Theme-less

Posted on August 19, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
from the land of the towering infernos!

Yes, the
land around us continues to burn and the wupa-wupa-wupa of helicopters has
become merely a background noise we tune out. Smoke hangs thick in our air,
some days we can barely see BOB (the Big Orange Bridge). And recently a fire
south of the border crossed over, (illegally, I am sure, but no one asked for
its passport), and is now raging out of control – fire crews had to be pulled
away because it was moving too fast and was too unpredictable. The ash from
that fire, which is at least 20 miles away, fell like snow for two days. Early
evenings seem almost sinister as the smoke in the air filters the sun and
everything glows an intense and strange orange colour. (Cue the Twilight Zone
Music). 

We have
friends who have been on and off evacuation notice more than once because of
the fires. I had a dream the other night that we were told to evacuate quickly
and Prez and I ended up in a huge argument over what to bring with us. He
adamantly refused to leave any of our tools behind which left little room in
the truck for anything else. I argued that while tools were replaceable, our
old photos and memorabilia were not. And, of course, we needed room for Emily!
I woke up wondering what things we really would bring if we had to flee
on short notice. I was also pissed off at Prez for being so stubborn in my
dream, but he’s used to that.

So, this
week’s Coconut Chronicle has no theme. Sorry about that. You know, I knew I was
running low on themes and I meant to stop in and pick some up on my way home
from the gym the other day but it completely slipped my mind. Prez said he
might have some old themes in one of the storage containers but I’d rather just
go without than use some dried up, dilapidated theme that obviously no one
wanted in the first place. Rather, I decided to make this one of those “bits
& bobs” posts where I talk about a bunch of random stuff… 

Wait!
Don’t go!!!

Look, I
promise it will be REALLY COOL random stuff. Ummm…er…maybe I’ll have some sort
of surprise ending…yeah, that’s it! Maybe a car chase? Or…oooo…a helicopter
chase with a super villain who has genetically modified pit bulls so they can
fly BUT the good guys have cannons that shoot crocodiles! Yes, you wouldn’t
want to miss that bit now would you??? Ah, read on faithful Nutter, you
won’t be disappointed!* 

*The
Coconut Chronicles and its affiliates are not legally responsible for
“disappointment”, or related side effects, pursuant to Act 6.2 of the blogging
code of ethics. See: Johnson v Bloggirl43.

I know
it’s been a long time, but you may recall a post where I was going to send a
copy of “Upholding the Wild” to a Mystery Recipient (Mwa ha ha). Anyway,
the decision was made and the Mystery Recipient is…Walking Woman Ann from
Calgary, Alberta! I chose Ann for a few reasons. First, she and her partner Rob
are going to be hiking through the Purcell Wilderness Conservatory this month.
Second, Ann spent months soliciting donations for her part in the Weekend to End Breast Cancer, (a cause very close to my heart…no pun intended); she raised
over two thousand dollars and walked, I think, 8 trillion miles over two days.
And third, she asked to be the Mystery Recipient and I think anyone with
the huevos to actually email and say “pick me” deserves to be chosen!
Way to go Walking Woman!! 

Oh, FYI,
the Weekend to End Breast Cancer raised 5.6 million dollars for breast
cancer research, pretty cool.

In other
news, I am famous in Denmark. Well, perhaps “famous” is stretching it. “Known”
in Denmark?? Or perhaps, “mentioned” in Denmark? Whatever, the point is this: I
have this tracking system which lets me know how many people are reading the
Coconut Chronicles, where they’re from, how they got here, etc. etc. (Big
Princess is Watching You), and I followed the link of a reader from Denmark to
a Microsoft article on blogging – which you can see here. At the bottom, there is a list of “Popular
Blog Personalities” and I am on it! In Denmark, this rant of mine is known as “Kokosnøddekrøniker” which I think sounds very chic! So
hello to all my fans in Denmark! Or should I say, “God dag” instead? 

And here’s some fun statistics, (well, “fun” may also be
stretching it):

-Since I put The Coconut Chronicles on MSN Spaces I have had
38,295 page views

-There are Nutters from B.C., Alberta, Ontario, New York, Georgia,
Washington, Idaho,   Colorado, Montana,
Florida, Kenya, Mexico, Panama, and, of course, Denmark…just to name a few.

-Today I had a visitor from Beijing!

-Cindy puts a comment on every post (thanks Cindy!). Her blog is
Laugh Lines.

-The Coconut Chronicles have been featured in the “Best of MSN
Spaces” twice!

-Hi again Denmark!

I have a few blogs that I read on a regular basis. A Star from Mosul is written by Najma, a young university student in Iraq. I like this blog
because it gives me a perspective of Iraq you won’t find on CNN or even Al
Jazeera. She writes about university and family life and her comments about the
“war” concern the ways in which it affects her and her loved ones directly.  

My other daily blog fix comes from Mompoet. I love her tag line,
“Word from the ‘Burbs” and her blog can always make me laugh, make me cry, and/or make me think. Mompoet is a member of my writing group in Port Moody,
the Shoreline Writer’s Society. I’m not a big reader of poetry but I will read
anything Mompoet writes. Her work deals with subjects as common as facing
mid-life crises and driving parents to their colonoscopy appointments but in a
language that is playful, poignant, and so richly imaginative you often feel
you are reading a painting instead of a poem. She’s funny, too, and you all
know how I like that.

We are now in Immigration Limbo. All of our medical tests are
complete and you will be happy to know we do not have TB, Aids, Gonorrhea,
Rectal/breast cancer, hepatitis, nor a host of other maladies I can’t remember
the names for. I had seven vials of blood drawn for my tests. I’m not good with
needles, (Prez is a hundred times worse, he can’t even watch them on TV!), but
I’m better than I used to be. There was a time when one nurse had to hold my
arm while the other took my blood because I would shake so badly. Now I usually
just get a bad case of sweaty palms and a feeling like I have to go to the
bathroom…now! So the nurse sucks 7 vials of the precious fluid out of me, and I
think I’m being quite brave, making jokes about how my husband is going to be
so much worse than me, when all of a sudden the room starts spinning and I feel
woozy. Standing up was bad, sitting in the chair wasn’t much better, so I
plunked down on the tile floor until the world leveled out again.

There’s something about a tile floor I find so reassuring.

While we wait for the word from the Cook Islands government, we’ve
been making lists and organizing our stuff for sale and/or storage. We finally
got our butts back to work. Prez was going squirrelly without stuff to do, but,
between you and me, I was OK with the whole not-working thing. Well, except for
the lack of paycheques – that can be a problem. 

Emily killed a mouse yesterday which is good news. She was not
doing well which meant a visit to Dr. Hart, who said she probably had giardia.
Two weeks of metronidazole and she’s like a new cat. Prez is just happy to not
find any “surprises" in the bath tub in the middle of the night…oh the joys of
solid stools! The Carpet Panther loves killing, so to find an ex-mouse in the
basement with her yowling and prancing around it means she is back to her old
self.

I think that’s about all the rambling for this week. On Thursday
we head to the coast for my 20th highschool reunion; I’m pretty sure
I’ll find a theme in there somewhere for next week.  

Oh yes, if you want to watch a very funny movie rent, “Hot Fuzz”.
There are a few gory bits so not suitable for the young ‘uns, but even the gory
bits are funny.

Yep, I think that’s it…yep. Oh man, this is so embarrassing, not
only did I run out of themes but I’m completely out of meaningful endings. Wow,
I apologize, sincerely apologize. Gosh, I don’t know…I guess I could just say
“goodbye” but it seems so flat and impersonal doesn’t it? And I usually try to
tie my endings into the beginning somehow. What to do? Wait, I know, I could do
like the DVD’s for movies and have two alternate endings! Yeah!! OK, here are
your two alternate endings, read whichever one you like: 

#1) And they all lived happily ever after.

#2) As Prez fired the last crocodile out of the cannon, all we
could do was pray. What chance did humanity have against Dr. Foul and his
winged pit bulls? Wiping the sweat and blood from my face, I watched as the
croc latched on to door of the helicopter then lunged for the pilot. Down the
copter plunged. Prez and I kissed in the orange glow of its giant fireball.
“Shouldn’t we call the President and tell him to call off the tactical nuke
strike?” I asked breathlessly. Prez smiled that devilish smile of his and
wrapped an arm around my waist, “In a while…crocodile”, he said as our lips met
and the world around us disappeared.  

QUESTION: Well, do you have a better ending? Huh? Do
you????

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

The Princess

p.s. – more photos next week!

Posted in Life | 1 Comment

Me, Myself, and I

Posted on August 12, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca and Hippie Heaven!

Who am
I? No, this isn’t a game of 20 Questions. This is a question I, (and most
everyone else, I suspect), have asked myself periodically over the years. Who
am I? What do I believe in? What is good about me? What is bad? How happy am I
with who I am? Am I the person I thought I would be? Am I the person I want to
be? What do other people see when they look at me?

