The Coconut Chronicles

Hello
from a Kozy place!

I’m not
certain where to begin. I feel discombobulated, flummoxed, frazzled,
out-of-sorts, out of alignment, out of body, dizzy, dumbstruck, bothered,
bewildered, puzzled, perplexed, happy, sad, scared, excited, nervous, ambivalent,
melancholic, wistful, wondering, and wonderful…to name just a few.

Our last
week in Nelson was a roller coaster of happy gatherings, sad goodbyes, and
tense packing moments, (and by “tense” I mean, “we wanted to kill each other”).
I had one last Ladeez Night – a dinner at Baba’s Indian food restaurant, which
ended with a power failure and paying of bills by the light of cell phones. BJ
and I went to the Capitol Theatre to see the hilarious play, "The Number 14"; our
cheeks were still sore the next day from all the laughing we did. Prez threw
one last sushi fiesta for the gang although the gang was much smaller than
usual as it was a last minute thing. And we spent our last night chillin’ with BJ,
eating good food with an even gooder friend.

That was
all the happy stuff.

The rest
of the time we were trying to pare down the mountain of stuff we want to bring
to the Cook Islands. We are allowed two bags each, 50lbs per bag, plus one
carry-on bag each, and one personal bag (purse) each. OK, so imagine only being
able to have 200lbs worth of stuff to live with for one year. Easy? Go weigh
some of your favorite things, yes, right now. Ha! Not so easy, huh? 

We lose
one bag, right off the top, for dive gear – actually  1 ½ bags to be honest.
Not much point moving to a beautiful, tropical destination without our dive
gear. Then, our tools take up ½ a bag. That’s two bags taken up, and both
weighing over the 50lb limit, I’m quite certain! That leaves each of us with
50lbs – good gravy; I have books that weigh 10lbs each!! Forget the carry-on,
that’s pretty much all computer gack and emergency – i.e. “If our luggage gets
lost, what will we need to survive until it is found?” – type gear. We will be
paying extra for our fishing rod case and our reel case. I’m sure we’ll be
paying extra for the stuff we’ll have to remove and re-pack into yet another
bag, too.

On top
of the suitcase packing stress, we also had to pack and move the remainder of
our stuff into storage, (I pity the fool who tries to find anything in that
storage locker!). Regular Nutters know about my Organizational Issues, and, therefore,
can imagine the full-on anxiety attacks I experienced watching Prez, literally,
throwing and stuffing unrelated items into boxes and sealing them up with no
identifying labels!! Hold on, I have to take a moment and relax…deep cleansing
breaths…I’m in my happy place. 

Then there
was Emily; the root of all domestic disputes. Since she’s going to live with
Grampa, I wanted to make sure her vaccines were up to date, get her urine and
blood checked to see how her kidneys are functioning, get her on the thyroid medication
she needs, and get her some sort of “happy pills” to make the whole transition
less stressful. (At this point, most of the women are thinking, ‘well, of
course, that makes complete sense’, most of the men are thinking ‘????????’).
Feline spending is never a happy topic between Prez and me. But seeing as this
is the Coconut Chronicles, MY coconut Chronicles, let me just say…I am always
100% correct when it comes to the health and well-being of my kitty.

So
there!

Then I
fell down the outside stairs. Not on purpose, either. Stupid, slippery leaves! My
bum is blue, and purple, and sore. My chronic back pain became Excruciating
Chronic Back Pain. Thankfully I’d already visited my doctor for a truck load of
meds to take with us to our desert island – another source of domestic unrest.
(Hey, you try having an attack of endometriosis in the middle of the Costa
Rican jungle and see if you don’t plan for emergencies a little more thoroughly
next time you travel!) 

Sunday
morning we hugged BJ goodbye and passed along our best wishes to the Ripster, who
is in Nepal preparing to summit Ama Dablam. What a flood of mixed emotions, but
I held it together…until we went to Oso Negro for coffee. Let me say, for the
record, I have never broken down in tears in a coffee shop, until now. Somehow,
standing there among the usual Oso hustle and bustle; Nelsonites in fleece and
Gortex meeting to discuss the mountain bike route they would ride that day, or
politics, or art, or whatever; the smell of fresh roasted coffee and those
famous breakfast buns on the grill; brilliant orange and red trees outside the
window, with their leaves blowing down to Baker St.; somehow, it hit me. I was
leaving, leaving a place, and people, I really love.

