The Coconut Chronicles

We are
making hay. As you may have guessed, the sun is shining. You may have also
guessed, from the tardiness of this post, we are really, really, really, really
busy. I’m not complaining, I’m really not complaining…OK, I am complaining but
only because my hectic schedule and aching muscles have kept me from my beloved
laptop.

From the
frivolity of our New Denver camp trip, we jumped right back into the fray and
worked to complete our very first deck from scratch. Prez did all the designs,
applied for a permit, lost sleep worrying about whether the permit would be
approved, and eventually built a beautiful deck for the B&L (“Beers &
Lattes”) family. Of course he had a little help from me and our new employee,
DJ B. We calculated that we used about 2500 screws on this deck. If you think
putting a few screws in some wood is no big deal, try putting a few thousand
in! To quote DJ B, “I always thought screwing on a deck would be a lot more
fun.”

With all
this slaving away, it’s no wonder my thoughts recently, have been about the
carefree life we used to have and why we didn’t realize it was, in fact, so
carefree. I know Prez has these thoughts too, as evidenced by his ongoing
search for a winter job in the tropics. It’s hard not to remember how good
things “used to be” when you are digging your twelfth hole in rock-strewn
Kootenay soil. Yes, the grass is always greener, and hindsight is always 20/20.

Another
cause for reflection is my 20 year highschool reunion which is only three
months away. Remember when school was a chore? Isn’t that funny now? I mean,
here we were with nothing to do but hang out with our friends all day and learn
a few things. No bills, no taxes, no worrying about the cost of gas, no planning
for retirement, no kids to take care of (well, no cats to take care of), no
holes to dig! We should have been waking up every morning with big poop-eating
grins on our faces, shouting “Yes! This is so awesome!!” But we didn’t, at
least I didn’t.

My recollections
of junior high and highschool, are angst-ridden and, often, embarrassing. Did I
really think those giant, puffy shoulder pads were cool?? Wouldn’t it be great,
I sometimes think, if you could go back and do those years over with all the
knowledge you now possess? Or even if you could somehow travel back in time and
have a good long talk with your 13 year old self? How about just a letter, a
letter you could deliver through time? What would I write to that girl? Let’s
see…

Dear 13
Year-Old Princess:

Hello from the future! Your predictions
are correct; we now all drive hover-cars, there are free ice-cream vending
machines on every corner, and we are happily married to David Bowie. OK, I made
all of that up. Things are basically the same except for the internet, and
might I suggest you start looking at the nerds in Computer Lab 101 a lot differently.

But
seriously, I want to have a heart-to-heart discussion with you, my younger
self, about what awaits us in the coming years. Hey, turn off that Walkman, I’m
trying to be philosophical here! Besides, all that loud music will damage your
hearing, and someday you will care about stuff like that, believe it or not.

First, I
know you think your life sucks but, honey, you got no idea how good you got it!
You think your parents are a pain in the butt? Wait until you have to deal with
Revenue Canada. Don’t like living in their
house under their stupid rules? Hey,
don’t worry, someday you will live in your own condo, and pay your own
mortgage, and your own phone bills, cable bills, hydro bills, property taxes,
repair & maintenance costs, strata fees, and all the zillion other expenses
involved in running a home. And five years later it will turn out to be a leaky
condo which you can’t give away if you try and you’ll be out almost
fifty-thousand dollars. You’ll also have your own car, cool huh? Actually,
you’ll have several and most will be total junk, and they’ll break down in
places and at times you least want them too. The tiny dribble of money you have
in your account for luxuries, like groceries, will be spent fixing these
rust-buckets. Fun, fun, fun!

In other
words, stop complaining about your lack of freedom; you have tons of freedom,
you just don’t realize it.

Now
about boys…sigh. By all means, have fun, date, draw those ridiculous squiggly
hearts with “K.M. + D.C.” all over your binder if you must, but please, please,
please do not take the opposite sex so seriously. I know it sounds like
a cliché to say “boys only want one thing” but the fact is, for the first,
oh…forty years of their life, they really do only want one thing. OK, maybe
that’s a slight exaggeration (no, not really) but the boys you’re dealing with
now are nothing but giant, walking lumps of hormones. The massive quantity of
testosterone racing through their bloodstream has a tendency to block out
higher thought and rational thinking. So, when a boy says, “I love you” he’s really saying “I want to have sex with you”. When he
says, “You are so pretty” he’s
saying, “I want to have sex with you”.
And when he says, “Excuse me, do you have
the time?” he’s saying, “I want to
have sex with you”.