Not easy
questions to answer, especially if you try to answer them honestly.

I’ve had
two moments, recently, when I’ve had to re-examine my answers to these
questions. But first, let me tell you how I answer the question: Who am I?

I think
I am relatively open-minded and tolerant. I struggle to be a better person and
it isn’t always easy given that I am fairly selfish by nature. My tolerance for
flakiness and fluff is low…and gets lower every year. I hold grudges, but way
down, deep inside where no one can see. If I enter a room with 30 people in it
and one cat, I will want to go see the cat first, but I’ve learned to be polite
and delay my animal-fix until I’ve greeted all the humans. I can’t pass a
mirror without looking at myself. My skin is thick but there are holes in my
armour which those people I love can easily penetrate, and my wounds can remain
open for years. I like to believe I practice critical thinking but I know this
isn’t always true. Self esteem is always an issue but I’ve gotten way better
and continue to improve. I LOVE to laugh; if you make me laugh, I can forgive
almost anything. I rarely cry in public. To spend a day writing or reading is
heaven. I worry too much. My communication skills are above average but I think
I’d trade them for a killer singing voice. I’m a rule follower and that really
bothers me sometimes. I love my husband more than anyone or anything in the
universe.

Yes, I
could go on and on, (did I mention I’m a little self-absorbed?), but I think
that’s a pretty good Polaroid of me from my perspective.

But
here’s where it gets interesting, what matters more: how I see myself, or how
others see me? Let’s say, for example, you think you are a really helpful
person, always trying to show people a better way to do something or improve
their skills somehow, but other people see you as a pushy, know-it-all who doesn’t
respect them. Whose view is correct? I mean, if your intention is to help
people and your motivation is genuine, is that a bad thing? Hmmmmm.

So, I’m
on the phone the other day having a gab fix with my friend CS – who always
makes me laugh, FYI – and somehow the conversation comes around to “criticism”.
Well, CS tells me, quite gently, that I am a very critical person. And that I
can, in fact, bring others to tears with my words. Really? Now, I know I can be
critical of others but I thought I did a pretty good job of keeping it to
myself. But the more we talked, the more I contemplated her words, the more
some stuff started to make sense.  

If I am
good at taking criticism, it is because of my mom, (who I loved dearly), who
always gave me the distinct impression I was just not good enough. (Don’t
worry; I’ve dealt with this baggage). Anyway, you take enough criticism, you
kind of become immune to it. Ten years in the film business, where there is no
shortage of folks waiting to point out your many flaws, also helps. And when it
comes to my writing, I want criticism; I want to know what’s wrong with
it so I can improve.

And when
it comes to giving criticism, I tend to dole it out only to people I care about
most, or those who I think can handle it. The logic behind this being that I’m
not going to waste my time trying to “help” people I don’t care about. From my
perspective, if I give you criticism, you should take it as a compliment – if I
tell you what’s wrong with you, it must mean you’re special to me, or I think
you’re a really tough person. Ha! Funny, huh? Yeah, that’s a pretty mental
thought train when you look at it objectively.

I’ve
probably given CS boat loads of criticism over the years, both because I cared
about her and because I thought she was one tough cookie. I’m sure I’ve also
cut down or otherwise maligned things she believed in or held dear. Some
friend. It must have been terrible to have someone you love pointing out your
flaws and ridiculing your beliefs.

Ugh.

Whose
view is correct? Not mine. No matter how noble my motivation, a real friend
should put the feelings of the other person first. Unless she comes to me and
says, “Hey Princess what do you think about ___________________?”, I
should keep my opinions to myself (and even if she does ask for my opinion,
diplomacy is always best).

We are
all individuals and it is not up to me to decide what’s good or bad for other
people, (although I really would remove all reality TV from the face of the
earth if I had the chance – well, except for “So You Think You Can Dance” but
only because, aside from singing, I desperately, secretly wish I could have
been a talented dancer…but that’s me being selfish again).

The
second instance of “Who am I?” introspection, came just yesterday when I had a
mini-reunion with Rad, a friend I hadn’t seen in almost 20 years.

Rad came
to my school in grade 6…from Nelson, oddly enough. She was a smart-alec, animal
lover, with a good sense of humor; we hit it off instantly. We used to make
paper martini glasses in class, pretend we were Hawkeye and BJ Honeycutt from
the TV series “M*A*S*H”, and make wisecracks to the kids sitting around us. We
thought we were hysterical, but I’m sure we were mostly just a pain in the
butt.

Long
story brief, I ended up dating Rad’s brother a few years later…and you can
probably guess how things fell apart from there.

Sometimes
life gives us second chances and so when Rad told me she’d be passing through
Nelson and would I be interested in meeting up for a few hours, I didn’t hesitate
with my “yes”.  Seeing someone after such
a long absence, after the history that has passed between you, after your lives
have branched off in very different directions, is strange. Would she be the
same girl with whom I walked endless loops around Guildford Mall, shared
Slurpees with, and helped capture an injured crow to rescue? Would the laughter
which once came so naturally to us still be there, or would we share an awkward
silence as we stared across the table at a stranger?

Happily,
our reunion was one of those “pick up right where we left off” kind of deals,
and the laughter was still very much alive and kicking. The experience was
surreal, staring into the face of someone you know so well and yet not at all. Rad
turned out to be a pretty damn cool person. And though she probably wouldn’t
agree with me, I am blown away by her capacity for caring and understanding.

What I
found most interesting was hearing Rad’s version of me, and our time together
as friends. She seemed shocked that I had ever considered myself a “loser”. She
told me if I had any self-confidence problems, they certainly didn’t show. I
wondered how that could be possible; I’ve always imagined all my classmates saw
my short-comings and insecurities as bright as a neon billboard.

And what
I had seen in her as strength, sometimes, perhaps, bordering on cruelty, was no more, she
explained, than her attempt to deal with the sorrow of a lost friend. How I saw
her and how she saw me, was not how we saw ourselves. Interesting. And, in the
end, it’s almost as if we have swapped identities. If you had told my
13-year-old self that Rad would be the one racking up the university degrees,
becoming a teacher, and living a relatively conservative life while I would end
up as the gypsy rover, ex-stunt person, I would have laughed (hard) right in
your face.

Who am
I?

In the
musical, “Les Miserables”, protagonist Jean Valjean is an escaped criminal who
turns his life around, and, under an assumed identity, becomes a leader of men,
a hero of sorts. When another man is mistaken for the wanted criminal and
jailed, Valjean must search his conscience and decide whether he should
continue to lie and serve the people who depend on him, or tell the truth and
free an innocent man. He asks himself…

 
“Who
am I?

Can
I conceal myself forever more?

Pretend
I’m not the man I was before?

And
must my name until I die, be no more than alibi?

Must
I lie?”

Are we
only who we are now, or are we the sum of our parts? Was Valjean a hero or a
criminal?

Who am
I?

Can we
truly ever answer that question? Is it necessary to answer it? We are, I
believe, works in progress, shifting, changing, realigning. Sometimes we will
surprise ourselves, and sometimes disappoint. Sometimes our greatest efforts to
help a friend, such as CS, will cause the most harm. Other times, friends like
Rad will tell us we were pretty cool, that we were loved, when we thought we
were the biggest dweeb on the planet.

In the
end, Valjean reveals his true identity and his captor, Javert, must face the
reality that a man can be both a criminal and a hero. Because who we are
is never as important as what we do.

QUESTION:
Who are you?

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

The
Princess

Posted in Life | 1 Comment

Would You Be, Could You Be, Won’t You Be…My Neighbour!

Posted on August 5, 2007 by clubfredbaja
Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven! 

“Hot
town, summer in the city…” takes on a whole new meaning when you are surrounded by wilderness
at the height of forest fire season. The majority of the forest fires burning
in BC are in the vicinity of Nelson. The first visible one was at Six Mile
Creek, just north of us – the top of the mountain glowed so orange, and spewed
so much smoke, you’d think it was a volcano erupting! A constant stream of
helicopters and water bombers fly by us daily, and a few days ago a Mars water
bomber arrived. If you’ve never seen one of these magnificent machines, have a
look here. They are HUGE – they can pick up 7200 gallons of water in 25
to 30 seconds at speeds of 60 to70 miles per hour – and yet they seem so slow
and cumbersome you expect them to fall out of the sky at any moment.

You
gotta love small towns because any big event, even the arrival of a water
bomber, is cause for conversation and speculation. When the Mars bomber started
circling closer to the lake, we ran outside to the deck to get a better view,
only to discover our neighbours had the same idea. We waved and called comments
back and forth to Dickie, and the Ripsters, and eventually we all converged to
discuss the new arrival. A few nights after that, we all met again to go “skunk
hunting” under our front deck. It seems the little stinker has returned but a
good dousing with the hose and a couple of (mostly harmless) bb pellets seem to
have sent him on his way.