Waterworks
ensued. 

Then we
were on the road. The sun was shining, my back was throbbing, Prez kept telling
me he loved me and everything was going to be great, Emily was zonked out in
the back seat on happy pills. And Nelson grew smaller and smaller in the
rearview mirror, and eventually disappeared. It was all so…weird.  

Then we
were at the Kozak mansion, ooo-ing and aah-ing over the new kitchen designed by
Tweeter, saying hello to good friends, slurping back (in my case) a gigantic
martini, and stuffing our faces with typical Titanium Chef Kozy’s five-star
chow. And it all felt…well…weird, but good weird.  

On
Thursday, I am off for four days of writing bliss at the Surrey International
Writer’s Conference! Yipee! Though I’ve begun working on Novel #2, I will not
be trying to pitch anything to anyone this year…whew. I’m really looking
forward to enjoying the conference with no expectations or stress this year.

After
that, the island, where Emily and I will… 

No, I
can’t say it. I can’t even think about it yet. La, la, la,
la, la, la, la…

Then, on
Oct.28th, we fly away to the Cook Islands. Turn the page, next chapter. I
suspect my mixed up mood will continue until my feet touch down on sand and my
50lbs of stuff is unpacked. It’s OK, I’m not afraid to feel. To quote the
character Shelby from “Steel Magnolias”: I’d rather have thirty seconds of
wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special. I’d rather feel every emotion
under the sun, all at once, whatever the cost, than spend my life thinking
about all the chances I could have taken, all the opportunities I missed.  

But I
will still miss Nelson and the Ripsters and Oso Negro and Baker Street and my
writing group and the mountains and…

QUESTION:
How are you feeling today? 

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

The
Princess

Hello again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

We are holiday sluts. I’m not particularly proud of that fact…but not particularly ashamed, either. Wherever in the world we are, and whomever we find ourselves with, we always seem to manage to leech on, (quite unintentionally, I swear), to someone’s holiday celebration. This month? Deep fried turkey dinner for Thanksgiving at the home of ESP Tim and Carrie.  

It’s not the first time we’ve batted our lashes and used our, “we’re all alone, we have no family, no children, and if you don’t take us in we’ll end up eating a tin of Spam and crying ourselves to sleep” faces in order to get invited to some special family celebration. I’m beginning to think we could keep our grocery bills down if we started widening our cultural boundaries. “Kwanzaa? Oh yes, we’d love to come to your Kwanzaa party! Um…will there be food? Yes? Great!”

Another tactic which has worked well for us is the “Surprise Visit”. “It’s Easter? Really, why we had no idea. We were just in the neighbourhood and thought we’d pop in. Well, yes, we realize we live 850 kilometers away but…hey, is that ham? Mmmm!”  

You can also plant ideas in the heads of children…they’re so easily manipulated. “Hey E, wouldn’t you like to have turkey dinner with Aunty Princess and Uncle Prez? Wouldn’t that be fun? Why don’t you ask Grammy? Go on, that’s a good boy!”

Left to our own devices, Prez and I celebrate holidays in ways that are less than traditional. Two years ago we had our Xmas on a beach in Bahia de Los Angeles; it was a real Hallmark moment. We collected clams for dinner, I read a book, Prez rescued some beached squid, and Emily hunted mice. Then we all held hands and sang carols around the cardon cactus. (Well, I might have dreamt that last bit). The Xmas of 2004 found us stuck in a rented basement suite in the city. Prez was busy working on a new business and I was working almost every day at Mega Book Store, so our plans for the 25^th involved a lot of sleeping. Oh sure, we spent the morning visiting friends and vicariously enjoying the whole Tree-and-Presents thing, but by noon we were back home. We dragged our camping mattress into the living room, gathered a stack of DVD’s, started the T-bone steaks marinating, and spent the better part of the most wonderful time of the year watching movies, eating, and napping – Feliz Navidad! 

