The Coconut Chronicles

Less is More…Darn it!

Posted on June 9, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Throw
out your diet books, I have solved your weight loss problems! My groundbreaking
solution? Eat less.

Stop
laughing.

You
Nutters have been reading my Cook Islands culinary complaints for months now so
what I’m about to confess may come as a shock. No doubt, the food here is
abysmal. Taro? Delicious if you like food that has the texture and flavour of
slightly thickened Elmer’s White Glue. The mangoes are world class, when
they’re in season, same with pineapples and starfruit, but woman cannot live by
fruit alone. I used to wait for the supply ship with a hope bordering on
obsessive, “Maybe this month there’ll be something new!”, but no more. I’ve
come to face the reality that white bread, coke, tinned corned beef, and meat
pies are the staples of the Cook Islander’s diet.

For months, I dreamt of the day I’d return to Canada and
gorge myself on Thai food, fresh broccoli, Panago Tropical Hawaiian pizza,
Martha’s Greek cooking, Kozy’s everything, Indian, Italian, Mexican, you name
it. (I even had fantasies of a McDonald’s Big Mac and fries – tell no one about
this). My trip to civilization would be a return to the world of flavour. I
pictured myself walking around for two weeks with some delicacy always being
stuffed in my mouth. But something odd has happened.

Oh, this is hard to talk about. Give me a moment.

OK, due to the pitiful grocery selection here, a sort of “food
malaise” settled over me. I’d go to the shelf, hungry, look at the meager
selection, sigh, and walk away. Combined with heat that tends to sap one’s
appetite, not to mention work days that often find me so busy I don’t remember
to eat lunch until it’s already dinner time, my caloric intake shriveled to
almost nothing.

Poor Helmi, when she came to visit, I forgot that normal
people actually eat lunch and more than a few times she had to gently remind me
that she was hungry and was it alright if she made a sandwich? Sorry for that
Helmi!

But while my stomach shrank my energy level began to
soar. I’ve begun waking up…friends, brace yourselves…early. I’m talking “before
sunrise” early. Yes, me, the girl who used to joke that she didn’t know there
were two six o’clocks in the day. I wake up – BING – and I’m ready to go. Prez
is still sawing logs and I’m already drinking tea and typing away. I know what
you’re thinking but I haven’t cracked, I haven’t gone bush, I just have more
energy. Way, way more energy. It’s very wrong but I’m getting addicted
to it.

And though I’m not overweight, even when I am stuffing my
gullet and sleeping until noon, unnecessary pounds have vanished from my frame.
Scales have never held much attraction for me – muscle weighs more than fat,
remember that ladies – so I have a pair of pants, made of a completely
non-stretch material, I use as my yardstick to tell if I need to take a break
from the potato chips I pack away once a month (ladies, you know what I’m
talking about). These pants are now very, very loose. This is no small event
given that I have a derrière rivaling James Brown’s. Yep, baby got back.

Here’s an average day’s menu:

Breakfast – Bengal tea and two slices of multi grain toast

Lunch – sometimes none but often just a few pieces of
fruit

Dinner – very small portion of whatever Prez cooks. (2
pieces of tuna, rice, and salad, for example)

Snacks – minimal, maybe a piece of cheese or a few
crackers.

Desserts – occasionally a small bowl of ice cream or some
licorice.

So here I am, lean and mean, and I love it. To quote Mr.
Brown, “I feel good!” No surprise, I’ve known for years that eating less is one
of the keys to health. In fact, an excerpt from Science Daily says, “For
nearly 70 years scientists have known that caloric restriction prolongs life.
In everything from yeast to primates, a significant decrease in calories can
extend lifespan by as much as one-third.” One third? That’s a heck of a lot
more life! But when there’s lots of yummy, scrummy, tasty treats at one’s
fingertips what’s a girl to do?

The question is: now that I’m feeling the effects of
minimal consumption, what will I do when I head north for my visit in October?
Hmmmm. Honestly, the thought of feeling full and tired and bloated, no matter
how delicious the fare, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Spring rolls or spring
out of bed in the morning? Full tummy or full of life? Super size or just plain
super?

Well, dear Nutters, I have come to the conclusion that while
I will still partake of BC’s fine food offerings, the portions will remain
small, tiny in fact. Of course, I will still be free to satisfy my darker
needs…and by “darker” I refer to chocolate – nectar of the gods.

Oh, and martini’s. Lots and lots of martinis.

Instead of binging, I will focus my new energy on
connecting with what I really miss most, namely friends and family. And
shopping. (Don’t tell Prez about the shopping part though, he’s already in a
cold sweat picturing me and my Visa alone in the big city).

So there’s my guilty secret, laid bare for all the world
– well, a small segment of the world – to see. Go on then, laugh.

QUESTION: Is less more?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy
& lovin’ life!

The Princess

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Meeting of the Minds?

Posted on May 30, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from the Big Blue!

If you
imagine life on a small, sleepy island is all about drinking coconut water and
wiggling ones toes in the sand, think again. Yesterday was the Big Meeting
about the controversial Sunday flights. Action! Adventure! Romance!

Well,
there really wasn’t any romance…that I know of. But I have a rich imagination.

Events
on Aitutaki, unless they occur on a regular, say weekly or daily, basis tend to
be slapped together with all the precision of a Russian automobile. Sometimes
you will receive an email but more typically it is Nga, in the grocery store,
asking, “Are you going to the really, really important tourism meeting this
afternoon?” that alerts you to a function you should be attending.

Once you
know when you are supposed to be there, the next challenge is where.
Ask five different people where the really, really important meeting is and you
will, inevitably, receive five different locations. Prez and I have developed a
strategy to deal with this, we drive around town until we see someone who looks
as if they’re dressed for a really, really important meeting and then we follow
them. You’d be surprised how well this works.

So now
you have the when and the where. (Forget the what, it is
always a mystery.) You arrive at the correct place, take a seat, and then wait
for the next forty-five minutes for everyone else to show up. You are on island
time, get used to it.

All
functions on Aitutaki begin with a brief introduction, usually in Maori and
English, followed quickly by a prayer to bless the function. This is the part
of the program I like to call “Spot the Atheists”. I scan the room and take
note of all those who are not bowing their heads with a look of divine
contemplation. These are the people I want to know better.

Next,
someone in a fancy shirt, with a flower ei, stands up and says, “Blah,
blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…blah. Blah, blah, blah-blah.” Everyone claps
politely. Another fancy shirt person stands up and does the same. This is
repeated a few times. Then the closing prayer – time I use to contemplate
whichever short story is lingering in my brain, or what I might have for
dinner.

The
really, really important meeting breaks up and you mosey over to the snack
table to chat with the people you know. “Well, that was a load of bs,” you say
as you munch on your cookie. “Yes, yes, quite,” everyone else agrees. Then you
leave.