So, I’ve
been thinking about neighbours. Prez and I seem to have almost
too-good-to-be-true neighbour karma, no exaggeration. When I first met Prez, he
lived in quiet cul-de-sac in Port Coquitlam, (a suburb of Vancouver). What a
great neighbourhood! Everyone knew each other and looked out for one another.
Kids abounded, and though we were child-free our status as stunt people with
lots of toys made us interesting to the mob of ankle-biters. Our neighbours to
our right were none other than the infamous Pat & Joyce Roney aka: Martha
& Patty-Cakes.

Now, you
probably couldn’t find two more diametrically opposed families than us and the
Roneys. Pat & Joyce have two kids and are very family oriented; their roots
are strong and deep in the community (they’ve lived in the same house for over
20 years); and their yard could grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens,
(our yard might’ve qualified for the “what not to do” section of that
magazine). Yet, despite the obvious differences, the Roneys quickly became two
of our dearest friends in the entire world. The day we pulled out of that cul-de-sac,
with our bathrobe-clad neighbours waving goodbye in the rearview mirror was one
of the most heart breaking days of my life.

Of
course, we were soon back, this time not as neighbours but as house guests
living in the basement suite!  

One of
the unexpected consequences of our crazy lifestyle is that we often find
ourselves temporarily bunking with friends between adventures. I’ve lost count
of how many times we’ve lived with the Roneys now, but every time has been an
incredible gift as far as I’m concerned. For some reason, the four of us seem
to gel – no easy feat when you have four adults, three cats (one who hates
everyone), and one young-adult male, all on different time schedules, and all
with different lifestyles, under one roof for extended periods of time.

It
probably works so well because Pat & Joyce are so damn easy-going and
generous, but who knows? What I do know is that we have had some great times
sharing meals, watching movies, playing cards into the wee hours, and just
generally “hanging out”, which we never would have experienced if we weren’t
homeless now and then.

Our next
neighbourly stroke of luck was when we moved next door to Mom II & HQ –
Ruth-Ann & Harry Quarles – in Baja, Mexico. Ruth-Ann loves to tell the
story of how she first met Prez when he was shopping for a piece of property,
and how annoyed she was to have to show yet another looky-loo around while she
was trying to get her fireplace painted. The annoying young man in his fancy rented
jeep became her next door neighbour, and ten years later the Quarles are like
family to us.

I
suspect Ruth-Ann saw us more as guests in her extended hotel than as neighbours
because it wasn’t unusual to come back from a day of fishing to find our laundry
done and folded, dinner waiting, and other little chores taken care of. Some
days I half-expected to find our sheets turned down and a mint on our pillow,
that’s how well we were cared for as neighbours.

We’ve
also bunked with the Quarles on a few occasions…just this past winter actually.
Again, different kinds of people, different ages, different lifestyles, but we
made it work.

Our move
from the Quarles was not far, just down the beach, and though it was still sad
we began to see our strange lucky-streak with neighbours was not over. Enter
Big Wave Dave & Miz Liz – Dave & Liz Meyers of 30th Palm
fame.

Our
neighbour experience with the Meyers was probably the most natural, most
comfortable one we’ve had. We didn’t become friends, we just were friends
from minute one. It was as if we’d known each other our entire lives. Eating
breakfast with the Meyer’s “bad dogs”, Chase & Cassie, running in and out
of our doors, was not an unusual scenario. We all had a very open-door policy
between our homes. The Mexican expression, Mi casa es su casa, (my home
is your home), held very true with us. I’m sure, back then, they couldn’t have
guessed just how true.

We’ve
called the 30th Palm “home” twice, once while Dave was still with
us, and once after his passing. If you think living with other people is a
challenge, try doing it in a little grass shack with no sound-proofing! But we
had no problems, and our time together in the 30th Palm was time
I’ll cherish always. We’ve also been roomies with Miz Liz and the bad dogs in
29 Palms, California. On the first occasion, Miz Liz and I stood arm in arm
watching a fiery desert sunrise (OK, we didn’t stay that way for very long
because fiery desert sunrises come far, far too early for Princesses, but it
was a lovely moment nonetheless). On the last occasion, she played nurse to
Prez and I who were both stricken with that nasty, funk-inducing flu. I can’t
think of a nicer place to be sick!

Our
gypsy existence has thrown us together with friends we’d never expect, too. Iron
Chef Kozy and Techie-Tweeter – Paul & Wendy Kozak – had never been our
neighbours, and though we were friends, we didn’t get to see much of each other
most of the time. But that all changed when they offered up the empty basement
wing of the Kozak mansion while we were starting up our handyman business.

In our
short time in Key Largo, Florida, we partied with all our neighbours, some we
still stay in contact with – Prez was a very bad influence on one of our
neighbours who skipped work 3 times to go fishing with my bad husband! And then
we bunked with the Baneys who’d been guests at the resort we ran in the Bahamas,
and they forced us to eat stone crab legs and swim in their pool. Oh, the
sacrifices we make!

While I
hate feeling as if we’re taking advantage of friend’s hospitality, I’m so
thankful life created an opportunity for us to get to know the Kozaks better.
Believe me; we uncovered some very deep secrets while we stayed at the mansion.
For example, Kozy likes to play Mr. Penny Pincher to the rest of the world –
scanning flyers for sales, bargaining at the Jiffy Lube – but what I found out
is that he is, in reality, one of the most generous, caring people you’ll ever
know. We offered to pay rent and a share of utilities during our long stay but Kozy
wouldn’t hear of it, and he even fed us, more than once, five-star gourmet! And
Wendy, oh you’d meet her and think she is just the quietest, sweetest woman on
the planet…ha! Don’t let that “angel face” fool you! The real Wendy is witty,
clever, and has a devilish sense of humour. She had me cracking up endlessly.
Well, anyone who has every episode of AbFab on DVD is someone who understands
good comedy! And she also happens to be just as generous and caring as her
husband; not bad.

And now
we claim the Ripsters – Tim & Becky Rippel – as neighbours. They aren’t
right next door, but they’re one door over and the house between us is
Dickie’s, who’s also a friend, so we have it pretty damn good. We are back and
forth between our houses on a regular basis, having dinners, watching movies,
or just chatting about the news of the day – a Mars water bomber, for instance.
Again, I’m so incredibly grateful life gave us a chance to spend time with such
amazing friends; time we wouldn’t have under normal circumstances.

I’ve
said before that Prez and I may not be financially rich but we invested in
friends and the pay offs are well worth it, and I think that’s worth repeating.

It’s
easy to get swept up in the logistics of life. We’re tired at the end of the
day and there always seems to be some chore that needs doing, so sacrificing
time with friends becomes a necessity. And then it becomes a way of life. Even
when we get to spend time with the people we love, it’s limited and we have to
get back home and: water the lawn, buy groceries, take the kids to soccer,
finish the laundry, walk the dog, go to the gym, shop at the mall, call Mom,
fix that squeaky door, send emails, watch the next episode of that show we
love, get paperwork done, etc. etc. etc. The beauty of neighbours (or, as is
often our case, roommates) is that they’re right there, right beside you.
Visiting neighbours doesn’t have to be a momentous, planned event involving
calendars and schedules, nope; you can just pop over and say “hi, got time for
a coffee?” Simple.

I think
as we become “compacted”, as cities start funneling more people into smaller
spaces, our privacy starts to become critical. We shut out the people around us
as a way to protect ourselves and we begin to lose the feeling of community we
once considered so valuable. I remember telling some co-workers who were
city-dwellers about how the Roneys helped us out when we’d go down to Baja by
taking in our mail, paying our bills, depositing our cheques, etc., and they
were absolutely horrified that we’d let mere “neighbours” have so much access
to our lives. “I don’t even know my next door neighbour and I don’t want to
know them!” one person said. They completely missed the point; we couldn’t live
the way we do if we didn’t have such incredible neighbours and friends.

I know
not everyone can live the way we do…or even wants to for that matter. But we
can choose to know our neighbours. Hell, many of us can even choose to live
close to people we know, or in neighbourhoods where people are friendly. And
maybe your next door neighbour is just a friend you haven’t met yet.

To all
our neighbours, and roommates, who are also our friends, a million thank you’s
for being so close…even when we’re miles apart!

 QUESTION: Who are the people in your
neighbourhood?

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

The
Princess

Posted in Friends | 1 Comment

Do You Believe in Magic?

Posted on July 29, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

This
week I spent two wonderful days with “the other man”. Don’t worry, Prez knew
all about it. He wasn’t thrilled and his jealousy was painfully obvious but he
knows better than to try to come between me and Harry. Yes, Book 7 in J.K.
Rowling’s record-breaking Harry Potter series arrived on my doorstep on
Wednesday and two (long) years of waiting were over! 

I won’t
give away the ending but there may be spoilers in here, so if you haven’t read
it and plan to, I will give you lots of warning about which parts of this
Coconut Chronicle to avoid.