Now, it’s not as if holidays and the traditions surrounding them have lost all meaning for me but…um…well, actually they have lost all meaning for me. Can you blame me? Last week I was at Save-On Foods and they’ve started putting out their Xmas consumer goodies, (Yes, October 1^st and the Xmas stuff is already appearing, sigh). There was a display of advent calendars; you know the ones that have sparkly, snowy holiday scenes on the front and Xmas-themed chocolates inside? Except one of the calendars had a picture of Spiderman on the front and a big sticker exclaiming that this calendar was good from December 1^st to January 1^st! So…uh…they lost me there. What? Isn’t the whole idea of the advent calendar for kids to count down until Xmas day? What’s with the extra seven days? And where does Spiderman fit into all of this? Has Santa retired? Will children now have to extract their presents from a sticky web which Spidey slings down the chimney? I mean, he wasn’t even wearing a Santa hat in the picture, there wasn’t even snow, or reindeer, or one of those Coca-Cola polar bears!!! Yeesh.

I’m thinking of starting my own line of advent calendars. They will be good from July 5^th to January 16^th of the following year. On the front, I’ll have a cute cartoon picture of Karl Marx and Britney Spears playing Twister. The chocolates will be in the shape of random objects – couches, stethoscopes, turnips – except for December 25^th, which will have only a note that says, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough chocolate? There are people starving around the world and you’ve got nothing better to do than to stuff yourself with sugar? Merry Xmas!” And I’ll advertise the whole works with big yellow stickers: “Xmas calendar! Now good for 176 days!” Wal Mart, 19.95, they’ll sell like hotcakes. 

I wish I was kidding about that last part.

We do enjoy holidays, that is to say Prez and I enjoy any opportunity to get together with large groups of people we love, to eat and drink and laugh and tell stories, but you could rename Thanksgiving, “Flooberdub”, and hold it in January and we’d still feel the same way about it. And I’d say the same thing about Xmas, New Year’s, Halloween, Easter, Valentines, etc. etc. They’re just days; it’s what we make of them that gives them meaning. For example, last night, one of the guests at dinner was V, a lovely young woman who moved to Canada from Czechoslovakia. We got onto the subject of Xmas and she explained a traditional Czech Xmas dinner consists of fish and potato salad. “I always thought it was a really special dinner until I came here and made it and people were like, ‘That’s it? That’s all?’” she told me, a little wistfully. (No, you won’t find Prez and me hanging out in Czechoslovakia trying to bum Xmas dinner any time soon). 

So how was Thanksgiving, (aka Flooberdub), dinner with our friends? Fantabulous! I must say, deep frying a large bird is a very manly way to cook! When’s the last time you wore safety goggles to cook a turkey? Huh?! Carrie, (I’m desperately working on a nickname for Carrie before we leave), stuffed us with, well, stuffing, and a host of other treats. BJ brought her famous rosemary potatoes and two, (yes, two!) pies. Prez and I brought…um…us. (We can be quite entertaining sometimes, that has to count for something, right?). I was introduced to Cornelius, the cute little Corn Snake which ESP Tim & Carrie’s two boys have as a pet – he was very handsome! And ESP Tim was up to his usual tricks, it seemed like every time I turned my head there was a new alcoholic beverage on the table. “Gin and tonic? Wine? Chocolate Chip Cookie liqueur? Scotch? Mulled wine? Absinthe? Screech?…” I’m not coming back to Nelson until they build a Betty Ford Clinic and a Jenny Craig clinic side by side!

Yes, we are disillusioned and cynical, but luckily Prez and I are also highly addicted to over-eating turkey with good friends. And while we will likely continue our wild ways, drifting from holiday dinner to holiday dinner, selling our souls for an extra helping of mashed potatoes and gravy, I like to think we will also help to make the lives of our hosts a little brighter by…um…er…uh… 

“Hey, is that ham? Yummmm!”

QUESTION: What would you do for a turkey dinner?  

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

The Princess

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

First
order of business: retraction. Oh man, my face is numerous shades of red after
last week’s Coconut Chronicle. Somehow I completely mixed up the birth order of
Prez’s siblings. #1 Bro is, in fact, #2 Bro. The real #1 Bro lives in Victoria,
not Red Deer…and we haven’t ever visited his house either. Bad Prez, very
bad Prez! So, a gabillion apologies for my disorderly conduct – can you please
forgive me??!!

