This Little Piggy Went to Market...

You may have heard. I’ve been on a quest the last 7 months. A journey unlike I have ever embarked on before. One of self-discovery, a journey of self-discipline. Of mind over matter (when what matters is getting your arse to the gym to run around for an hour at least 5 times a week when your mind is saying why not (?) have that extra bag of 100-calorie cookies); of mindfulness over mindlessness (where one substitutes mindfulness with common sense and mindlessness with eating whatever calorie-rich, chemical-laden, preserved not from nature concoction you’ve just discovered in the not-particularly healthy aisle of the grocery store).

To quote John & Paul - it’s been a long and winding road. Seven months in and I’m almost 50-lbs lighter. “Almost.” It seems when one nears the end of their journey the road becomes more difficult and much more wind-ey. You don’t travel the same distance in the same amount of time you did when you first embarked on the journey. The last few miles seem to be the most difficult because one week you’re gliding down a hill with the vehicle in neutral, going 60-mph (where 60-mph could be substituted with 2.4-lbs per week) and the very next week you’re climbing Mt. Haleakala, full of hair-pin turns and the transmission drops out of your engine block about 2/3s of the way up. I’m just saying. “Almost” is one tough word. So are the last few weeks of “No Crap for Kim, the Redux, Volume IV, Seriously Gonna do it This Time, Get Healthy Because I Don’t Want to be 50 and FAT” weight-loss program.

But today isn’t about how tough the last leg of this journey is becoming. Nope. This is about how freaking fantastic it is to be a “normal” size. A size that does not require shopping in the specialty section of the department store (where the word specialty is substituted by the term “above average” or “plus size” or “additionelle” – how very creative). A size that says “hey, you fit quite comfortably into an airplane seat without the arm-rests digging into your hips that are spilling over into the passenger’s seat beside you”. A size that allows you to run, where once you could only walk and even then, not for very long without being winded. A size that doesn’t have your triple and quadruple chin walking in the door 5-minutes before the rest of your body.

Today, I am a size where I can bend over and paint my own toe-nails.

Did you hear me? I can paint my own toe nails! One little piggy at a time!!!!

Do you realize the freedom in this? The money saving? The “I can paint each toe a different colour and you cannot judge me” of this?? For Kris Kristofferson freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, but for me? Freedom is painting your own toe nails. It’s happiness in a bottle. Of nail polish. That I can apply whenever I want, without appointment.

Bright Lights, Big City

Hello? Is this thing on??

Phhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (sound effects of blowing the dust off my blog)

Well, that was a slightly longer than expected intermission, now wasn’t it? I got busy. Something had to give. Unfortunately, it was the writing.

But I’m back!

School is done for this semester. I’m hoping to go back to teaching in the Fall. But who knows what the stars have aligned for my career?

What a school year it was. Highs – being called the best teacher ever(!) by my first group of accounting students. Lows – having a student tell me to fuck off when I asked him for his overdue assignment. Such are the joys of teaching. Some days are diamonds. Some days are stones. Can’t focus too much on the shiny, bright days or the dull, grey days – I’m trying to find a balance somewhere in the middle.

In the meantime, whatcha been up to?

Me? Well, between the two of us, Buzz and I have lost the equivalent of a small child – 100 lbs in total. It’s taken us 7 months to get there, and I have a short way to go before I’m done, but hey, I’m “almost” where I want to be. People keep telling me I’ve worked so hard to get where I am. Want to know a secret? It really hasn’t been work at all. Oh sure, it was at first, trying to figure out what to eat, how much to eat and how much exercise I needed to balance out what I’ve eaten. But the thing is…long about 16 weeks all that hard work just sort of becomes your life. It’s old habit by now.

The best part about it though? Cute clothes. It’s been YEARS since I’ve had cute clothes. Okay, that’s not really true, I’ve always been a stylish dresser, but HEY!! The clothes look so much better when they aren’t made by Omar the Tent Maker and they fit with room to spare, instead of being spray painted on. Some day I’m going to write a blog about how difficult shopping is when you are overweight and the fat lady stores don’t sell anything even remotely cute, so you stuff your overweight ass into clothes that you really don’t fit into very well, but Gawd their cute so you suck your gut in for 8-10 hours a day, all in the name of fashion. Let’s face it. It’s just easier if you don’t gain the weight in the first place and you can buy cute clothes when they’re in style.