I have a
system with my HP books. The first reading is a pig out; I read as fast and as
greedily as I can, desperate to know all that happens. The second reading, which
usually happens about a week or two after the first, is where I really slow
down and enjoy the scenery. The second reading is my favorite because now I’ve
satisfied my book lust, I know the ending, and I can appreciate all of the
little details. The third reading, usually six months to a year later, is
nostalgic – I just want to disappear into a world of magic and mystery and live
it all again.  

I do
this with all my very favorite books. And, yes, I know this behavior borders on
obsession – I’m OK with that.

Now
Rowling may not be one of them fancy literary writers who deftly pen a 700 page
opus about various characters hem-ing and ha-ing about the meaning of
existence, but she writes a mean story! I think what many writers, especially
novices such as myself, tend to forget is that all the themes, and sub-plots,
and metaphors in the world mean zip if you don’t have an interesting story with
characters people want to be with for hours on end. We’ve all been trapped at a
party or a wedding or a work function with that person who drones on and on
about nothing while we frantically try to get the heck out of there without
offending them. Yes, their ramblings may have a point but who cares? The same
can be said of books, which are just stories written down, after all. If your
plot and characters don’t keep me riveted, if I can’t wait to flip the next
page, if my husband doesn’t get jealous of your book because he knows he can’t
compete and I’m going to vanish for hours at a time, then it doesn’t matter
what mind-blowing, philosophical concepts you’ve put into your story – I will
find an excuse to stop reading and go do something interesting instead. 

But I’m
not suggesting Rowling doesn’t have important ideas in her stories, quite the
opposite. Throughout the HP series themes such as the seduction of power, doing
the ‘right thing’, friendship and loyalty, the danger of bureaucracy, trust,
the power of love, tolerance and equality, family, fame, the true meaning of
courage, sacrifice, death, and many others, resonate strongly, long after the
book is closed.

**SPOILER:
Here is a quote from Book 7 which I absolutely love. Harry has told Professor
Dumbledore that he would have been a better Minister of Magic than the previous
two: “Would I?” asked Dumbledore heavily. “I am not so sure. I had proven,
as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation. It is a
curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those
who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon
them, and take up the mantle, because they must, and find to their own surprise
that they wear it well.” **  

Just a
kid’s book? I think not.

No, if
HP were a story for kids only, it would not be the phenomena it is today. For
those who would simply dismiss it as a fad, ask yourself when was the last time
a book was read, so voraciously, by people of all ages, races, sexes, and
cultures? HP has sold over 325 million copies to date and is translated into 63 languages.
The 7th book sold 8.3 million copies in 24 hours! At the last movie, Prez was surprised to see half the audience in the packed
theatre was adults (of all ages) without children. I, however, was not
surprised. 

Why was
this book so successful? I think I could go on for hours about that and never
come up with a definitive answer. And, really, I don’t care.

So how
was the final book? Oh man, wow. So much more than I hoped for! What a gifted
storyteller! Tiny threads from the past six books were pulled together in ways
I never expected (and some I did – I was right about Snape all along). She left
me with just enough answers and just enough questions, which is all I ask of a
book.  

Does
Harry die in the end? This seems to be the big question out there.

Yep,
that’s a big question. 

Nope,
I’m not going to tell.

All I
will say, is I cried buckets for at least an hour, which I fully expected to do
no matter what. At times I could barely read the words through the tears.  

And now
it’s over. What an odd feeling – satisfaction and loss. The worst part is not
having anyone to commiserate with. I mean, I feel like I should go down to a
local pub and sit around with a bunch of half-drunk old men, recalling stories
of Harry, “Ay, remember when he crashed into the Whomping Willow with that
flying car? Oh, those were the days!” We’d all raise our beers, tears in
the corners of our eyes, “To Harry!” we’d slur, slam our mugs on the
table and demand another round.

I’m so
thankful to have been a part of this once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. The books
will remain for other generations to get lost in, but the sweet torture of
waiting two years for that next book, and then devouring it, with millions of
readers wondering how it’s all going to end, that will never happen again.
Thank you Jo for giving me this amazing experience. Here’s to you… and to
Harry.  

To Harry.

QUESTION:
Have you read it yet?

p.s. – Please check out the new website for Matriki Beach Huts, the resort we will be managing! (Prez built the website and he’s very proud…so am I).

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

The
Princess

Posted in Entertainment | 1 Comment

Through the Hoops to Paradise

Posted on July 22, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

If you
think going to work in a foreign country is as simple as packing your sunscreen
and hopping on a plane, think again. We are now in the “Bureaucracy” phase of
preparation. This means we must fulfill all of the requirements of the Cook
Islands government and then wait to see if our work permits are OK’d. We’ve
already had our police background checks done – thankfully they never found out
about that little incident in 2002, whew!(Kidding). We have most of our character
references ready to send. Thanks to all of you who made us sound so dang good;
after reading Miz Liz’s letter I’m tempted to forget all about Aitutaki and run
for Prime Minister instead. Our new boss has our CV’s already. And Monday is
the biggie…the medical exam (cue the ominous music).

We will
be thoroughly inspected – TB tests, HIV/Aids tests, chest xrays, tests for
things I can’t even pronounce, etc.  The
list of things we are to be poked and prodded about is two pages long. I’m
assuming the reason for such fine-tooth-comb-ness, aside from the obvious need
to keep infectious diseases out, is to keep people out who would be a drain on
the local medical system. This is just a guess; who knows. But I also think
governments, in general, like to make people jump through hoops.

In the
Cayman Islands there are some fairly strict regulations about hiring
foreigners. That’s great; however, the Cayman people typically don’t want to do
the jobs foreigners are hired to do. When we interviewed to work on Little
Cayman they explained that even though they knew, and the government knew, no
locals would either apply for or be able to do the management job we were
after, they still had to make it seem as if they were, in fact, recruiting
locally. So for three or four weeks they would have to post the position in the
Cayman newspapers knowing full well they’d hire a foreigner. You see, that way,
when that one citizen who likes to cause a stink goes and whines to the
government about foreigners taking all the jobs, Mr. Government official can
say to the business, “Why did you hire a foreigner?” and the business can say,
“We tried to hire locally, just look at all these ads we put in the paper!”
It’s all a sham and everyone knows it.

What
amazes me is, our country must have regulations about immigration, too, so why
do so many criminals and cheats get in? Not just in Canada, but in lots of
countries there are foreigners who would fail to pass the simple tests Prez and
I have to complete to work on a tiny little island in the middle of nowhere.
What’s the deal? And yet it seems there are volumes of rules and restrictions,
not to mention rivers of red tape to cross, to get anything done in this
country.

Years
ago Prez and a couple of good friends wanted to open a driving range. They did
all their homework and found a perfect piece of land for the business. Problem:
The land was in the ALR (Agricultural Land Reserve). The idea of the ALR is a
good one – protect agricultural land from development. Good, yes, I support that.
BUT…the piece of land in question was small, surrounded on all sides by
development, had not been used for agriculture for eons, was sitting empty and
probably always would. You’d think taking a little chunk of unused, unsuitable
farm land out the ALR would be an easy endeavor… you’d be wrong. Eventually
Prez and company gave up; the process to remove the land from the reserve was
just too long and costly, with no guarantee of success. The last time I saw
that land it was developed, it was only a matter of time. Oh, and money.

Some
countries we’ve visited have learned to combine bureaucracy with corruption. In
Costa Rica we learned all about the politics of corruption. A fishing lodge was
for sale on the Osa Peninsula and we were stoked. This place was tight and the
fishing was out of this world! The price tag would have required us to find
investors but we reckoned it would be an easy sell and we saw a multitude of
means to bring in more revenue. The owner was an amicable fellow, eager to help
us out. He arranged for us to meet with the accountant so we could go over the
books. “Books”, plural, is right. We quickly learned in Costa Rica you keep one
set of books for you and one for the government. The accountant also showed us
the “bribery schedule.” He’d point to the calendar, “This government official
always comes to stay for this week. He doesn’t really stay here, he stays at a
whorehouse, but if his wife calls we tell her he is here.” On and on it went,
freebies, cover ups, anything to keep smiles on the faces of those who stamp
your papers and approve your requests. Ah ha…we backed out of that deal pretty
darn quick.

I use
the term “government” loosely, I know. Not all facets of government are so difficult
to deal with. We happen to know a former Mayor who – despite her ill-behaved
dogs – worked diligently to help her city and is a model of “how it should be
done”. And the problem of bureaucracy is not limited to government, any
organization can fall victim to the quagmire. Our old union, at least while we
were members, had no shortage of paperwork, corruption, and gobbledy-gook. There
was a small fund for each individual put aside for insurance and medical needs
not covered under our regular plans. To access this money, you had to file a
request and a board would vote on it. After Prez suffered a 2nd degree
burn on his face, we submitted a request to cover various small items such as
bandages and non-prescription meds he needed. We sent a letter, and a photo of
Prez’s scarred & charred face, for back up but our request was still
denied??! Crazy, huh?