Groveling
complete, let’s move on. 

I’ve
been thinking about equality a lot lately. It all started with our ever-rising
loonie which reached par with the U.S. dollar for the first time in 30 years.
For many Canucks, this seeming financial equality has created a surge of pride.
We’re as good as you are! Nya Nya! But our strong buck is not all good
news. A large segment of our population benefits from a strong US dollar,
notably those in the tourism industry. The majority of royalties Prez and I
receive from the movie biz are in US funds – those little pink cheques used to
make us cheer; now they’re just like the blue ones…sigh. And it’s not so much
that our dollar is strong as it is that the US dollar is weak. So are we equal?

Well,
we’re not the same, and not just where our currency is concerned.  

Remember
the hubbub when Canada declined the invitation to the little party in Iraq? We
were practically labeled as traitors across the line. (Well, at least they
didn’t rename Canadian Back Bacon as ‘Freedom Back Bacon’ or some such thing). But
all political arguments aside, consider this, the current population of the US
is estimated at 303,056,304, the current population of Canada is about
31,612,897 – only a difference of about 270 million people. Heck, the state of
California alone has more people than all of Canada! (Look at a map and
consider that fact for a moment – mind blowing, eh?). A lot less people means a
lot less tax dollars, which means a lot less money in our budget, which
means no trillions of dollars to throw away fighting a war the majority of our
population doesn’t agree with anyway. Besides, exactly how much help were our
handful of troops supposed to be over there? (Not that I feel we have to make
any excuses for our lack of involvement in that debacle!)

We are a
big country with a proportionally small population; it’s easy to forget that…no
matter how much we try to puff ourselves up and act as big and cool as our big
brother to the south. Hey, get real; does anyone even know the name of the
Canadian Idol winner? Does anyone care?? Didn’t think so. 

But I
like being small, I like Canada just the way it is. Sure we live in a big
shadow and sometimes we feel unappreciated but our global contributions are
every bit as important as our #1 Bro’s. Our relationship may feel unequal but
we are the U.S.’s biggest trading partner, and our little maple leaf flag
patches help American backpackers around the world sleep well at night.

I must
admit, though, it is sometimes frustrating being the one in the shadow, the
wind beneath the wings, the good woman behind the great man. BJ and I know all
about this. BJ and the Ripster are partners in their business, Peak Freak Expeditions. BJ does, (by my standards), all the really hard work. She is the
one who answers the floods of emails, built and maintains the website, (a
website built on dial-up internet no less!), handles all the logistics and
money, makes travel arrangements, deals with legal mumbo jumbo, does the taxes
(YUCK), does the PR, etc., etc. etc. Her job is never ending, often not a lot
of fun, and it is a big part of Peak Freak’s success. But, inevitably, it is
Ripster who gets the spotlight. He’s the guy who climbs Everest; can you find a
bigger shadow than that?  

So,
while BJ and Ripster are equal in each other’s eyes, and both know how
important each of their jobs are, and appreciate the work their spouse does, to
the general public the guy who climbs the mountains is the star of the show.

Me?
Well, it’s hard to outshine the Prez, as most of my regular Nutters know. In
the stunt biz, he was almost 10 years my senior, naturally talented, did lots
of big gags on feature films, and doubled a score of well known actors. Prez
has what we call the “Wall of Shame” here in Shagalicious. It’s a wall of
selected action photos from his stunt years. There he is getting hit by a car,
flying through the air on fire, skydiving, pipe-ramping a car – wow. Ever
sensitive to my feelings, he tried to make a “Wall of Shame” for me, but I
quickly took down those three, not-so-exciting photos and put them back in the
box.  

And then
there’s the whole sushi thing. Those of you who’ve attended a ClubFred sushi party
know all about Prez’s antics and the delicious dishes he serves up. After he
loaded up on Albacore one summer in Ukee, we hosted untold numbers of sushi
parties. I would spend most of the day cleaning the house, shopping for
ingredients, setting the table, prepping various menu items, making sure
everything was perfect. In short, I’d work my arse off. Then guests would
arrive, Prez would slice some fish, slap it on some rice, and everyone would
rave. “Oh Prez, that’s amazing!”, “Wow, Prez, you’ve done so much
work!”, “This sushi is fantastic, you should be a professional chef!”
(OK, he does a lot more than slap fish on rice, but you get my point). Of
course, I would also be the one who cleaned up the gigantic mess with nobody
fawning over me. “Wow, Princess, how do you get these glasses so sparkling
clean?!” Sigh.