So what else?
Oh, yeah, as school has been winding down I’ve been busy obsessing about what I’m going to do when I’m done teaching and so far the list includes things that:
• Feeds my mind - I’m taking my certification in adult education courses at UPEI & Holland College throughout the summer
• Feeds my creativity - I’m going to put my new DSLR camera to the test and then take a spin through my new PhotoShop Elements photo editing suite. Samples of my work coming to my Facebook page soon.
• Feeds my creativity, part II – write, write, write and write. I have a lot to say. It’s practically choking me trying to get out. I’m putting a list together about all the things I can write about.
• Feeds my family – plans for the vegetable garden are already taking shape. Our only hitch is the need for someone to care for it while we’re on vacation this summer – any takers? Free house for you if you’re interested! Comes with two dogs and a garden, all of which will need to be fed on a daily basis, but other than that, can you say “free” vacation on PEI? Seriously, two weeks in July beginning around July 11th.
• Keeps me healthy – BOOTCAMP starts on May 6th. Twice a week I’m going to be “motivated” by some drill-sergeant fitness instructor chasing me around a soccer field getting what’s left of my arse into some semblance of “shape” for summer. Seriously, just trying to kick up my fitness routine a notch. Running on a treadmill is getting seriously boring.
• Blows off the cobwebs – seriously. Spring cleaning is in order - I’m going to pull apart all those places you don’t pull apart on a regular basis and de-cobweb-ify them. Sounds like fun you say? Not so much, but it has to be done and I’ll have the time, so um, yay for me.
• Lighten & brighten – we’re painting the house this summer. Inside and out. And by “we” I mean “I”. I figure it’s a great arm workout, plus the old gal (the house, not me) needs a fresh coat of makeup.
• Gets us off this island – yup, just like the TV show “Lost” we’re stranded on this island in the middle of the Northumberland Strait and we’ve been hatching plans all winter of ways to escape. So far those plans include a quick trip in May to Ontario for a family wedding and then…then my friends? We are WESTWARD HO! We’re taking two weeks in July to return to the mountains in Jasper, attend a wedding in Valemont, visit some family in Kelowna and then…then…we head to … Vancouver …city of my dreams, home sweet home, the place where if not everyone, lots of people know my name and will be happy to see me and meet my husband and share drinks with us on an outdoor patio somewhere. Late July, baby, we’re coming to see you!

I could go on and on, but I just got so excited about that last paragraph and the mere idea of seeing my friends and visiting the city I so very dearly love – well I’ve gotten a bit verklempt and I need to finish this up so…so…

What are your plans for the summer?

Transformation...

On the subject of aging. It sucks. Oh sure, there's that whole the older you get the wiser you become thing and granted that's all good. But what about the other stuff? You know, the stuff no one tells you about? Stuff like ... gravity? And hair?

As you age, gravity is not your friend. Sure, it keeps you from floating into the atmosphere and rooted to the ground, sure. It also drags your boobs to your knees well before you're fifty. There's so much underwire in my bra just trying to keep the girls elevated, that it set off the metal detectors at the airport on my last flight.

The term "perky" can not be used to describe any part of my soon to be 48-year old body. Unless of course you're talking about the perky little wire-y hair that springs from my chin every couple of weeks. It's kinda perky. And annoying. I can no longer see to pluck anything off my face - not my chin hairs, not my eyebrows, so now I've resorted to paying some sweet little islander to drip hot wax on me and rip the hair right off my face every 5 weeks or so. No one tells you this when you're younger. No one tells you hair grows in places you never imagined it would grow on a woman. I won't even get into the subject of nose hair.

But here's what finally got me today. Today was the day that I arose from a comfortable night's sleep and toddled into the bathroom where upon inspection of my reflection I wondered...when did I become Nick Nolte?