At
least, that’s how most meetings go here but yesterday’s was an exception. I
have already spoken of god’s hatred of airplanes but, boy oh boy, I didn’t
realize just how many locals were channeling his anger until yesterday. We
arrived at the hall about fifteen minutes after the scheduled start time, took
our seats, and forty-five minutes later the meeting started. The Mayor
introduced the Deputy Prime Minister of the Cook Islands, whose name is Mr.
Something-or-Other, and that gentleman, with all the charm of a used teabag,
proceeded to tell the audience of locals how stupid they were, (well, he didn’t
use those exact words but that was the gist).

For a
moment, it seemed as if we were about to get yet another version of the “Blah,
Blah, Blah” meeting but then a man in the back of the room shouted something in
Maori. “What did he say?” I whispered to Prez, who whispered to our friend
Moana.

“He
said, ‘Speak in Maori!’”, Fred whispered to me, after Moana whispered to him.

Deputy
Prime Minister Something-or-Other proceeded to flip back and forth between
Maori and English, detailing the cruddy state of Aitutaki’s economy and how the
Sunday flights are a necessary evil. Aside from the pasty white speaker
representing the banks of the Cooks, that would be the last English we heard.
Occasionally, we prodded Moana for translations but it wasn’t hard, from the
body language of the speakers, or from the jeers and cheers of the crowd, to
understand what was being said.

When the
Fancy Shirt people opened the floor for discussion, the fun began. Queen Manarangi
was first to speak, (yes, we have one queen and three kings here). Her speech
had the most eloquent finger pointing, and she also had the nicest hat, so I
liked her best.

Next up
was Freaky Pig Farmer who owns the Para-Trooper Motel. How freaky is this guy?
Well, he cuts one leg off all his chickens so they can’t run away from his
property…because chickens are so hard to find here. The slogan on his
sign, painted in a Kindergarten-student font, is “Cut out the middleman!”
Sometimes I wonder if he actually meant “Cut up the middleman”. In any
case, his speech had a fair amount of arm lifting and torso bending. Prez and I
reckoned his idea to save the economy of the island was to cut one leg off
every tourist so they can’t run away.

Epileptic
Preacher stole the show. He’d raise his fist and then SLAP it down into his
open palm, shout in Maori, raise his finger high in the air and proclaim, “God
is number one!!”, followed by a James Brown-esque round of body tremors. This
he did repeatedly. He was the crowd favorite, hands down. Even Prez started
shouting, “Amen!” at the end of each punch. I only wished I had one of those
big foam fingers so I could help him punctuate his “God is number one!” cries.

How do
you top an act like that? Well, it wasn’t easy. One fellow proclaimed that
Aitutaki is the most blessed of all the Cook Islands, which caused more than a
few heads to turn, but failed to elicit any “Amen’s”. Still, the crowd was
frothing, worked up into a plane-hating frenzy. There would be blood!

Or
singing.

Sadly,
Prez and I had an airport pick up so we had to leave right as the entire hall
broke out into a rousing chorus of, “God hates airplanes, this I know, for the
bible tells me so”, in Maori, of course.

What
fun! I wish all the meetings were like that.

Oh, and
the Sunday flights are going through whether god likes it or not. It was a done
deal, apparently, even before the Big Meeting. It’s kind of a shame, really, I
love having our Sunday’s free to drink coconut juice and wiggle my toes in the
sand. But, in the words of our wise mayor, “You can’t stop progress. People
need new motorbikes, new televisions, and new stuff.”

Can you argue with logic like that?

QUESTION: Do you miss having the world shut down on Sunday?

Until
next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and lovin’ life!

The
Princess

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Five, Six, Seven, Eight…

Posted on May 23, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

(Today’s Coconut Chronicle is a musical. This is what happens when you buy an iPod and listen to the Chicago soundtrack while you clean huts, for six months.)

He had it comin’, he had it comin’, he had it comin’ all along. If you’d have been there, if you’d have seen it, how could you tell me that I was wrong?

On May 21, our dear friend Tim “Ripster” Rippel stood on top of the world! He now adds a much deserved Mt. Everest summit to a long list of peaks and other mountaineering achievements. Along with the Ripster, six of his clients, and seven of his Sherpas also reached the summit. Not without it’s drama (I spent most of the 21^st on MSN Messenger, talking with Beckster and biting my nails down to the nub), including a high altitude rescue attempt, this climb has demonstrated to me, (as if I had doubts), what a first class human being the Ripster really is. CONGRATULATIONS TIM!!!

Andrew Brash (left) and Tim Rippel (photo taken from Andrew’s website)

Got a little motto, always sees me through, ‘when you’re good to Momma, Momma’s good to you’.

We have been very spoiled lately. First Helmi arrived with loads of goodies. Next Big Sis’s wayward package finally arrived. Holy cow, the things a person can do with a vacuum sealer! We now have a spice for every occasion, Prez is rolling in licorice, our poor USB port has been saved by an add on, I have maps for novel research, the Tiger Sauce supply is topped up, I have new music to listen to, and much, much more. Then Mom’s package arrived a few days later with more dark chocolate, more licorice, and lots of other treats – even a fridge magnet of BOB, (Nelson’s Big Orange Bridge). Thank you, thank you, thank you! We are grateful and humble. Not sure what we will bring home in return…hmm, how do you feel about coconuts?

How you feeling?

Very frightened.

Are you sorry?

Are you kidding?

How could I forget to tell you all about our diving adventure a few Sundays ago? It was a textbook day – sunny, dry, light breeze – so Prez and I threw diving and fishing gear into the boat and headed off for some alone time on our favorite playground, the ocean. Our first dive was not only fun but also practical…we had to retrieve the anchor Prez lost a few weeks back, (oops). Anyway, we found the anchor in record time and then continued on exploring the depths. Beautiful.

We spent our surface interval eating, lounging, and fishing. As usual, the seabirds were up to their old tricks, trying to fool us into thinking there were tuna around, but all we hooked was one skipjack.

The second dive was in an amazing section of coral canyons Prez has named “The Five Fingers”. The underwater topography of this spot is breathtaking, and the two giant Humphead Wrasse (about 5ft long) we saw just before heading to the surface were worth the extra effort of donning all the gear, weights, etc. Satisfied with a good dive, we made our way up the anchor chain, pausing fifteen feet below the surface for our safety stop (this is where your body rids itself of excess nitrogen). Then we let go and started a slow swim to the boat. That’s when I saw the shark.

About three feet below me, a long, dark shape, (maybe ten feet from head to tail), slowly circled. I looked over at Prez and put a knife-edge hand to my forehead – a bit of diver’s sign language meaning “Big thing with pointy teeth directly below”. I’d like to tell you I was Triple C (Calm, Cool, Collected), and I really thought I was until I realized, in the excitement, I’d gone to the side of the boat without a ladder and now I was trying to climb aboard with forty pounds of gear on me. Oops.