Are we
equal? If he always gets the limelight while I only get lime-scented dish soap,
can we be equal?  

Well,
perhaps not in the eyes of the world, but definitely to each other. Prez has
always been my #1 fan, and I love that he has fallen off buildings and taught
himself to prepare fabulous sushi. And now that I’ve begun to experience some
success with my writing, I’m also beginning to feel the light on my face. I
know any success I have wouldn’t be possible without my husband. Whether we are
standing in the shadow or in the spotlight, we are always standing together.
Equal.

QUESTION:
Are you in the shadow or the spotlight?

p.s. – At the risk of giving the Ripster even more attention; he and ESP Tim will be featured on the Discovery Channel show "Guinea Pig" sometime in January (Jan.8th, I think – I’ll get the details from, BJ, the brains of the operation).

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

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

Immigration
elation! Yes, we received news that we have been, at least verbally, approved
for our job in the Cook Islands. Hooray! Now begins the “Getting Into Long
Drawn Out Arguments About What to Take and What to Put Into Storage and What to
Throw Away” phase of the move. Always exciting. I have a stack of books which I
know I will have to cull but I just can’t bear the thought. (Thank goodness Air
New Zealand takes excess baggage…for a small fee…don’t tell Prez I mentioned
this).

And our passports arrived on Friday. Hooray again! Do you know I have kept every passport I’ve ever 
owned? Looking at all those stamps makes me feel like Jimmy Stewart in “It’s a Wonderful Life” when 
he’s describing the suitcase he wants for his travels: “Big –– see! I don't want one for one night. I want something 
for a thousand and one nights, with plenty of room for labels from Italy and Baghdad, Samarkand . . . a great big one.” 

I was sad to see the old passport go, though; I finally had one with a decent picture. Now, with these 
new regs – no smiling, neutral expression, no teeth showing (because we all know how terrorists like to 
smile; what a bunch of jokers) - I look like I just escaped the women’s maximum penitentiary or 
something. My old passport photo says, “Hola! Beinvenidos! Bonjour! I am a happy, peaceful, Canadian traveler 
eager to learn about your culture!” My new passport photo says, “I’ve got a shank I made out of a toothbrush and 
I know how to use it! Now hand over the wallet grandma!” 

Life,
however, does not stop just because we are approved my friend. Oh no, life – to
quote my Ex – is not all fun and games, (now you know why he’s the Ex).

OK, I
lied. Life is all fun and games. So sue me. (For my American readers, that bit
about suing me was a joke). Last Sunday we co-hosted a big sushi party at the
Ripster’s chalet. The whole Kootenay gang was there including the Fullpots, The
Naked Barista of cable car fame, and Tim II who shall, from this moment on, be
forever known as ESP Tim (Evil Sake Pouring Tim). Prez was
our sushi chef extraordinaire, Carrie provided us with beautiful &
authentic Japanese tableware, BJ cooked up some yummy miso soup, I think almost
everyone brought sake (which was then poured, mercilessly, by ESP Tim), and I
was there to…um…well, I did have a rather nice nap in the afternoon, does that
count for anything?

The
party was worth the sake hangover the next day. What an amazing group of
friends we have been welcomed into. Well, I think we kind of barged our way in,
but I like to imagine we were welcomed to barge in.

Somewhere
in all the merriment, we have also been working. Yes, that thing we do that
cuts into our social activities but pays the rent. And the project we’ve been
working on is a condo complex with four solid, vinyl decks that were in need of
repair.

Now let
me tell you what I think about vinyl decks…pain in the caboose! The thing about
these decks is, if you get a tear, or if water somehow gets underneath the
vinyl, you can’t just do a quickie repair job. No, often you have to rip off
all the vinyl (not fun), replace any plywood and/or other wood that is rotten
(even less fun), sand the whole shebang smooth, (fun? no), and then hope the
next vinyl layer guy does a better job than the first one! And vinyl ain’t
cheap sweetheart.