While I
understand the need for policies and procedures, at some point common sense
must prevail. Mustn’t it? Perhaps not. When I see the airport security staff
making the pilots take off their shoes for inspection, I want to shout, “Hey
guys, if the pilot wants to crash the plane, all he has to do is this…” – and then
I mime a person pushing way down on an airplane throttle.

 

And as I
wait for my seventh, and final (sniff), Harry Potter book to arrive, I’ve been
thinking about how cleverly JK Rowling wove her own little rant against
bureaucracy into her story. (Nice segway into talking about Harry Potter,
hmmm?). On Monday, I made the half-hour drive to Castlegar to see the latest HP
movie – book five in the series (awesome!!). The government body in Harry’s
wizarding world is the Ministry of Magic and it is a pretty realistic
reflection of real government. In the movie, the M of M staunchly denies
the return of Voldemort (the very bad guy), and the steps it takes to
enforce this stance are both humorous and horrible. (The scene of Harry writing
“lines” for detention will make you squirm!). Interestingly, in the next book,
faced with the reality of Voldemort’s return, the M of M does an equally lousy
job, and is more concerned with public opinion than with actually protecting
anyone.

The good
news is, tomorrow, after I’ve been stuck full of needles and who knows what
other instruments of torture, it will be me and Harry for the rest of the day
(and night, probably)! Oh, and there is more good news, my dad has volunteered
to take Emily for me! Well, perhaps “volunteered” is not exactly correct…more
like “coerced” but it all boils down to the same thing. So I’m still sad but at
least I’ll know where she is and that she’ll be looked after well. Whew!

OK, tons
of writing to do, so I must fly…right after I file a form J-68768GH requesting
time to write and submit to the proper authorities for authorization, that is.

QUESTION:
What’s your bureaucratic horror story?

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

The
Princess

 

Posted in News and politics | 2 Comments

Having My Cupcake

Posted on July 11, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

Should I just call these my bi-weekly Chronicles (as one
cheeky “Nutter” suggested they are already) and save you all from my lame
excuses as to why every post is late? I am a busy girl lately, and summer doesn’t
help. I’m also trying to come up with a name for my Chronicle Readers; I like
“Nutters” because I think it most accurately describes my friends and family
(who largely constitute the readership of this semi-weekly rant). “Cocos” has
just too much of a strip club ring to it. And I think “Nuts” is just a little
too…well, let’s not go there.

First…um, well, not exactly first but first after the
prologue, I suppose, I want to give heartfelt thanks to the bucket load of
“sorry about Emily” emails. THANKS! It’s nice to know the impending loss of my
cranky kitty can generate so much sympathy – from non-cat people no less!
Thanks again, your thoughts meant a lot to both Emily and I…well, just to me,
she didn’t really know, and if she did she still wouldn’t care. Anyway, I’m
feeling better about it all (a lie), and I’m thinking she might be happy with
my dad who could use the company (he doesn’t know he’s taking her yet but I
assume when my sister reads him this Chronicle he’ll figure it out).

Sooooooo, what’s happening? Lots. The Ripster and our
next door neighbour, Dickie, both went in for surgeries on the same day. The
guy who climbs Everest and does a whole whack of other crazy things injured
himself…I love this…skateboarding with his grandson! So Ripster is nursing a
sore shoulder, and Dickie a sore mouth, (he had all of his upper teeth pulled –
long story), but that didn’t stop us from having a birthday bash for Rip,
grandson “E”, and, coincidentally, Canada all on the same day. Becky threw an
awesome party with burgers and games and cake (yippee), and she even arranged
for the city to put on a spectacular fireworks display for us. It sure was nice
of the city to do that for Rip’s birthday…oh yeah, and for Canada Day, too, I
guess.

We are now working on Kootenay time. Since the news of
our new job, employee/employer motivation has dropped markedly. Coffee breaks
are more frequent – as are “shade breaks” now that the mercury is up in the 30C
range every day – and quitting times vary with Prez’s mood, and weekends seem
to stretch on either side. So it should come as no surprise an invite from Guru
Terri to join her, Lefsa Gary, All-In-Jim, and Miss Sue, in Sandpoint, Idaho
for a mid-week, lakeside hangout was A OK’d and RSVP’d without hesitation.

Guru has a houseboat on Lake Pend-Oreille, which she
motored over to the dock of two good friends, Pat and Neil, of Baja fame. The
lovely couple was absent but graciously offered our scurvy crew the use of the
dock and house while they were away (what were they thinking?). What a cool
place! Pat and Neil have traveled the world and their experiences are brought
to life in their home. Pat’s artistic prowess has helped to create a fun,
multicultural environment inside, while Neil’s muy/tres/very green thumb has
created a virtual jungle of plants, flowers, and herbs outside. It was a shame
they couldn’t be there to share with us…but we made the best of it!

And Guru’s houseboat was nothing to sniffle at either. If
we weren’t already moving to the beach I’d be tempted to start searching for a
water-house of our own!

Sandpoint is a cute little town, similar to Nelson in
some ways. There’s even a cupcake shop…but more about that later.

The thing I love about Baja people, well, one of the
things, is that we all come from very different backgrounds but we all share a
spirit of adventure, and a willingness to choose unconventional life paths. Very
few Baja folks lead so-called normal, 9-to-5 lives. So, our visit with the gang
from Posada was affirming as we embark on yet another venture into the unknown.

I worry sometimes about all our shuffling around. Most of
the time I love our lifestyle (which is…?) but there are times I feel
disconnected and disheartened. I’m never in one place long enough to become
part of anything on any kind of permanent basis. It takes me a long time to
make good friends and time is usually not in my favour. After awhile, I feel
like a ghost – passing through people and places without any solid impact.

But then I sat down across from my good Baja buddies and
realized how trivial distance is. We all see each other only for short,
concentrated bursts, but we still have lots to talk about, lots to laugh about.
Prez and I have friends across the globe; some we see very rarely but when we
do it is as if no time has passed at all. I guess I am part of something after
all; I’m part of a network of fun-loving, good-hearted, wonderful people who I
love.

Anyway, about the cupcake shop:

I love cupcakes. My passion for cupcakes cannot be
accurately expressed in mere words. Cakes are nice, yes, but there’s just
something about a cupcake that’s so much better. Maybe it’s because it’s small;
you feel as if you are eating an entire cake by yourself! Maybe. Vancouver has
an amazing cupcake shop on Denman Street – I’ve never gone in, fearing I would
cave in to my desire and be found the next day passed out in an alley,
surrounded by cupcake wrappers! But with Prez as my anchor, I figured I could
give in and sample one of the delicious little cakes on display in “Hey,
Cupcake!”.

Deception thy name is cupcake!

Oh, woe. On my first attempt, I failed due to lack of
U.S. currency and their lack of an ATM or Interac machine. I was not
discouraged. I returned, after some window shopping, with a crisp $20 in my
hand! Gadzooks!! Now the line was out the door and you just know my man, “Fast
Freddy” ain’t waiting in line, in the heat, for no darn cake. He suggested we
pick one up at Safeway. Puh-leez. What’s next? Buying dinner at the gas
station? (Bad example, we’ve actually done that). The next opportunity knocked
when Miss Sue and I found ourselves waiting at the houseboat dock with no
houseboat in sight. “Quick! To the cupcake store!” I cried, and off we
went. But, alas, foiled again. The store was closed and would not open for
about an hour. Was I cursed??

It seemed I was to remain cupcakeless. But then…a
miracle!

For my “2 years until 40”th birthday, Prez took me, the
Ripster, and BJ, out for a fancy-schmancy dinner at a really, really good
restaurant. We were supposed to go back to the Rip’s house afterward for tea
but we were zonked. So, the next night there is a little knock on the door and
who should it be but Rip and BJ with a little cake, complete with flowers and
sparklers, just for me! OK, it wasn’t technically a cupcake but I’m not
complaining. I finally had my cake!

And I ate it, too.

QUESTION: What food would you wait in line for?

Until…um…sometime in the foreseeable future, I hope this
finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Life | 1 Comment

A Farewll to Fur

Posted on June 30, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello,
for a limited time, from Hippie Heaven & Mountain Mecca!

Yesterday
I had to fill out a form and list the last few addresses we’d lived at – this
threw me for a loop. I had to pause and think for a minute. This problem will
not be helped by the fact that we will be moving (again) at the beginning of
November. Hmmm, I don’t hear any gasps of shock and surprise. Where are we going
this time…

Aitutaki Island! “Survivor” fans will recognize
this lovely little speck in the South Pacific, in the Cook Islands, (close to New Zealand). We will be running a quaint,
beachfront resort called Matriki Beach Huts.