Now you all know I am pro-shark. And let’s be honest, if Mr. Fin was anything more than curious, I would be in bitty pieces right now. But there’s something surreal about having one of the big bruisers sniffing you out while you bob on the surface like a wounded seal. My Spock brain was saying, “Oh look, isn’t that fascinating! I wonder what species it is? Well, no markings, so not a Tiger. Not a white or black tip either. The nose is quite rounded. Hmmm.” My Lizard brain was screaming, “Oh my god!!! Get in the boat!!! Big thing with pointy teeth!!! It’s going to eat us!!!” While my amygdala was in the middle, trying to restore order, “OK, Spock, I appreciate your observations but we really should get on the boat. Lizard, calm down, the shark does not want to eat you, stop crying.”

Back on the boat, Prez and I watched Mr. Fin do a few more lazy circles then swim off. Though my heart was jack-hammering the inside of my chest, I felt really privileged to have seen him. And the martini that evening tasted, really, really good!

…that funny, sunny, honey, hubby of mine.

We went for a nice long stroll along our local scavenger’s beach the other day. You know, if you ever mysteriously lose a shoe, and you look everywhere but still have no idea where it could have gone, well, I think I know where it is…

Why are there so many shoes in the ocean? Shoes, plastic bottles, rope, bits of metal of uncertain origin, plastic crates, you name it, you can find it on a beach. Prez is in the process of turning one of our FAD’s (Fish Attracting Devices) into an underwater metropolis by tying all sorts of odds and ends to it. Scavenger’s beach was a gold mine for such detritus (trash) and he also wins this week’s Scootie Award!

All I care about is doin’ the guy in who’s pickin on you, twistin’ the wrist that’s turnin’ the screw. All I care about is love!

Our walk on Scavenger’s beach did not start on a good note, however. We found a poor little Tern that some… (watch your language, Princess)…idiot had tied to a rock. We freed him and I think he’ll be OK but I’d love to find the…idiot who did that, tie him to a rock, and leave him on a beach to die. Ditto for the…idiot who comes around our property at night to steal our hermit crabs for fish bait. Urgh!

And speaking of the environment…

Give ’em the old three ring circus, stun and stagger ’em. When you’re in trouble, go into your dance. Though you are stiffer than a girder, they’ll let you get away with murder.

Yesterday we went to yet another, “lots of talk, no action” tourism meetings. This one was a big hoo ha, with the Mayor that… (Princess, watch your language)…beacon of society, and other big wigs in attendance. The first fellow to speak actually blew my mind because the first thing he said is that the Aitutaki environment is the number one problem that needs to be addressed and the entire lagoon should be made into a protected area. HUH?! Is someone in power actually paying attention??

Nope.

We realized, pretty quickly, that the environment was just smokescreen, a breadcrumb to appease us, so they could move onto their real issue: Should they allow flights on Sunday? Believe it or not, this is a hot topic here. Never mind that there are shops, restaurants, and resorts that are already open for business on Sunday, never mind that many of the so-called good Christian folks spend half their Sunday pie-eyed in the bush, or that Sunday flights ran for eight years with no problems, the fact of the matter is God hates airplanes. Duh. The argument of the pro-Sunday-flights camp centers on Aitutaki’s sagging tourism/economy. They fail to see that one more plane load, per week, is hardly going to remedy the situation, particularly when those tourists are going to go home and tell everyone about the dead coral and lack of fish.

But, being a papa’a, (foreigner), I was a very good Princess and kept my mouth tightly sealed…for now.

I run so fast a shotgun blast can hurt me not one bit. I’m on my toes, ‘cause heaven knows, a moving target’s hard to hit!

After six long, sweaty months, when even thinking hard was tiring, the weather has cooled and I have started to run again! Well, “run” may be pushing it. Jog? Fast walk? Ok, ok, slow shuffle. But it sure feels good to be active again!

Well, that’s plenty for this week. Hope you enjoyed the ramble…and all that jazz.

No, I’m no one’s wife
But, Oh, I love my life
And all that Jazz!

(Yeah, yeah, I am someone’s wife but the lyrics are copyrighted, so what can I do?)

Ooo, one more thing, (shameless plug), I have recently had a short story published in Storyteller Magazine. Well, that issue is now on the shelves! It’s a Canadian mag so may be hard to find south of the border but back home you might be able to track it down at Chapters. Anyway, buy it, read it, write copious letters to the editor proclaiming my literary genius! (Well, I’d just be happy if you read it.) You can read a little blurb about the story and my bio on their website.

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy, and lovin’ life!

The Princess

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Mr. Internet’s Home for Wayward Bullies

Posted on May 16, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

The year is 1987.

My boyfriend, Stud, and I have just finished another round of sucking face and groping, and now we’re bored – as teenagers perpetually are when not groping or face sucking. “Let’s go over to Geeky B’s and hang out,” Stud suggests.

“It’s after eleven o’clock, he’s probably asleep,” I say, readjusting my bra and re-spiking my hair, (which may have been blue at that time).

“Are you kidding? He probably only woke up an hour ago.”

We hop in my car – well, my parent’s car, a massive, white and red Malibu Classic, Damn the environment, full speed ahead – and go. Sure enough, Geeky B’s house is dark but for one light in his bedroom. After a rap on his window, he lets us in. Stud was right, Geeky B is at his computer and his night has just begun.

Geeky B and I go back to the days of our 5-pin bowling team. (Yes, I bowled. I also collected comics, and kept my Star Wars collector cards in a photo album, in sequential order. Got a problem with that?!) He was at the forefront of the Computer Geek movement, with his pasty white skin, out of date clothes, and too-large glasses. He dropped out of school in Grade Eleven to spend more time on the computer. I worried about him, and the irony of that, in this age of technology, must be obvious.

“You guys gotta check this out!” Geeky B says, motioning to a large contraption sitting on his desk, beside his computer. The contraption is a metal box straight out of an eighties sci-fi movie. It is about twelve inches across and eight inches high, with all manner of cords, wires, and bits of…um…stuff poking out of it.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Watch.” Geeky B smiles, takes the handset of his phone from the cradle and places it into a form-fitting receptacle on top of the contraption. Then there is a flurry of keystrokes and incantations (and I think he may have brandished a magic wand). The contraption lights up and starts making all kinds of weird noises. As Geeky B types, we watch a glowing green sentence appear on his computer screen:

Hey, Gates, what’s up?

That’s when the magic happens. Words start to appear beneath Geeky B’s sentence, except he isn’t typing them.

Not much, Geeky B. Got to Level Ten on Frogger today.

Far out. Still working on that stupid micro-whatever program?

Yeah, but my mom’s being a total cow, she says me and Steve gotta mow the lawn and rake the leaves once a week or she’s not gonna pay for our Doritos and Coke any more.

As the “conversation” continues, Geeky B turns to look at our puzzled expressions with a crafty smile. “Do you know where that’s coming from?” He asks. Of course, we don’t. “Texas!” (What? You thought I was going to say Seattle?)

“How?” Stud and I ask, in awe.

He points to the contraption, “Through that. It’s called a Modem.” (Cue the Steven Spielberg-esque music).

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the internet.

The year is 2008.

On a wee patch of volcanic land, somewhere in the South Pacific, from the comfort of my bed, (yes, I write in bed), I am “speaking” to you over the very same internet I witnessed the birth of way back in Geeky B’s bedroom.