The Hiatus is ALMOST over

I've been missing in action for what, weeks(?) now?? I know, I know. My bad.

It's just that LIFE (damn LIFE) got in the way.

Things like - teaching 5 classes a day, 5 days a week. Classes that have LOTS of time-consuming correcting and grading. Things like trying to get my sorry arse to the gym at least 5 days a week, after a grueling day in the classroom. Things like a mini vacation. Things like a quicky trip across the pond to see people that actually know us and like us. Stuff. Stuff was happening.

But, I've lived to see the light at the end of the very loooooooong tunnel and am now starting to salivate with creative juices. Creative writing juices that is.

Oh, do I have some stories to tell.

Wanna know about all things Music City? Come on back another day and I'll tell you all about my trip to Nashville and the feeling one has these days when trying to innocently enter the United States for a vacation.

How about my last meal? Not the one I just ate this morning (Bagle & PB with apple sauce on the side) - no, I mean, if you only had ONE last meal (like if you were on death row?) what would it be? I'll tell you mine...here's a preview...it's deeeeeeelicious.

How about our plans for the summer? Got some. Happy to let you know about them.

Or what about waking up to the dulcet tones of drip...drip...drip as our ceiling rains down outside our bedroom door. Oh, yeah, there's a story there too.

So you see, I've got lots to say. I may even write about shaking my groove thing to the Latin beats at tonight's dance class (if I survive it that is). But you're going to have to check back to read all about it.

School's almost out.

My writing career can resume.

Stay tuned!

Scenes from a Marriage

School's been in for about five months here on the sandbar, and this semester I've added a course to my teaching repertoire. In addition to teaching the youth of the country how to string five words together to construct a professional sentence, I am now teaching this same group of students that 1 + 1 equals increased assets which improves the balance sheet and if you're a sole proprietor, a partnership or even a corporation, all that added together is a very good thing. In other words, I'm teaching Introduction to Accounting.

Those that know me well, know that I have NEVER considered myself someone that's adept at anything mathematical. I mean, I'm the one that reaches for an excel spreadsheet to check if 49 divided by 7 really equals, uhm, 7. (It does, by the way). So, when they asked me to teach this course too, I was a little bit apprehensive (just a little).

Starting last November I've been cramming and have learned that assets = liabilities plus owner's equity. Accumulated amortization is indeed a contra asset. The income statement is linked to the statement of owner's equity which is tied to the balance sheet and holy smokes, you have to report in a timely manner because some group of monks sitting around Renaissance Florence decided to invent the "Rules of Accounting" and those celibate bastards decided that having a single entry accounting system wasn't good enough....so they created a double entry accounting system and no-one in the last 500 years has come up with a more simplified system, so, YES, the GAAP Timeliness rule says you must report your information at regular and consistent intervals and holy shit, I cannot believe I now know this stuff!!!

Ahem.

I've learned a lot in the last few months. I teach the course in four different modules and as I work my way through my first rotation teaching this course there are many days when I am but one page ahead of my students. Read a page, teach a page has, on occasion, been my strategy - especially in my current module of adjusting entries.

In my attempt to gain some space between my learning and the students' learning, I was laying about in bed on a quiet Sunday morning recently, with Buzz snoring softly beside me. As I lay there I was planning Monday's lesson in my head, trying to figure out a way to make the theory & numbers jump off the page for my students. Upon awaking Buzz rolled over, snuggled in and asked what I was thinking about.

"Unadjusted Trial Balances" was my reply.

At which point my husband, the Accountant, sat bolt upright in bed and said "BABY!! I CAN'T BELIEVE AFTER ALL THIS TIME, YOU'RE LYING IN BED TALKING ACCOUNTING - THAT'S SO HOT!"

All Aboard!