The
problem with the decks in this condo complex was a mixture poor workmanship and
terrible, terrible design. Basically, the decks resemble swimming pools. The
design is so bad, in fact, it is no longer allowed by the building code. Two
decks were rotted right through in spots and the other two were not far behind.
Any logical person, such as yourself, would look at them and say, “These
decks are not only diminishing the value of this complex but are also safety
hazards. We must fix them before the damage gets any worse!”

And
that’s just what the strata council decided to do, with the approval of all the
tenants, who would bear the cost…except one.

There’s
always one.

One guy
is not happy about it, he thinks the repair is unnecessary, and he’s quite
vocal about it. Ironically, he’s the condo owner who makes the most money, who
can most afford the repair. And, his is one of the affected decks. Go figure.

Why is
there always One? Why do some people insist on ignoring logic, insist on causing
trouble? Yes, there’s always that “voice in the wilderness” defense and, yes,
sometimes that one person is right…but not very often. Think of any group or
organization you’ve ever belonged to and I bet you can name exactly who the One
was. Sometimes the One recruits a follower, then you have real problems, but
usually they remain solo.

Our
friend Miz Liz has told us some funny One stories from her days on City
Council. There was always One guy, always the same guy, who had to stand up at
each public meeting and ramble on and on about meaningless gibberish…and
Council, by law, had to listen to him. But Miz Liz had creative means of
ignoring the fellow and getting him off the stage as speedily as possible, (she
may be tiny but I wouldn’t mess with her if I were you).

When I
owned a condo I had a One to deal with. When I began shopping for a condo, I
specifically told my real estate agent that I would only look at places which
allowed pets, as I had Emily and the late Buddy Junior, (I miss you Buddy), in
tow. You all know how I feel about giving up pets. Anyway, I found a place,
read the bylaws, saw people with pets walking through the building, and bought
it. The day I moved in the felines, my elderly next door neighbour suddenly
sprang out of her door. “Are those your cats?!” she demanded to know. And,
having no reason to lie, I told her they were. She then informed me pets were
not allowed, and I, quite cheerily, explained that they were.

Long
story short, I’d accidentally been given the “old” bylaws. Existing pets could
stay but no new pets were allowed in the building. Frantic phone calls to the
real estate agent, and a lawyer, ensued. Their advice was to not worry;
probably no one would ever say anything. Relax. Oh, someone said something
alright; the senior snitch next door ratted me out the day I moved in, and
continued to complain for almost five years. Despite my explanation to her that
it was all a big misunderstanding, that I was a veterinary assistant and my
cats were clean & healthy, that if it weren’t for the fact she’d been
spying she would have never even known I had cats, she insisted on being that
One person who just couldn’t let the injustice of me having two cats in my own
home go unresolved!

Of
course, our condos turned out to be of the infamous “leaky” variety and we all
lost our shirts. People fled like rats on a sinking ship and the building
declined into a slum…but me and my cats, now that was a real problem!

It’s
almost as if some people can’t bear the idea of being part of a majority. As if
they view themselves as that lone juror in “Twelve Angry Men” who holds out his
‘not guilty’ verdict against a room of, well, angry men. But getting rotten
decks fixed and living next door to two cats that do nothing but sleep 23 hours
a day is not the same thing as saving an innocent man from the gallows. If ever
the phrase “Get a Life” applied, it is to these Ones whose misguided outrage
causes nothing but headaches.

And you
can’t escape them. In Nelson, in the Bahamas, in, I suspect, the Cook Islands,
wherever groups of people assemble, there will always be One.

Oh well,
as long as the cheque clears.

Hey,
this is off topic but I’ve been meaning to slip this in: My niece, Reva, is a
struggling student on her way to design greatness but she really needs an
industrial sewing machine. Apparently they are pricey and she is, like I said,
a struggling student, so I’m putting this out into the universe in the hopes
that maybe this will find that One special person who can help!

Enough
for now, I feel Prez’s cold taking hold so I must retire to the drug cabinet
for some Sudafed. 

QUESTION:
Who’s your One?

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

The
Princess