of my hero Oprah, it was an "aha" kind of moment.  I had flipped on Inside Edition which is hosted by tall, lithe, blonde, Lara Spencer.  Usually, I cannot actually watch her report the latest celebrity news because frankly her voice irritates me to no end, but last night I just had to stop and pay attention.

Inside Edition was reporting the latest news on the Jon & Kate Plus 8 potential divorce, affair, break-up scandal, which is why I paused long enough to see "them".  Her arms.  Lara Spencer's arms are perfectly sculpted.  They are toned and fit and have superb muscle definition.  Her side-kick (a stunningly beautiful woman) also had perfectly toned arms.  These are women, people!  Women, who prior to Michelle Obama coming on the scene with her perfectly buff guns, were seldom, if ever, photographed, let alone taped for TV in sleeveless tops.  But not any more.

I blame it on the first lady, but really, I think the person that should be held responsible is Kelly Ripa the co-host of Live with Regis & Kelly!  Seriously.  Have you seen her pipes?  Aside from the fact that she's what 5'2" and maybe, just maybe 100-lbs soaking wet, this woman has zero body fat.  And arms that would rival any body builder's.  I kid you not.

Now I know she works hard to maintain her physique.  You'd never know by looking at her that she's had 3 kids because her body at her age is better than my body has been any ANY age (including when I was 13 years old and 5'2" and definitely not weighing 100-lbs wet or dry).  Again, I digress.  She does work hard for her body.  She's in top form.  She's a runner, a dancer and clearly a weight-lifter.

But the thing I have to wonder is...has it all gone just a little too far?  Are we now competing in the "gun show" against men?  Since when did women need to have bulging biceps and trim triceps to prove themselves?  Seems to me like it's the new standard today.

Which frankly gives me some encouragement.  Because after oh, say 20 years of yo-yo dieting, slowing my metabolism to a mere crawl and attempting to lose my ever expanding ass and thighs it just all seems too much to handle.  But, if after a few bicep, tricep and hammer curls I can have sculpted arms to rival those of the First Lady, not to mention the First Lady of Morning Talk Shows, well, then I guess there's really hope after all!

The Thing that Happened From New Hampshire to Boston

No, I didn't forget. I just wanted to get through our whole GNAT 09 (Great North American Tour) before reliving the horrifying experience that started our trip off. Sit down, have a snack, just like yesterday's post of GNAT Leg 6, 7, 8 this is a looonnnngggg one.

So, the day before we left PEI to drive 30+ hours to Nashville I was heading home along the Lower Malpaque when suddenly, despite the fact that my foot was on the gas, I had no forward momentum in the Cranberry Cruiser. Panicked, I pulled over, thinking I had stalled the car (but can you actually do that in an automatic transmission car that's going 60-km/hr? I dunno), but then realizing as I sat on the side of the road that the motor was actually still running. Strange.

Hoping to achieve some level of calm despite the panic that was rising in my chest I turned off the ignition, took a couple of deep breaths and re-started the car. It started. I put it into gear and it moved forward just like it was supposed to. So I immediately pulled a u-ey and headed directly to our dealership for an explanation because, hey, it was 4 o'clock on a Friday not only before a holiday weekend, but the day before we're leaving on the GNAT no less! Oh, and by the way, the Cranberry Cruiser is less than 2 years old! So, yeah, things like this - not expected.

Now, bear in mind I had been to our dealership no less than 3 times in the previous week for various and sundry maintenance and licensing tasks. They know me on sight. I explained to them just what was happening and how panicked I was because oh, jeeze, it's only the NIGHT BEFORE THE FIRST VACATION WE'VE HAD IN OVER TWO YEARS PLEASE DON'T TELL ME YOU CAN'T FIX THIS THING BEFORE I LEAVE IN 12 HOURS!