And
while you may be picturing me jumping up and down doing that dance that Snoopy
always does, the phrase, “be careful what you wish for”, keeps looping through
my brain. Visiting the South Pacific is high up on my Things To Do
Before I Die list. Of course, Prez is in full Snoopy-dance mode, so why aren’t
I?

Writing
and Emily.

While
it’s true I can write anywhere in the world, moving to paradise means no writing
community. No writer’s groups, no writing events, no writing conferences or
seminars, no brainstorming with other word-geeks…sigh. Before you start hurling
rotten produce at me for making such a fuss over something so small, let me
just explain…it’s not so small. Writer’s spend a lot of time alone – it’s not
exactly a group activity – and the small bits of contact we have with one
another are like gold. Yes, I’ll have email. Yes, there are online resources.
But, really, it’s not the same as face-to-face.

Prez has
assured me he will do his utmost to make sure I have loads more keyboard
time, and that is a small comfort. He is also quick to point out that our
commitment is only for a year and, therefore, if it truly is horrible for me,
I’ve only lost a year…no biggie.

Then
there’s Emily. (Big sigh…single tear drop).

The
hoops one must jump through to bring a pet to the Cook Islands are legion. And, even if I were
willing to do all that is required, I know it’s not really in the best interest
of my aging North American Carpet Panther. 30 days in quarantine in New Zealand is no one’s idea of a good time,
especially a 14 year old cat with bad kidneys and a thyroid problem. SIGH.

The loss
of my companion of almost a decade and a half is the hardest part of this move
for me to accept. There have been buckets of tears, and though I’m moving
toward acceptance, I still feel sick to my stomach every time I look at that
furry little face. Now, non-pet-types will be thinking, ‘So what, it’s just a
cat?’. I understand how people can feel that way, but she is more than just a
cat to me.

Emily
and I found each other when I was working at Guildford Animal Hospital in Surrey. She was a stray, only five
weeks old, someone had found and brought to us. She was also having continuous
seizures. The SPCA was so full, at the time, they were automatically
euthanising any kittens that came through. We were also full and the doctors
didn’t expect her to live through the night…so I took her home with me…to make
her last few moments comfortable. Ha! She perked up almost as soon as I carried
her through the front door. Smart feline, that one.

She was
smart, and fearless, and a pain in the behind most of the time. I wanted to
name her after a smart and fearless woman, and Amelia Earhart kept coming to
mind. “Amelia” didn’t quite fit her, but then “Emily” flowed out of it and I
thought, ‘Emily Bronte, yes, a writer, smart, brave, perfect’. The rest is
history.

Emily
did not take to me right away…or to my ex (smart cat)…or to the dog…or to,
well, any other living creature (not much has changed). She was the
quintessential independent cat. I clearly remember the first time she ever
voluntarily jumped up on my lap and cuddled (she was about 4 years old, I
think). Of all the cats I’ve had, and there have been many, she was not the
friendliest, the funniest, or even the best, but she’s the one who stuck. Why?
I think it’s because she was the most like me. She likes her space, I get that.

Emily
and I weathered my horrible first marriage and equally horrible divorce, my
mother’s illness and death, and all the various minor tragedies life’s thrown
my way. Cat fur has amazing properties of absorption when it comes to human
tears. She’s traveled to Mexico (more than once), across the U.S. (in the front of a U-Haul), to
the Bahamas (by boat), and to Costa Rica (by plane). She’s camped in the
desert, hunted lizards in the jungle, and been smuggled into many a hotel. As
cats lives go, hers has been full.

I always
imagined we would be together until the end. But now I have to let her go, have
to find a loving home (without other pets or children) for her…and it’s
breaking my heart. Must stop now, crying again.

So,
that’s why I’m not doing the Snoopy dance. That’s why this Chronicle is not filled
with exhortations on the Cook Islands and the world-class lagoon we will soon be
snorkeling. Sorry.

Well, we
don’t start until early November, so I have at least some time left to confer
with other writerly types and smother my furry friend with affection. I know
this is going to be a big adventure; I’m not sorry we’re going, only sorry for
the sacrifices. It’s killing Prez not to have me join him in his JOY. I’ll get
there, eventually. But it will be without Emily, and somehow all the palm trees
and lagoons in the world don’t seem as wonderful as one grouchy, pain in the
ass cat right now.

Stupid,
right? (Sigh to the tenth power).

QUESTION:
Do you have a best friend with fur and bad breath?

Extra:
So, my 2nd place winning short-short story, “Attempted”, is now up on
the Writer’s Digest Magazine’s website. If you’d like a look, just click HERE.

Until
next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life (and your
pets)!

The
Princess

Posted in Travel | 2 Comments

The Two Towers OR Return of The Prez

Posted on June 24, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from Hubby Heaven and "Mrs." Mecca!

“Reunited
and it feels so good…” I always hated that song, but the lyrics are
relevant this week. Yes, Prez has returned from the wild and all is right with
my world.

On my
end, I had a productive week alone. I cleaned the BBQ inside and out – you
could have constructed a sixty pound Chinook salmon and five chickens from all
the carbon bits in the bottom, I cleaned the house, (surprised? No), cleaned
the truck, (once again evicting the family from Burundi living between the back
seats), got waxed and cracked (by an esthetician and chiropractor,
respectively), made an appointment for a fang cleaning, went out with The
Ladeez whereupon there was much frivolity and free dessert (compliments of the
amorous gentlemen at the next table), wrote, read, cried when Diana died in the
movie “The Queen” – a movie Prez would never rent, (Helen Mirren was uncanny in
her role as Queen E), cuddled endlessly & guiltlessly with Emily, caught up
on emails, sent parcels and gifts I’d been meaning to send, cleaned and
organized the kitchen – our spices are now grouped alphabetically and by region
of origin, (kidding, kidding), dealt with the mass of papers piling up on my
desk, pondered life, the universe, and everything (stole that line from Douglas
Adams).

And,
around day 3, I began to really, really miss my husband.

The
phone rang on the afternoon of the 19th: “Hi baby! I’ll be home
soon – we just have to fly over the Kokanee Glacier to check the levels.” It was my Sweety and he was coming home via
helicopter! Hooray!!

I’ve
seen Prez tired before, but nothing like this. He practically stumbled into the
truck when I met him outside the airport. He wasn’t as dirty as I expected but
the job had definitely beaten him up.

So here’s
the 411 on the job he did…

Carney
Creek is located up in the Purcell Wilderness. The only way in is to hike (or
helicopter) and, where the trail crosses the creek, there was only a cable with
a snatch block. This meant hikers had to bring all their own gear (harness,
carabineer, and sling) to cross the creek. Creek? Well, more like a raging
river from the photos I saw. Tim II, who was a park ranger for years and now
teaches the ranger program at Selkirk College, was given a contract to build a
cable car crossing on the creek. He asked Prez to come along, as he needed
workers who could do a bit of everything; he also asked Darcy “The Naked
Barista”, too, because, besides being handy, NB is also a paramedic…and makes a
wicked latte.

On the
morning of the 13th, the three rough n’ ready woodsmen drove to the
staging area, near Argenta, where they began the helicopter commute into the
mountains. Tim II and NB flew out first to prepare the landing area and direct
the loads of equipment; Prez stayed behind at the staging area to help with the
loads for the helicopter. Besides their personal gear, they would be flying up
tools, wood, cable, the cable car & components, a wheelbarrow, cement
mixer, generator, tanks of propane, and 11,000 pounds of cement! On this job,
there would be no running down to Home Depot if you forgot something.

The job
was a logistical challenge. Cement was the biggest concern. With only 6 days to
complete their task, the guys needed to make sure the cement bases were cured
enough before they sat the heavy towers on them. Anyone who’s worked with
cement knows the colder the water you mix it with, the longer it takes to set.
The water they had to use came from the creek – glacier water. The
problem was solved by heating the water using a propane stove and storing it in
Rubbermaid containers.

Lifting
the heavy metal towers into place was another challenge – accomplished with a wood
tripod system with a 6-to-1 block and tackle system, (don’t worry, I have no
idea what that means either, but I’ll post a photo). Then they had to be sure
the bolts in the cement lined up perfectly with the base of the towers, without
putting any weight on the cement. Ingeniously, they constructed wood platforms
to sit the towers on, directly over the wet cement. Bolts were lined up while
the cement was still wet and pliable.

Rocks
were dug, trees were cut down (just one, I think), platforms built, 100’s of
pounds of cable were strung. NB came up with the Lutz-o-matic 2000 – two boards
used for leverage to bend the rigid cable, so they could put the Crosby clips
close enough to the thimbles (again, a photo will be provided as I have no idea
what all these things are). Lattes were sipped (until the camp latte machine
melted on the stove). And remember, these guys had to do all this on both sides
of the creek which meant hauling themselves and all the gear across the water
using the old cable system. If anything happened and they went into that
roaring, freezing water, they’d have about 14 seconds to live.