Twenty years, less really, that’s all it took to get from there to here. Twenty years ago, I would have had to rely on letters to communicate with the outside world. Today, I can communicate with Beckster back in Nelson, in real time, via Instant Messaging, while she speaks to the Ripster via satellite phone, as he stands on the summit of Mt. Everest. How crazy is that?

I owe much to the internet. I live in a place with no bookstore and no library – heck, you can’t even buy a watch here – but I can research anything, down to the smallest detail with just my trusty laptop, (or “Lappy” as he’s affectionately known) and a few cords.

But there is a dark side to all this technology. Sometimes, I think they should have called it the Crack-net, to better express the internet’s addictive qualities. Be honest, how much time do you spend on Facebook? The other danger of the internet is the anonymity factor. Predators and bullies, who, in real life, are confined to back alleys or their parent’s basements, find a world, rich in victims, they can move through freely, all with the click of a mouse. And of course, as easily as I can find information on a 5^th Century BC trade vessel, so others can also, just as easily, find information on how to make a bomb with the items you keep under your kitchen sink. Scary.

While I manage to avoid – I hope – most of the predators and terrorists, and my limited bandwidth/speed keeps me from wasting too much reality time online, I have run into my share of bullies. If you’ve spent any time at all on a discussion board, you know exactly what I’m talking about because there’s always one, often more than one, of these real-life losers who live to taunt and ridicule unsuspecting newcomers to their little internet kingdom.

Discussion boards, or forums as they are also known, are essentially networking platforms for folks to meet online and discuss subjects they are interested in or passionate about. For me, as a writer, they are gold. For the manuscript I’m currently working on, I have a shipwreck forum populated by maritime archaeologists, salvage operators, and shipwreck enthusiasts, from all over the world, who supply me with leads and information I would otherwise spend months, maybe years, trying to track down. I am constantly overwhelmed with gratitude for the assistance these strangers so willingly provide. (If any of you are reading this – thanks again!)

I’ve been working on a short story I hope to enter in a competition this summer and I needed some technical information on life rafts. I emailed the Fergs and the Flying Powers (my blow-boater friends) for some info but I also found a good sailing website with a bustling forum, which I posted on. I’m always honest about my intentions when I post on forums, and so I explained that I was a writer, working on a short story, and looking for answers to a few technical questions.

So, what kind of responses did I get?

Most, as usual, were excellent, positive, comprehensive, and friendly. (If any of you are reading this – thanks again!) But, as usual, the bullies had to rear their ugly cyber-heads. Two fellows, in particular, seem to…well, how about I just let you read some of their comments:

“Look…I could be like everyone else here and tell you to get a real job….but I don’t…”

“Professionally I wrote already over 180 reports…all over 50 pages they also have charts, tables, recommendations, fancy calculations and each is sold very expensively…. etc…
So I guess I am a writer too…just like you….PFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”

“He passes away a sucker, much like those that read this post… she is gone now, adrift in words that almost could be called plagiarism – a egoistic parasite that when given the chance dances for only the five minutes but if no quarters remain in the jukebox – gone – for ever more…”

There’s more, but you get the idea.

The best thing to do with these sorts of sad people is ignore them. Their rants are the same on every forum, on every subject. They are no different than the school yard bullies who, undoubtedly, used to beat up my friend Geeky B because he had the audacity to be different.

The year is 1998.

I’m all gussied up for the final X-Files wrap party at the Planetarium. From behind me, in the elevator, a deep voice says, “Princess?” When I turn around, a tall, dark-haired, strikingly handsome man, in an expensive suit and tie, is smiling at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, apologetically, “do I…”

“It’s me, Geeky B!” he says.

And so it is. We hug. He tells me about the big software company he is part owner of. I tell him about my job as a stunt performer. Neither of us is surprised by our career choices but we are ecstatic at our mutual success.

Is there a moral to this story?

QUESTION: Is there a moral to this story?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

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Life at the Top

Posted on May 9, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

Big news this week, the Heineken store brought in a shipment of celery! If you didn’t see the report on CNN, I’m here to tell you it was quite an event. Speaking of news, (nice transition, don’t you think?) you may have heard that the Chinese summited Mt. Everest with the Olympic torch. What you probably didn’t hear about was the circus of paranoia and oppression leading up to the summit. I’m often saddened, though not shocked, at the lengths to which people will go to hide their own failings. I’ll return to China later (well, not literally, seeing as I’ve never been there) but first I’ll share some local drama with you.

Before we came to Perfect Beach Resort, we knew one our jobs would be to run lagoon tours for the guests. The Aitutaki lagoon – which, by the way, should be a Unesco World Heritage site – is the attraction of this island. If you come to Aitutaki, and don’t do a lagoon tour, you’ve missed the point.

The boat Mr.Boss was using for his tours worked well for him but for Prez, well, let’s just say it was a little on the primitive side. In his typical, gung-ho, entrepreneurial fashion, Prez instantly saw the potential of the lagoon and the reef that rings in. He convinced our employer to invest in a better quality, more sea-worthy craft and quickly set about exploring the waters surrounding us. What he found was a stretch of magnificent coral canyons populated by numerous schools of reef fish as well as large pelagics such as Humphead Wrasse and graceful Eagle Rays. Better still, this was a playground he could have to himself as no other tour operators ventured outside the reef.

In just a few months, Prez perfected his itinerary. First stop, weather permitting, would be at least one or more of the canyons outside the reef, usually with a visit to Eagle Ray Alley where the rays like to feed and play. Next he’d come back inside for lunch, on one of the idyllic motus, and more snorkeling in spots such as The Aquarium, The Coral Gardens, and The Pinnacles, and, the highlight, the Giant Clam Reserve. The tour takes a full day and guests spend most of it in the water snorkeling, which they love.

Word of mouth has made Prez’s “Adventure Snorkel Tour” the must-do tour on the island. Oh, we get the odd guest who gets seasick outside the reef, or who feels much too far out of their comfort zone, but overall the excursions get rave reviews. The guests are happy, we’re happy, Mr.Boss is happy, everybody is happy, right?

Nope.

We’re new, we’re foreigners, we’re popular, and that makes us a target for every disgruntled tour operator on the island looking for someone to blame when their business is not as robust as it could be.

There’s no shortage of lagoon tours on Aitutaki and every tour offers something slightly different. Large boats cater to the crowd more interested in looking at the water than being in it. They have ukulele players, games, and cook up king-sized lunches. The medium boats can go to places the big boats can’t, so they can offer more snorkeling but still provide amenities such as sun-cover and BBQ lunches. In the small boat category, of which we are one of only a few members, tours can be more personalized but that does mean foregoing many of the creature comforts of the larger tours. We cater to adventure travelers who want action, action, action, and don’t mind a little rain on their head, or peeing in the ocean instead of a toilet. But there’s a tour for every taste.