They cheerily said "Oh yeah, we've just gotten a service bulletin about this and it's really no big deal, but also, the part to replace this warranty item is out of inventory for at least a couple of weeks. But you can go ahead and still drive it. To Nashville. On a 30-hour road trip. You bet." Smile.

Famous last words.

So, reassured and relieved and with replacement part now on order I continue on home to finish up all the last minute things you must do before turning your house over to a complete stranger to house & dog sit for you. Things like wash the kitchen floor, dust the cobwebs from the basement ceiling, stuff like that. In my haste to get packed and make final notes for the sitter I, er, uhm, neglected to mention the little incident to the one whom I adore. Oops.

Bright and early the next morning we're packed, bags loaded into the Cranberry Cruiser, dogs safely, but let me assure you not happily, sitting at the kitchen window watching us go and we're off! Off on our big adventure! Off to see the USA! Headin' down to Nashville, via Boston and points in between. Off! Off! Off!

We had no sooner turned a mile down the road and it happened again. The same thing as yesterday. Realizing I forgot to make any mention of yesterday's incident to the one whom I adore I very quickly (and I can actually speak faster than I'm typing this and that's pretty damn fast) I spill my guts and recount what happened on the Lower Malpaque and what the head mechanic at the dealership said and oh, it's okay to drive, it won't hurt the car, you just need to pull over, put it in park, turn off and then on the ignition and everything will be fine. Smile. Whew.

If you could see the look I got. But, the one whom I adore also adores me and, as such, has tremendous faith in anything I tell him. And so he pulled over, put it in park, turned it off and then back on again. And it worked! And we continued on our merry way...crises averted.

Except that it wasn't "quite" averted. You see, about 3 hours later, it happened again. This time somewhere in New Brunswick as we were exiting the highway heading toward the boarding crossing. There was slightly more swearing this time. But hey, the mechanic said it's no big issue...right? So we did the thing again...pull over. Park. Turn off. Turn on. Continue. Shampoo. Rinse. Repeat.

Everything was fine. Really it was. It was fine all the way through Maine and most of the way through New Hampshire. But then, we just had to stop at the all you can buy without sales tax New Hampshire Liquor Store. Oh what a place! Right there, sitting on the side of the interstate as though it were a state rest stop! Although advertised as a liquor store, what it really was was an adult candy-land full of wine...American wine...South American wine...inexpensive wine...wine that we cannot find in PEI...wine!

After a brief respite to ogle, drool and purchase we continued on our way and just as we are re-entering the highway from this New Hampshire Rest Stop Liquor Store the dreaded thing happened again. Pedal to the metal, accelerating to 65 mph and suddenly, no throttle. Just nothing. Did I mention we were merging onto an Interstate Highway? Beside other vehicles? Like transport trailers going 85-mph? Oh, let me tell you, the language in the cruiser at this juncture was more foul than my belly after eating too much Thai salad, almonds & cranberries.

I wish I could report that this was the last incident before Boston, but it wasn't. It happened at least two other times before we limped our way to our luxury hotel on the waterfront in Boston's North End. We begged the doorman to let us self-park our car because of our little throttle problem, but they would have none of it. Being the professionals they are, they calmly assured us that they could handle anything our little cruiser threw their way and so took our keys. I for one was more than happy to give them up. The faster I could get out of that car, the sooner my melt-down could begin.

So now here's the scenario. It's now 6pm on a Saturday night, in a foreign city, not to mention foreign country. Car dealerships are closed and won't reopen until Monday at 7am. We're safely tucked into our beautiful hotel room at the luxurious Fairmont Battery Wharf. Our room is so new and swanky and first class and all, that I can't find any drinking glasses. But I'm nothing if not resourceful and I wasn't going to let the lack of stemware keep me from calming my nerves with a sip o' wine. Thankfully the bottle we brought to our room was screw cap, so while swigging it directly from the bottle I finally gave myself permission to lose it and lose it I did.