There
were two near-tragedies. On the first day, while climbing up onto the newly
constructed “safety platform”, Prez’s foot slipped into a rotten stump up to
his knee. Thank goodness for stunt-reflexes! Falling forward, with visions of a
tibia/fibula fracture dancing through his head (all happening in a
micro-second), Prez catapulted himself into a dive roll, landing on the rocks
below, mere inches from the water. Tim II also tumbled, taking the sharp metal
corner of one of the platforms in the back of the leg. It was bad. Nothing was
broken or cut, but, as Tim II described it, he “went to another place”. Prez
says he’s never seen someone unconscious with their eyes open before – creepy.
Bear in mind, if anyone got hurt, it was a 13km hike out just to call for help!

The glacial
water worked well as a fridge for beverages, although Prez and Tim II’s milk
floated away. Like good campers they kept all their food far away from forest
critters – each night they hooked the coolers onto the old cable and hung it
out over the middle of the creek.

The guys
finished the job on schedule, and with two bags of cement to spare! They did a
load test with 1000lbs (using all the rocks they dug out) and it was a success.
On the last day, the Parks guys came up, tried it out, and gave them the thumbs
up. As if it could have gone any other way…puh-leez! They even let Prez keep
the sign up that he made (see photo).

Prez
returned home full of love, not just for me, but also for hot showers and warm,
soft, dry beds! The time away was good. We came back together with
renewed appreciation for each other, and the little luxuries we all take for
granted – like having someone to tell all your fabulous adventures to.

And when
it seemed the homecoming couldn’t get better, it did.

Right
now, I am typing this on the new laptop Prez bought for me. What a terrific
surprise! “That’s why I did that job, to get this for you,” he
explained, as I stared at the Toshiba box in my hands. Ain’t love grand?

Well,
tomorrow it’s back to work, back to routine, back to normal. I’m OK with that.
If there’s one thing you can say for sure about Prez and me, there will always
be another adventure… just around the corner!

QUESTION:
What’s the most interesting job you’ve ever done?

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

The
Princess

p.s.
Below are a few photos of the job but I will also post a complete photo
album.

Posted in Life at Work | 1 Comment

In the Beginning…

Posted on June 14, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
from Bachelorette Bliss!

After
what seemed like forever with no break, I suddenly find myself with a week
off…alone! Strange to think this used to be a fairly regular occurrence for
Prez and me, being separated. If he wasn’t out of town on a show, we’d be
working on different shows, or different schedules. Sometimes weeks would go by
without seeing each other for more than a few minutes. Then we quit the biz and
have spent almost every waking minute together since. So, when he headed out
this morning for a week away, it was a little disconcerting.

I’ll get
over it.

Where is
Prez? Well, he’s been hired by Tim II to help build a cable car crossing
somewhere up in the middle of the wilderness for the Parks Board. This is a
huge project. The three team members, (as well as all their gear, food, tools,
equipment, etc.), have to be helicoptered in (including 11,000 pounds of
cement), and there they will stay until the job is finished. He has promised to
take a ridiculous amount of photos so I’ll write about his adventure in more
detail once he returns.

While
Prez is fending off bears and rock slides and who knows what else in the wild,
I am enjoying what I believe is a well-deserved holiday. (Hey, there are bears
here, too!)

Today,
after waking up at…wait for it…10:00 am, I started on my “to do” list. Thus
far, there are 27 items on the list. You see, aside from reading, writing,
sleeping in, and watching crap TV, a week alone is time to “get things done”. One
of the items, in fact it is #11 on the list, is to research the Cook Islands.
Yes, Prez is on the hunt for paradise again and we have a tentative job
opportunity on Aitutaki Island. He, of course, is bouncing off the walls,
reciting to me all the Pro’s of living on a palm-studded island in the South Pacific.
Me? Well, after our experience in the Bahamas, I am a lot more pragmatic. I am
definitely a Con-Woman.

Still,
anything’s possible.

Interestingly,
it is almost four years to the day since we shrugged off our old life and began
anew in the beautiful Abaco Islands. I thought it would be fun to take a walk
(swim? snorkel? sail?) down memory lane and reprint the very first ever Coconut
Chronicle…with a twist. I will be adding commentary along the way.

Names
have been changed, not to protect the innocent but more so to cover my behind.

Without
further ado, let us journey back to Thursday, June 12, 2003…

“It still seems so unreal that we are finally here
doing all the things we’ve been planning for so long. Our first week of work
has been busy to say the least, what with it being high season and all. To top
that off, we now have to clean and organize all the stuff that Joe & Jane
have neglected over the past, oh, 5 months or so, and it is kick ass hot and
humid! Prez meant to take a picture of the work room before we started to muck
it out but he forgot. I’ll describe it for you if I can: picture the biggest,
oiliest, dirtiest mess of crap you can and then pile 2 more messes, twice as
big, on top of that…ya, that’s about it, Now, I don’t mean to dis J&J, they
are just a little scattered to begin with and then working on this new project
[new resort] has completely frazzled them. Needless to say, we weren’t the only
ones who breathed a sigh of relief when our work permits came through. We have
been getting along with the new bosses pretty well, there are some ‘areas of
disagreement’ but that’s just life…was that politically correct enough?”

Notes: I
did not exaggerate about the mess one bit. The laundry room was such a disaster
I could barely squeeze my body through the door. Jane had this thing about
chickens and decided to put a chicken coop right next to the laundry room, then
she would toss food scraps in the yard for the birds. The birds ate the
scraps…so did the cockroaches, which also loved the laundry room. Ick, ick,
ick!!! I have mentioned my cleaning
problem, right?

I had to
be ultra careful about everything I wrote concerning our “slightly scattered”
(make that “highly scattered”) new bosses, as I had no idea if they were able
to access our email or not. Almost immediately, there was tension, but then
they left for several months and life was good. Of course, that all changed
when they returned but after three months of guest emails telling them how
fantastic we were, there wasn’t much they could say to us.

“Our guests: The property is
jammed full this week and we have a diverse group here. Clearwater [cottage] is
a family of 4, Jimmy, Kim and their two boys. If you’ve ever watched the show,
“King of the Hill”, and you can picture the character who wears a baseball cap
all the time and thinks everything is a conspiracy theory, (I think his name is
Dell), that is exactly what Jimmy looks like. They seem like nice folks but
they keep to themselves, except for Jimmy who makes a point of hunting down
Prez every morning for his 15 minute chat.

The Dolphin & the Garden
Cottages are all together and they are very cool people. We’ve been hanging
with them most of the week and they are the folks we did the sushi feast
for. Last night we met them in Hopetown
at Captain Jack’s [restaurant] as Shawn and Dana had gotten married earlier
that afternoon. Right now, Prez is off with Shawn, Tom, & Pete trying to
catch some snapper for dinner. Their last night is Saturday and we’ll be
spending that together at Cracker P’s for the big Full Moon Party…yippee!”

There
was no shortage of variety between guests. From friendly to freaky, we saw it
all. Luckily, of the roughly 18 or so people who arrived every week, there was
always one group we clicked with. Sometimes it was hard to say goodbye at the
end of the week. I remember standing on the dock as the “Lewney Bin” crew
departed for Marsh Harbour, my eyes filling with tears, amazed at how close you
could get to people in a mere seven days.

Other
times, 7 days felt like eternity.

“The Big House…ay yi yi…they
are a trip…can you say ‘rednecks’? There are 13 people staying there (5
bedrooms, do the math) and I think 5 of them are children, but you would swear
there were a hundred of them by the noise and the mess! I am not looking
forward to cleaning that house on Saturday! Not to mention they are abusing the
boats and constantly demanding stuff…’I’m
sorry m’am but it says right on the website ONLY 2 TOWELS PER GUEST…yes, I know
your kids have dragged them all through the sand and water and now they are
dirty…well, I’m afraid y’all will just have to air dry for the rest of the
week.’”

What I
remember most about these guests is that they shouted constantly. Instead of
walking from the Big House down to the dock to speak to each other, they would
yell back and forth like this:

“HEY!!!!WHERE’S
THE SUNSCREEN??!!”
“I DON’T KNOW! WHY DON’T YOU LOOK FOR IT??!!”
“I AM LOOKING FOR IT!!!”

Etc.
Etc. So much for the other guests who came for a relaxing vacation!

“Other stuff: Did I mention it was hot? No, I’m not
complaining (except when I’m mucking out the storage room). I can wear a bikini
24 hours a day if I want, and one day Prez cooked dinner in nothing but sandals
it was so hot (we were at our house),
was that too much information?”

My first
two weeks there, I developed a nasty heat rash down the side of my face. Prez
had a rash, too, but in a different location (very unpleasant). We took cold
water showers at least five times a day. Emily lost a pound of fur. At night,
instead of cuddling before sleep, we merely hooked pinky fingers – that was
about all the sweaty skin contact a person could stand. Yes, June in the
Bahamas is HOT!!!!