Like everywhere else we’ve been, though, you’re always going to find the folks who, for whatever reason, have a business that’s not doing well and want to pin their failure on the ones who are. Months ago we got the wink that some of these scapegoat-seekers were starting a petition against us. And a few weeks ago, the Mayor lodged a formal complaint against us, in Rarotonga. Mr. Boss was questioned regarding our work permits and an email dialogue ensued between us about how to handle this situation.

And this takes me back to China, (again, not literally).

For those who know nothing about Everest, there are two sides from which you can attempt a summit. One side is in Nepal – the side the Ripster and crew are on this very minute – and one side is in Tibet, that hotly disputed Chinese territory. Concerned about protests, the Chinese closed the Tibet side of Everest to all climbers – supposedly until after their summit but now it appears the closure will remain for the season. As much as I disagree with their action, for a multitude of reasons, I suppose I can see their point.

Then they closed the Nepalese side as well, until May 10th. Huh? (Long story). Well now, we wouldn’t want some climber on the summit displaying a “Free Tibet” banner next to the guy holding the torch aloft for Chinese propaganda…er…I mean news. What the Chinese don’t give a rat’s ass about is the fact that Nepal’s economy relies heavily on Everest and the expedition companies who bring in the climbers and trekkers.

Talk about your Grade A clusterf**k. Rules, supposedly set in stone, regarding where climbers could and could not go, what kind of communication systems they could or could not use, and just when they would actually be allowed to climb, changed daily, sometimes hourly, and sometimes no one really knew what was going on at all. Expedition operators had to sign confidentiality agreements (gag orders) or risk being tossed out of the country. And all this on the opposite side of a very large mountain from the Chinese.

Here’s what makes me scratch my head. If the Chinese had just gone ahead and climbed the mountain, without the fufooraw, and even if some climber had whipped out a photo of the Dalai Lama and danced a jig in the background, (unlikely, there’s very little jig dancing done at 29,0000 feet), what’s the worst that would have happened? China’s oppression of Tibet is hardly a well kept secret, not to mention that the world has already, very vocally, voiced their disapproval. There’d be a few blurbs on CNN, a few fists raised in anger, and then we’d all go back to monitoring Brangelina’s latest adoption or Paris Hilton’s latest…well, whatever the heck she’s doing these days (I’m out of touch, thank goodness).

All they’ve succeeded in doing, as far as I’m concerned, is cementing, in the minds of many, their reputation as anti-democratic tyrants hell bent on stuffing a sock in the mouths of free thinkers and duct-taping them closed. And, hey, aren’t the Olympic games about peace?

Until Tibet is free, China will remain a failure as a super power, and no amount of censorship can hide that.

And that brings me back to Aitutaki, (literally)…

What to do about the anti-Prez & Princess campaign? I know my hubby had his feelings bruised, particularly since he’s been working his butt off, on his own time, building a website to help boost tourism to the island. Mr. Boss wrote a three page plea for tolerance and understanding, which we, thankfully, talked him out of sending. Me? I just laughed. I urged Prez to ignore it, keep on doing what he’s doing, and focus on the positive and all the truly good people we’ve met here. For once, he listened to his wife, (oh, come on, I’m just kidding!)

Time judges all. Hard work, a positive attitude, and solid ethics will win out every time over pettiness and greed. And men of peace and goodwill, who value freedom and free speech, will always, however long it takes, prevail over tyrants.

FREE TIBET!

QUESTION: What would you do?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life,

The Princess

p.s. For more info, have a look at the daily Everest dispatches on www.peakfreaks.com and to see Prez’s happy clients just watch the slide show from the pervious post!

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I’m Such a Tease…

Posted on May 1, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Posted in Travel | 2 Comments

Speaking of Language

Posted on April 28, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue,

She came, she saw, she photographed…and photographed…and photographed. My twelve days with Helmi the Wonder Editor flew by far too quickly. Luckily, we have plenty of pictorial evidence of her stay, not to mention a new nickname to add to the list: “Photo-Op Helmi”.

Much happened in only twelve days. New friends were made, new sights were seen, new adventures were had. You will recall from the last Chronicle, Helmi’s introduction to the wonderful world of snorkeling? Well, I’m proud to say, on her last full day, she actually snorkeled in the wide open ocean! This is no small feat. Even folks who are comfortable in the water get intimidated by the Big Blue – home of creatures with large pointy teeth and tentacles. OK, I’ve never seen any big teeth or tentacles out there but this is what people imagine lingers beneath their tender, exposed limbs as they swim. What a sight, then, to see my friend floating along, swaying with the surge, in a state of perfect relaxation. Ten bonus points for that!

Of course, later she would discover the joy of snorkeling against a strong current, inside the lagoon – we can’t have her getting too complacent, can we?

One of my great joys, these past twelve days, was having a fellow language lover to talk with. A professional snorkeller, Helmi may never be, but when it comes to language she is aces. Born in Germany, she first discovered her passion for language in elementary school. Her teacher wrote the word “father” on the board and then went on to write it in several different languages, pointing out the connections between them. She was amazed. At university, she majored in English and minored in Spanish, with the goal of becoming a translator. Language would prove to be her ticket out of her homeland and off into the world she longed to explore. While she has traveled extensively, and lived in a few different countries, Helmi has put down roots in Canada and has adopted English as her primary language. I might add, she speaks and writes English better than most people who were born in Canada. When I asked how her native tongue was faring after so many years, she said her family tells her, on visits home, that she speaks in “Broken German”.

Language also happens to be one of the qualities I most admire about the Cook Islanders. Though all islanders speak English, Maori is the official language, (it is a different dialect than the New Zealand variety). The Maori language was developed when there was a shortage of consonants in the world. Consequently, native speakers sound a bit like they are talking while a dentist works on a back molar. Here is a Maori sentence: E iva anani i runga i te paata. Please don’t ask me what it means, I merely pulled it from a textbook, but it has nine consonants and fourteen vowels. Impressive. Equally impressive is the fact that, despite the heavy-handed influence of the “civilized” world, including a whole whack of missionaries bent on reforming the heathens, islanders have managed to hang onto their language.

Good for them.

In the shops and restaurants, you will hear the locals slip back and forth from English to Maori as naturally as breathing. I’m sure I’ve been talked about more than once in Maori. I’m beginning to suspect, “Aa ke tupua i moana ke teina” means “Oh god, here comes that skinny, white girl checking to see if there are any packages, again. Can’t she get a life?” But nowhere is the Maori language more beautiful than in church.

Yeah, you heard that correctly, church.

Last Sunday, Helmi and I got dudded up and went downtown to sample a little religiosity. We’re neither of us godly but the traditional Maori choir at the Christian church here is mentioned in every guide book as a must-do activity. The guide books, I can now swear on a stack of bibles, are not lying. To traditional (read: boring) church hymns, the Cook Islanders bring a savage beauty. Even the most joyful black gospel choir would be hard pressed to match the power of these crooners. The hymns are sung in Maori and sung loud enough to make even god say, “OK, OK, I get it now can you keep it down, it’s Sunday and I’m trying to rest!” The men and women call back and forth to each other in song much the same way they do in their own music, which made all of my hairs stand on end. I loved this, it strikes me as an almost imperceptible act of defiance, as if they are saying, “You can make us wear clothes and give up our traditions…but not all of them.”