Regular readers (which I'm hoping are still out there, given that I haven't posted anything in almost a month - damn that accounting course!!) may recall that a few months ago our beastly boy had emergency surgery. As part of his recovery efforts he had to take a few ugly horse pills and while this is the most food motivated dog I've ever known, getting him to take his medicine like a man was asking a bit much after he'd had his neck sliced and diced. So we began disguising his medication in the form of a venison meatball. Twice a day we'd give him a dog food meatball spiked with antibiotics and pain meds and then scoop a spoonful or two on top of his regular dry food to encourage him to keep eating and building his strength. To be fair, of course, we also gave the Gidge a spoonful of the venison treat as well.

Little did we know those few innocent meatballs and spoons full of ground up elk parts would lead us down the tracks to the Gravy Train.

After we were done medicating Snicks I couldn't bring myself to feed him dry dog food for every meal - even though that's what he's eaten for 11 years now. No, because he was a recovering patient, I continued to spike his dry food with something wet and tasty. The extra special venison dog food was like $4 a can - talk about a gourmet treat, so I went in search of a more economical substitute and I found it in the grocery store in the gravy & sauce aisle. For .69 a can I loaded up on cans of Heinz gravy and at breakfast and dinner I spiked both their dishes with a drizzle of gravy - you know, just to keep it interesting.

Well holy smokes. The reaction at meal time from these two animals can only be compared to a meth-addict jonesin' for a fix. Our typical routine is to let the dogs out before their meal and ever since we introduced the two to the joys of the Heinz family of gravies they have never peed faster in their lives. As soon as they're done they're back at the door ready to get on board the Gravy Train. Just as if they were trying to make the 5:15 run from New York to Connecticut, these two race through the house, sliding around the corners, wiping out around the kitchen island, skidding into their bowls, tails wagging, feet flying and tongues drooling at the prospects of the ambrosia in their bowls. Snicks attacks his food like a barbarian while the Gidge acts like the Queen of England, double cutting each slice of kibble to savour every last drop of gravy.

Afterward, bellies full, passed out on the living room floor the two of them snooze the rest of the day away, dreaming about the day they'll be upgraded from gravy to poutine.

Resolute

I hate this time of year. Christmas is over...New Year's too and what do we (those of us living north of the 49th parallel) have to look forward to? Four more months of crap weather, little sunshine and if you have the extra special pleasure of living "down east" you have that never-ending-until-I-just-might-go-crazy-because-it's-so-freakin-bitter wind that just never seems to stop blowing.

But I digress. That is not why I hate this time of year.

I hate this time of year because of all those fools out there that suddenly decide NOW, right NOW, one or two days after imbibing copious amounts of alcohol and fat-laden foods for weeks, nay months on end, NOW, is the time to start going to the gym. I think they must be the same people that go to church only Easter and Christmas.

Anyway, who am I to judge who comes to the gym and who takes up space and who doesn't know the basic instructions for getting the eliptical to actually work? Who am I to judge the people that jump on a treadmill WITHOUT SIGNING IN FOR THE MACHINE and then proceed to overstay their allotted twenty-minutes? Who am I to judge the good folks that come to the gym and start (hear me now, I said start) their health regime by attempting to lift 40kgs using nothing but their hamstrings and then watch as they LOUDLY drop the weights because, hey, um, having no muscles and trying to lift 40kgs with only your hamstrings is maybe a bit ambitious? Who, just who am I to judge?

I'll tell you who I am. Just like those nice people that show up at church 52 weekends a year, I'm the person that goes to the gym all year long. I'm the person that knows you need to reserve a treadmill. I'm the person that knows there's a 20-minute limit for using the treadmill. I'm the person that knows how every single one of those freaking machines of torture works and most importantly, I'M THE PERSON WHO CAN'T GET ON ANY OF THOSE FREAKING MACHINES BECAUSE ALL THE NEWLY RESOLVED HEALTH-NUTS ARE MONOPOLIZING THEM!

So, you can see why I hate this time of year?

The good news is that just like the holiday season itself, the "I Resolve to Get Fit in 20___(fill in the blank)" season lasts only about 3 weeks. In a matter of twenty-one short days the "I'm going to be so healthy you won't recognize me because I am so committed to the cause" people will start dropping like cupcakes, until one day I'll show up at the gym and it will be my regular sanctuary of torture.

We've only got 16 more days to go.

I can hardly wait.