Just like the night the one whom I adore proposed to me, I boo-hoo'd tears and snot and snot and tears, between massive gulps of wine. Our vacation is ruined! The dealership won't have the part! Even if they did, our warranty in Canada probably wouldn't cover it! I cannot get back into that car! We cannot take that vehicle of death on the Sky Line Trail! The world is ending, not to mention our vacation! Before it even started!

Thankfully I married a sane and rational person who, while watching me guzzle wine from a bottle (first class gal all the way), convinced me that I was indeed capable of compartmentalizing the events of the afternoon until at least Monday morning when we could talk to a dealership and figure out a plan of attack from there. Logic (and some really good pinot noir directly from the bottle) prevailed and we agreed that we would make the best of Boston, for the next 2 days at least.

Boston was spectacular. I haven't written a whole lot about it, because, frankly, it was so special I'd really like to keep the best parts of it to myself. Those parts being all the sweet and romantic-y things we did and all the memories we created and all the fun we had.

But the other best part of Boston was the reception we received at Quirk Kia in nearby Braintree, MA. Just like kids on Christmas morning we were up before dawn so that we would "sound" awake when we talked to the dealership at 7am. A kind young man answered the phone, assured the one whom I adore that indeed they could look at our vehicle that very morning...just as soon as we could get it to them.

There was no way in hell I was getting back in that vehicle to drive through morning rush hour traffic in a city I don't know to the dealership. So this is the part where we put the "anywhere in North America Roadside Assist" to the test. We called the 800 number and qu'elle suprise! It worked! And the lovely lady on the other end of the phone happily dispatched a tow truck to our location, just as soon as he could battle his way through Boston traffic or within the next 1.5 hours, whichever comes first.

This is how good the guys at the Fairmont Battery Wharf are: We phoned down to the front desk and advised them of our plight and that we were awaiting a tow truck to rescue our car from valet parking. After about an hour we made our way downstairs and the one whom I adore went to speak to the front door guy to advise that it was he that was awaiting the tow truck. The front door man was all "absolutely Mr. Donnelly, we're fully apprised of your situation and will let you know just as soon as the truck arrives." Very professional. Very courteous. Very helpful. Very genuine. I love Boston. (Side note: they actually called him Mr. Cameron, because, er, uhm, I still go by this name and the room had been reserved in my name and so the logical conclusion was that he was Mr. Cameron. He's a good sport though and played along just as if he were.)

Once we three (me, he and it) were loaded onto the tow truck we were off to meet our new friends at Quirk Kia. Let me just tell you now, Quirk Kia is the largest car dealership I have ever seen. It is housed in what was a former shopping mall. I'm so not kidding - it's that big. The owner also owns the nearby port. The dealership has its own port for crying out loud! I thought the chances of anyone having the (in Canada anyway) back-ordered part, it seems like these guys would.

Sitting for an hour in the Dunkin' Donuts was no hardship as the mechanic did a thorough diagnosis of the situation. And just like the guys in Charlottetown said, it was indeed a problem with the throttle box. And yes, hallelujah, they had the part in stock. We'd be under way in less than 2 hours. Oh, and um, yes, it's a warranty repair, but oh, jeeze, um, it's not covered in the U.S. we're a whole other country don'tcha know and it's a different system.

At this point, when our options were to buy airline tickets to continue on or to rent a car to continue on, or to abandon our trip altogether, facing $800 in warranty repairs was a battle we were more than happy to wage with our dealership once we got back to Canada. Except that we didn't have to wage a battle at all. When we notified the dealership of what happened and that the warranty work had to be done on the fly in Boston our dealership said "No problem. Just bring us your bill when you're back on the island and we'll cut you a check the same day." That is what you call Customer Service. Our Kia might not be the highest-end vehicle you can find, but let me tell you, their Customer Care is top of the line, without question.

And that, my friends, is The Thing That Happened From New Hampshire To Boston. We had no other issues the entire trip - except for the 70-foot tree almost landing on top of my husband and my mother...but that was a whole other blog.