The service was given in both languages but I would have preferred to hear it all in Maori. Foreign languages are also a kind of music to me.

We are now six months into our stint here at Perfect Beach Resort. Our guests come from all over the world and we have learned the art of communication with speakers of many tongues. Most world travelers have at least a rudimentary grasp of English and some are proficient in three or more popular languages. All this leaves me more than a little embarrassed at my mono-linguism. Take the Swiss girl who lamented to me that she spoke seven languages fluently, several more with some degree of fluency, but her Navajo, damn it, was pretty poor. My ability to count to five in Japanese did not score any points with her.

I love the way Swiss and German people pronounce the word “smoothie”, by the way. Smoovie.

Many of my conversations with Helmi, however, focused on the English language, specifically as it relates to literature. I call her the Wonder Editor for good reason; she is the police officer who patrols my stories, kicking out mixed up tenses and bad punctuation. She is the yin to my yang. I have no shortage of imagination, what I lack is the discipline to keep my creativity under control and within the parameters of good grammar. One of the reasons I love writing these Chronicles is that i kan write bad englush and it don’t matter none. (As she reads this, Helmi is squirming!)

But all too soon the snorkeling and language discussions were over. Helmi of Many Nicknames was loaded back onto Air Rarotonga, and now I have to do my own dishes again. (I told you I was being spoiled, Helmi!) I will miss her terribly. (Not just because of the dishes).

We now enter the busy season so don’t be surprised if the odd Coconut Chronicle is tardy. Already, my personal emails for the past two weeks have stacked up and wait, unanswered and accusing. (Martha and Patty-Cakes, thanks so much for the Tiger Sauce and Licorice, I’ll write soon, promise!) Thankfully, this is also the start of our winter. Ah, winter! Nights get so cold now we actually have to put a sheet on…brrrrrrrrr!

I will leave you with my favorite photo of Helmi; I hope it makes you smile as much as it does me.

QUESTION: What language have you always wanted to learn?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. – New photo album coming soon!

Kick Helmi, kick!

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Out of her Element…and Into Mine.

Posted on April 18, 2008 by clubfredbaja

A Late Hello from the Big Blue!

I suppose a spanking is in order for my tardiness. That’s OK, I’m a big girl, can take it. I have excuses, as always, but I will spare you the verbiage and cut to the chase.

Helmi the Wonder Editor is here! Her journey was not without its share of adventure, however. Anyone who has invited a guest from afar to visit will understand how much I wished for the weather to be perfect and for Aitutaki to make a memorable first impression on her. Memorable? Yes. Not quite in the way I’d hoped, though. First, her flight from Los Angeles arrived in Rarotonga only to find the airport shrouded in clouds and darkness. Wisely, the Air New Zealand pilot decided not to attempt a landing in such bad conditions and opted, instead to land in Tahiti – an hour away – where they could refuel and wait for the weather to clear a little. And don’t think this meant Helmi got to enjoy some down time in French Polynesia. Nope. All the passengers had to remain onboard while the plane was refueled. Onboard with, I might add, their seat belts unfastened, (because if the plane explodes in 2.3 seconds you may be able to escape if your seatbelt is not secured).

Meanwhile, back on Aitutaki…

I had my morning all planned out, leaving plenty of time for grooming and such. Then the phone rang and “Hi Princess, it’s William at the airport, do you have a room for a single traveler? I have a young woman here who needs a place for two nights.” Did we have a room? Yes. Was it clean? Hold on, I have to stop laughing before I answer that. Not only was the room not clean but also the gentleman who’d checked out left it in a state similar to what the room might look like after a troupe of howler monkeys had stayed in it for the weekend. Frantic cleaning ensued. Mere minutes before we were scheduled to leave for the airport, red-faced and cranky, I took a military shower and jumped into a clean set of duds. Nevertheless, I was still bouncing up and down, excited to see my friend.

We waited at the gate. Watched the plane land. Scanned the passengers walking across the tarmac. Watched all the passengers leave. No Helmi. Well, I thought, that’s strange.

My attempts to find out where in the world my friend was, including numerous phone calls and frustrating website searching, were futile. But, eventually, the phone rang and Helmi told us the scoop.

The next flight arrived and there she was…in the middle of one of the worst rainstorms we’ve had in months. Welcome to our tropical paradise! Sigh. She was thrilled to be here, not least of all because of the death defying, bumpy plane ride from Raro – apparently the worst she’s ever been on and this is someone who’s traveled extensively in South America.

At last we are together. What a treat! One suitcase was dedicated entirely to goodies for us. Some were expected: DVD cleaner, hair elastics, Tiger Sauce. Some were a pleasant surprise: Bengal tea, a couple terrific books, licorice, chocolate from around the globe, and much more. So many luxuries all at once; it felt like Xmas!

Xmas comes early…

We have been doing some touristy things but the weather has been less than stellar and I do still have to work, so it is not completely a vacation. Helmi has been offering her help at every turn, which is appreciated, but I also have to be firm at times and make her go relax and enjoy. Darn German blood of hers!

There are many aspects of this visit which I am enjoying, not the least of which is a familiar face and a set of ears willing to listen to me ramble and babble about this and that. But it is especially nice to see Aitutaki through a fresh set of eyes. We humans are so adaptable; the same scenery that once took our breath away quickly fades into the tapestry of everyday life. Helmi’s many exclamations of awe at her surroundings serve as a much-needed reminder that I am indeed living in a pretty spectacular place.

And here I need to make an important point. Helmi is not a water person. Oh she likes water and I know she is loving this lagoon, but I’m sure she’d be the first to tell you that water is not a comfortable environment for her. But one cannot come to Aitutaki and miss the wonders of its underwater world. So, we have had “snorkel training”. There is much laughter and the occasional snout full of salt water but Helmi gets gold stars for bravery and persistence.

What is your element? Where is it that you feel that “aaaaahhhh” sensation? For me it has always been the water. I love the desert, I’m enchanted by mountains, forests humble me, but water is where I feel confident and free. Prez, even more so – I like my water a lot more sedate than he does.

But why are some people drawn to certain environments while others are not. Even people who are born and raised in roughly the same area are often compelled to seek out vastly different landscapes. Cities and crowds make my palms sweat. My girlfriend, Deb Mac, once had to talk me down on the streets of Santa Monica. For those who haven’t been, downtown Santa Monica, California is a kaleidoscope of people, and shops, and sounds, and smells. While Deb breezed effortlessly in and out of stores, weaving through throngs of people like a pro, I felt as if the world were closing in around me, suffocating me. Conversely, I’m sure she would feel just as out of place if I strapped a bunch of dive gear on her back and dropped her eighty feet down in the ocean.

Another time, Prez and I took a couple out on our Mako for a short cruise and the woman confessed to me that although she admired the beauty of water she would never be comfortable around it. She had grown up in Kansas or one of those landlocked states and whenever she traveled to a coastal city she said she felt as if she might fall off the edge of the world at any moment. I laughed at this because, for me, traveling away from the coast brings on an overwhelming bout of claustrophobia. I feel hemmed in.