“We are starting to get the
fishing dialed in – tuna on the flood tide trolling cedar plugs at 1500 rpm. By
next year we should know every single thing about fishing here – well, Prez
will anyway.”

The
fishing was fun but not nearly as good as I imagined it would be. It didn’t
help with the weather being so unusually windy that summer (although locals
said to count our blessings as the wind kept the mosquitoes away). One night we
resorted to dropping a line between the slats of our dock to try to get some
tiny snappers for dinner, but all-in-all we gorged on seafood (don’t get me
started on the yummy lobster!!).

“I am slowly learning to dock
the Mako [our boat], and tie it up and all that fun stuff…Prez has several more
grey hairs now.”

Geez, I
thought learning to dirt bike with him was stressful; it was a walk in the park
compared to boat docking in the Bahamas – dock up front, other boats on one
side, jagged coral on the other, and only 3 feet of water…yikes!!!

“There are some funky things
here: fireflies, beautiful hummingbirds, lizards galore, and tons of hermit
crabs…I saw one the size of a football up by our house one day. There is a
really cool area called Snake Cay where there used to be an old lumber place
years ago. There are old rail cars that have been abandoned and some of them
are under water which makes for a terrific fish habitat and some wicked
snorkeling.”

If there
is one thing I truly miss about the Bahamas, it’s the water. The snorkeling was
like no other place I’ve seen. Because many of the reefs are so shallow and
treacherous they get very little pressure from divers and boaters, which means
they are healthy, full of life and colour. Prez and I frequented areas where
hardly anyone else went to and were rewarded with scenery Jacques Cousteau
would have given up his best toque to see.

“Joe & Jane are off to
the States tomorrow for an indefinite period of time so we should get lots done
while they’re gone. Well, I’m going to wrap this up because I’m starving and
I’m sure this is more than enough info for now! Prez hasn’t come back with fish
yet, I hope that doesn’t mean we’re having spaghetti again!!! LOL…he’d kill me
if he read that J I will send out another report next week and I’ll be in touch here
& there. Love to everyone and we miss you lots.”

Oh, if
only J&J had stayed in the States, everything might have been much different.

There
you have it, the birth of my weekly email, soon to be dubbed “The Coconut
Chronicles”. Thanks so much to Ironwoman Benson for having the foresight to
print out every one and keep them for me! I spent an enjoyable evening last
week reading all my posts from that crazy year. What I got out of all that
scribbling, beyond the distinct sense that Strunk & White are rolling in
their respective graves (writer joke), is that we never did find paradise…but
we did find each other, and that’s about as much as two wayward souls can hope
for.

Sleep
well tonight my husband, my love, my soul mate…my paradise. I miss you.

QUESTION:
What’s your idea of paradise?

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

The
Princess

p.s. –
We did have spaghetti for dinner, but don’t tell Prez I told you that!

p.p.s –
I would like to take a moment to direct you here. Our good friend Photog-Ann is
going to be walking her little tootsies off for the Weekend to End Breast
Cancer. With a sister who is a 2x breast cancer survivor, this event hits very
close to home for us. Any donation will be welcomed – or please just check out
the website. Peace.

Posted in Travel | 1 Comment

Girl Gone Wild

Posted on June 6, 2007 by clubfredbaja

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

What a
wild week. I mean that literally; we have had encounters with all creatures
great and small…and stinky. First our resident bear got a little too close for
comfort. His nasty habit of dragging every bag of garbage he could scrounge
from around the neighbourhood to our backyard was annoying enough when he was
doing it at night, but then he got greedy (hungry?). We came home from work one
evening around 7pm and up on his favorite picnic spot was a big black bag, torn
open, where there had been nothing just that morning. This meant our beary
friend was coming around in the daytime. Not good.

With
gloves and a bag, Prez went out to clean up the mess (yet again) only to come
face to snout with Mr. Black Bear. Human went one way, bear (thankfully) stayed
put, and now they were eyeing each other like a couple of gunfighters. Prez
began hurling rocks – big ones – at Mr. Black, who was half-hidden behind a
tree. (FYI, I was watching the whole spectacle from the bathroom window as I
showered. A surprising, and not overly pleasant, scene to witness when one is
naked and covered in soap.) Finally, Prez’s missile connected with a foreleg
and our unwelcome guest bolted up a nearby tree, where he stayed for quite some
time. From his perch, he grunted insults at his attacker. I would translate
from bear for you but there may be small children reading this. Honestly, who
knew bears could be so potty-mouthed?

The
Ripster called the police to inform them that the bear was treed, and something
needed to be done. He was directed to call the Conservation Officer…in
Victoria?? Not exactly a speedy response. We kept a close eye on Mr. Black
until he worked his way down and tore off into (I hope) the woods.

So far,
thanks to Prez’s right arm, we remain bear and garbage free.

But our
furry encounters don’t end there. Not by a long shot.

So home
we come from work, again, except this time we are exhausted and cranky! Do you
remember Mr. & Mrs. Fussy, the couple we worked for in the city who wanted
all their toilets removed because they
were an inch too short? Well, we found a couple that makes them look
positively laid back and groovy.

Mr.
& Mrs. Over-the-Top asked us to build a garden fence to keep the deer out
of their new garden. It would be quick – we were assured – four hours max.
Pound a few stakes, plant a few poles, put up some wire mesh, and voila, a
fence. HA! It took us all of five minutes to figure out this was no four hour
job. Pound stakes? In Nelson? In this rocky soil? Puh-lease!! I’ll spare you
the gory details but there was a lot of time spent (wasted) trying to get some
sort of decision on how the fence should be built, a day of digging holes
(oooo, my favorite thing), another day of re-digging holes in the scorching
heat after Mrs. Over-the-Top called her husband in tears because our original
holes were not feng-shui enough, a lot of cursing and two very bad cases of
sunburn…and the fence is still not finished.

Anyway,
home we come, sunburned and pissed off, Emily greets me as she always does and
heads outside for a stroll. Not two minutes later I hear Prez saying, “Um, you better come here…um…your cat…”
in a voice that sounded confused and concerned. Five seconds after that, I
understood why. Emily was crouched at the top of the stairs, strings of drool
flowing from her mouth, eyes watery and swollen shut, moaning. And the smell!!
What was that smell? It smelled like the worst, most toxic chemical known to
man. Had some a**hole sprayed her with a pesticide or something? I got as close
as I could without retching and noticed two yellow marks across her nose. And
then I remembered, as Prez and I had walked in the front door I’d commented, “Gee, it smells skunky in here.” Oh no.

Oh yes,
she’d been skunked right in the kisser (or the "hisser", as the case may be).

This was
my first, and hopefully last, encounter with fresh skunk juice. If you have not
had the displeasure of this experience, thank your lucky stars! ICK ICK ICK!
This is not simply a bad smell; this is a dinner-bringing-up kind of smell. And
now it was on my kitty, and my carpet.

“Tomato juice! I need tomato juice!” I
shouted to Prez. All those years as a vet assistant were finally going to pay
off. Emily was hurried to the kitchen sink, where I washed her twice with
regular soap, then doused, liberally, with tomato juice. She, as you can well
imagine, was not amused. I wrapped her in a towel and held her for about twenty
minutes, to let the juice soak in. One more soap bath and she was done. The
stink was, mostly, gone. And her fur is now a lovely shade of pink thanks to
the tomatoes!

Containers
of coffee grounds have cleared the odor from our house, but none of us will
forget that horrible stench. Emily has about three lives left – thank goodness
she can’t count!

Some
nights a martini is not just a luxury, it’s a necessity.

Well,
don’t feel too bad for us, we had a wonderful weekend thanks to a one of our
favorite clients. With the Rippels as guides, we ventured out to Halcyon
Hotsprings, stopping along the way to visit the Fullpots on their Mountain
Estate. What a view! The scenery on our route was spectacular even by Kootenay
standards (you can only “ooooh” and “aaaaah” so many times in one day). And
Favorite Client had gifted us a night’s stay at a chalet, so we had a sweet pad
to kick back in when we reached Halcyon. I was in heaven, blissed out, totally
zen-ed, as I floated in the warm mineral water gazing out over the snow-capped
peaks of the Monashee Range.

And all
the wild animals we spotted on our journey (six bears, four deer, one trout,
one frog) were viewed from the comfort of our (non-stinky) vehicle…ahhh.

Oh, I
forgot about the bird trapped in our chimney this morning; the wildness
continues.

And before
I sign off, I want to give a shout out to Favorite Client who gave us such a
wonderful, much needed weekend. She has a vacation rental called “Nelson’s
Alpenglow” so if you’re ever thinking of a vacation in Nelson and want a really
cool place to stay check it out!

QUESTION:
Have you had any wild encounters?

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

p.s. –
attached photos are of Emily’s bath, scenery, hotsprings, momma grizzly & cubs.

Posted in Nature & Environment | 1 Comment