As wonderful as it is to recognize the element in which you are most at home, I believe it is valuable to occasionally cross into other realms. I hope one day to trek in the mountains with our dear Peak Freaks. A trip to New York City is also on my “to do” list, if you can believe it. I know these are places outside of my comfort zone but one of the joys of life is challenge, isn’t it?

Helmi’s willingness to immerse herself, quite literally, in an unfamiliar element, earns her an extra helping of respect in my books. Yesterday, Prez took a bunch of us to One Foot Island for the day and Helmi came along when we ventured off for a quickie snorkel adventure out in the lagoon, far from the safety of shore. Her mask leaked and I know she had a bit of struggle but I also know, from the expression she had on her face, that it was worth it. You don’t have to be Jacques Cousteau to be dazzled by the site of a giant Moray Eel being groomed by a tiny cleaner Wrasse, or by a gang of brilliant red Soldier Fish hiding under a coral ledge, or by any of the many bright and colourful fish in this lagoon.

I know Helmi feels a little inadequate, sometimes embarrassed, and that my efforts to help her explore this new environment are somehow a chore or a burden to me but she couldn’t be more wrong. I’m so proud of her!

Helmi Cousteau at the bow of the boat…

Wait until I tell her about the shark dive I have planned for us next week!

Wonder Editor & Princess hanging on the motu…

QUESTION: What is your element?

Until next week, (yes, I promise to be more punctual), I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

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Countdown to Helmi and other news

Posted on April 8, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from the Big Blue!

Six more
sleeps until the Transporter, aka Helmi the Wonder Editor, arrives! She is
certainly going to need a vacation after the work out we’ve put her through.
Our emails have been something like this:

Mar 5, 2008

Hi Helmi,

Could you please bring us 23
ceramic roosters? We’re not too fussy about colour but they need to be between
two and three inches high. Thanks

Mar 7, 2008-

Hi again,

About the ceramic roosters,
we’ve just learned that colour is, in fact, important. Please make sure they
have blue bodies with yellow heads. Oh, and I made a mistake, they should be two
to three feet high, not two to three inches. Doh! My bad. Thanks!

Mar 9, 2008

Guess who?

OK, apparently Customs will
not allow more than five ceramic roosters into the country at a time –
something about import laws. Jerks. So scrap all the roosters. I hope they’ll
give you your money back??!! Instead, I’ve ordered a giant panda from Amazon.
It’s being delivered to my friend on Baffin Island and he’s going to transport
it to you on his private plane. Technically, he’s not supposed to do this so
he’ll be landing in a field near your house. Keep your eyes peeled! I know this
is a bit of a headache, and I imagine there will be a ton of forms to fill out,
but we’ve got a real bamboo problem on the property and we figure a panda would
be just the thing to keep it in check. You’re the best! Thanks!

Mar 12, 2008

Hey,

They’re an endangered
species?? Well, how was I supposed to know? Seriously, Customs are so fussy. So
here’s the list as it stands:

– 1 crate of Skittles (all
green Skittles removed)

– The complete Harry Potter
series translated to Sanskrit

– Five ceramic roosters,
blue bodies with yellow heads, two to three feet high (did I forget to mention we wanted them again?)

– 15 packages of Lipton
Cup-o-Soup, Chicken Noodle flavour (the one that says “now more noodles!”)

– Nail polish – Colour,
“Cherry Crush” (can be found at the Pharma-Save in Quesnel)

– 157 bars of Lindt dark
chocolate…only 85% cocoa please

– One medium centrifuge
(don’t ask)

I hope you have all that! I
just have one more teensy weensy favour to ask. During your stopover in LA,
you’ll see a Mexican food place – I think it’s called El Taco, or La Taco (I
can never remember if taco is feminine or masculine). Anyway, here’s
what you need to do: Bring a small Styrofoam cooler with you. Order me a large
chicken burrito (no sour cream) and tell them you want it extra, extra
hot. Get them to wrap it up a few times then put it in the Styrofoam cooler. (It
would probably help if you bought a few of those instant hand warmers and put
them around the burrito). Then duct tape the cooler closed. If security asks
you what’s inside the cooler, or wants you to open it, just tell them you are a
doctor delivering a heart for an emergency heart transplant on Aitutaki and you
can’t open the lid or the heart will get contaminated.

Hm, on second thought, don’t
tell them it’s an “emergency” transplant or they’ll wonder why you’re flying on
a regular flight. Just say it’s for a transplant and don’t specify the urgency.

I’m so excited! I can’t wait
to see you Julie…er…uh…I mean…um…what’s your name again? Oh, that’s not
important; we’re going to have a fabulous time!

Hug, hug, kiss, kiss,

The Princess

p.s. – make sure you ask for
extra hot sauce with that burrito. Thanks!

I bet
you think I’m exaggerating? HA! Poor Helmi, we have had her running all over
town with our crazy requests.

Let see,
what other news do I have for you? Well, there was a bad scooter accident a few
nights ago. Surprise, surprise. A girl was air vac’d out to New Zealand with a
head injury. The police – those paragons of justice – took a look at the
accident scene and declared, “It’s both their faults.” Ah, CSI they are not.

Do you
know what the requirements are for a motorcycle license here? Two dollars and
fifty cents. You go to the police station and, if the police officer is not
busy painting someone’s house or DJ-ing at a club, you put your money down. The
officer will ask you, “Can you ride a scooter?” (A technique he learned
after extensive training with the CIA and FBI, respectively), to which you
reply, “Yes”. Then he writes you out a license. If you are stupid enough
to answer “No”, you probably shouldn’t be operating any motor vehicle
anyway.

We
killed another rooster. Our total is up to three on-purpose kills and one
semi-accidental kill. Prez has rigged up a trap made out of 2×4’s and chicken
wire (note the irony), under which he leaves bits of bread to entice the
cock-a-doodlers. The trap is either devilishly clever or the roosters are
completely brainless, (I’m voting for brainless). Once trapped, they make a
great deal of noise. Not a good idea because this only reinforces our urge to
smite them. If they were smart, they would lie down and be perfectly silent.
When Prez comes towards them with the machete, they should point at their
throat and wheeze out, “Not me…laryngitis.”

Each
kill usually buys us a week of peace and quiet. Believe me, it’s worth it, not
least of all to watch my machete-wielding husband with that half-crazed, “Lord
of the Flies” expression on his face.

Oh yeah,
and I’m mad. Not just irked or bothered but really, really peeved! I’ll give
you a little back story first: Prez and I watch very little TV, even when we
have cable, with its 756 channels. He enjoys his UFC (men in underwear beating
each other senseless) and I watch the Simpsons (witty social commentary), and
we both tune in for various Star Treks. We find the majority of TV programming,
particularly episodics and series, to either be utter garbage or requiring a
level of consistent viewing we simply can’t commit to. We once watched an
episode of “Lost” at the Kozak Mansion and we were…lost, that is.
There’s no way we can keep up with a series like that, our lives are far too
scattered. And woe to the friends who try to watch it with us in the room – “Who’s
that?”, “Why are they doing that?”, “What’s that room?”, “Is this a
flashback?”, “Why don’t they just make a signal fire?”, etc.

So, a
few years back, freshly arrived in civilization from parts beyond, we decided
to go catch a movie. I’d read a blurb about this show “Serenity”, a sci-fi
based on a canceled TV show, and off we went. As we sat in the theater,
watching the credits roll, our jaws scraping the floor, we looked at each other
and said, “What TV show? And why the hell was it cancelled??!!” I looked
up the name of the short-lived series – “Firefly” – and few years later, in
Nelson, we found the entire series for rent in the local video store. We
watched them all, back to back, and again, looked at each other and said, “Why
the hell was it cancelled??!!”

The
cancellation of Joss Whedon’s brilliant series, “Firefly”, is the greatest
tragedy in television history. Speaking as someone who has worked in the
business, is ultra-picky about TV, and loathes lame TV writing, this is the
best series ever produced.

Here, on
our little patch of sand, we have no TV. We rent DVD’s but most of them are
pirated. I’ve ordered a few documentaries through Amazon but recently I decided
to buy the “Firefly” series. We watched the whole thing again. Still every bit
as amazing. Then we watched it again. Flawless. We’re on our third run through.
For us to watch a non nature documentary more than once, is unprecedented. For
us to actually buy a TV series? There was a time I would have told you that
would never happen.

Why am I
mad? Because I want more! Thirteen measly episodes of the single best series
ever made, that’s all we got. I say we grab the torches and pitchforks and
storm Fox’s head office!!

But
seriously – rent the series. Even if you’re thinking, But I don’t like
sci-fi, trust me, you’ll like this. Then rent the movie “Serenity”. Then
buy a stack of postcards to send to Universal and start demanding more! (Oo, I
like being a rabble rouser!) Long live the revolution!!

QUESTION:
Why are you just sitting there? Go rent it, now!!

Until
next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The
Princess

p.s. –
Big hugs to HQ who is back home after successful surgery to remove cancer from
his lung. And bigger hugs to Mom II who has to nurse the old curmudgeon! Love
you guys! xoxoxox

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Full of Sound and Fury

Posted on March 30, 2008 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

Recipe for Feeling Small:

50 mile wide, ominous cloud

25 Knot wind

226 Thunderclaps

8 Billion gallons of rain

100 Megawatt lightening strikes

1 Tin roof

Mix ingredients, lie in bed, and be amazed.

Don’t you just love thunderstorms? I remember one night back in Nelson we sat upstairs at the Ripsters, turned out all the lights, and watched a dazzling thunderstorm through the large picture windows. Yet, as full of Boom and Bang as mountain storms are, nothing quite beats a tropical deluge.

Last night a big crasher landed on top of us. Part of the joy of tropical storms is the thin wall separating you from the elements. Our windows and doors are always open, so you get the full scope of the sound and fury in Dolby quality. And, if the wind is blowing in the right direction, you also get a cool misting from the rain. But the best part is that tin roof of ours, the one that feels as if it could shake right off with every thunderclap or be pounded clear through by rain drops the size of small house pets. Exhilarating!

Encounters of this magnitude with Momma Nature always send me into a vortex of self reflection. Last night I was thinking about death. Not in any morbid way, just pondering the inevitable. It is inevitable, isn’t it?

I’ve never really considered my own end, partly because it always seemed so far away. Now, however, as I scooter my way toward the Big Four-Oh, (July 2009…I have still one year left as an official Cougar), the signpost for Endsville is no longer an abstract idea, it is a tangible object.

I am nearly forty, and last night one thought kept rolling through my brain as I watched the palm trees backlit by lightening: there is no going back. I think one of life’s many ironies is that by the time we start to actually figure some stuff out, by the time we start becoming genuinely interesting people with worthy ideas, suddenly we’re also in a race against the clock. I’m pretty happy at thirty-eight and three-quarters; I could sit here a spell. I’m not as buff or tough as I was in my twenties, true, but I’m not as arrogant or shallow, either. My looks are still passable enough to get me ID’d at liquor stores at least once a year, and men still, occasionally, make lewd comments as I walk by, (Note to young girls: this won’t bother you as much as you get older). My brain is sharp enough to finish a crossword puzzle in a decent amount of time but now it’s also wide enough to accept other puzzles with less definite solutions. Yep, I like me right where I am.

But I woke up this morning a day older. There is no going back.

I don’t want to die but I’m not afraid of it. At some point oxygen will no longer make it to my brain, the lights will go out, and consciousness will vanish. Everything I’ve ever experienced and, more interestingly, every thought that’s ever drifted through my crazy cranium, will also vanish. I will be but a shell of a Princess.

There are numerous theories about what happens to us after we die. I don’t believe any of them, though I acknowledge that the ‘verse is a mysterious place and anything is possible. The way I see it, everything is matter, and eventually the shell we leave behind will break down and convert to another type of matter – ashes to ashes, dust to dust, yadda yadda yadda. Perhaps, in last night’s thunderstorm, if there were a way to trace such things, I might have found the molecules of Leonardo Da Vinci, or my old hamster, or even the first humans to walk this earth.

Prez likes to remind me that humans are largely made up of water and those water molecules return to the atmosphere once we die. He likes to remind me of this while I’m drinking a glass of water. I drink dead people.

As for consciousness, some would call it our “soul”, that is a puzzle with no hints, and no answers at the back of the book. I prefer to leave it as one last surprise though I must admit last night I had an image of my consciousness being sucked into a cyclone and melting into the universe. That was trippy. (I think my iron level may be getting low again).

Everyone has their own way of looking at death, of dealing with it. For many, insulation is the key. Stay safe, close the windows, lock the doors, sound proof the roof. If you can’t hear it, feel it, see it, smell it, or touch it, it can’t hurt you. Nothing works though. Death comes to everyone and what you thought was safety turns out to be your prison. Sure you stayed dry, but you never heard the thunder or felt the wind.

I plan to live long enough to be a cranky old lady, with too many cats, who drinks martinis in the afternoon, and bores the neighbourhood kids with stories of how cool she once was. But when I’m gone, I hope they say of me, “She always loved a good storm.”

QUESTION: Do you think about it?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. Speaking of elements, our good pal the Ripster is in Nepal preparing to climb Everest. Of course, first he has to get over the mountain of red tape the Chinese government has put in front of him. (Don’t get me started on the Chinese government). From Nelson Base Camp, his wife, “Beckster” keeps everyone up to date with dispatches on the Peak Freak’s website. This year, the theme is “Green”. Very cool. Anyway, you can follow Ripster and his team on their amazing journey here. GO PEAKS!!

p.p.s – My man chartered his guests onto a nice, juicy Dorado/Mahi Mahi. Cats and humans alike were jubilant at the prospect of fresh fish!

Fish for cats? Fish for humans?? Now that’s more like it!!