Get it?

This
time of your life is special, and you won’t figure out how special it is for another twenty years or so, but it is. You
have more blank pages than written ones right now. Every day you go to a
building where a group of adults are waiting to give you as much knowledge as
you want, for free – take advantage of this! After you graduate, you can go and
do, or be, anything you want, but for now just soak up all the education you
can.

Spend
more time with Mom and Dad. I don’t want to hurt you but they won’t be around
forever and you will regret not doing more with them while they’re young and
healthy. (No, forty is not old!). Especially Mom. I know you don’t “get”
each other, and, yes, she can be a bit bossy but she loves you more than anyone
on the planet and always will. Not only does she love you, but she cares deeply
about the most mundane details of your life. There will come a day when you
reach for the phone to call someone about the fabulous sweater you got on sale
at the mall, only to realize there’s no one who really wants to hear about it.
You have two parents who love you, forget about winning the lottery, you
already have.

And lastly,
do me a favour and take a good look in the mirror. Stop frowning. I know what
you see – a greasy-haired, pimple-faced, buck-toothed loser. What a shame. You’re
a beautiful young girl, and I’m not just saying that because you’re me. I know
your hair goes flat when you try to feather it, your cover-up make-up only
seems to make your zits worse, and all the other girls seem so cute and
perfect, but you are pretty, you
really are. If you could only stop comparing yourself to everyone else – to
movie stars and models and that girl in homeroom all the boys drool over –
you’d see a healthy, blonde girl with a bright smile, and the cutest little
beauty-mark on the right side of her face. But, more importantly, you might
begin to see all the stuff beneath the surface, the stuff that really matters.
You’re smart, you laugh easily, you care about the planet, you’re creative, and
you’re kind. I promise you, if you can learn to see yourself from the inside
out, people will start to see you that way too.

Well, I
guess I’ll let you get back to your/our life now. What other gems can I leave
you with? Um, buy shares in any of the following: Microsoft, Yahoo, Nintendo;
enjoy being able to eat three plates of roast beef & gravy & potatoes
without gaining a pound; learn to cook and do laundry (please!); ask Mom &
Dad to explain “balancing a cheque book” and “properly managing a credit card”;
keep singing (you’re not very good but it will always make you happy); ask Dad
to show you how to properly use power tools (trust me on this).

Stop
worrying about tomorrow, enjoy the moment!

Love
Always,

37
Year-Old Princess

p.s. –
those giant, puffy shoulder pads are not cool

QUESTION:
What would be in your letter?

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

The
Princess

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

TGI…S? This will be my first full day off,
with no chores or commitments, in almost 3 weeks! I intend on using this time
wisely, mostly by doing a lot of nothing. Prez did give me a surprise day off
on Wednesday but I spent the entire day cooking and cleaning so I don’t think
it really counts. Right?

Yesterday
I tended to my nagging addiction –not
reading, writing, chocolate, martinis, my cat, Star Trek, or watching Eddie
Izzard (he’s my latest craving and I did, actually, end the day with a half
hour of him)- I cleaned the truck! From the debris I removed, you could build,
if not a house, a small guest cottage. There was a family from Burundi
(Burundians?) living between the back seats and it was terrible to evict them,
what with the conflict in their homeland and all. (I might have made that last
bit up; I’m not sure if there is any conflict in Burundi). If you’re like me,
(poor you), then you know the agony of wishing for a crevice attachment, for
your vacuum, small enough to get in the air vents of a vehicle and suck out
those last, little, annoying, teeny, tiny, miniscule pieces of dust that no
tool or rag seems capable of reaching! ARRRGH!!!

Hello,
my name is Princess and I’m a clean-a-holic.

Hello
Princess.

It’s
been three hours since I last mopped, dusted, vacuumed, washed, pol…no wait,
I’ve just wiped the coffee stain off this podium. Ummmm, can I start again?

No.

You know
those western movies where the tall, dark stranger (aka – Clint Eastwood) rides
into town, and you know just from the look in his eye (and the ominous
background music) that there’s gonna be trouble? Yes, well, when Prez sees me
dip into the back room to get the vacuum he feels about the same as all those
poor townsfolk that Clint will eventually fill full of lead. I’m a bit OCD when
it comes to cleaning but I’ve gotten better, learned to relax, over the years.

No you
haven’t.

Shut up,
no one asked for your opinion.

I’m you,
stupid. I’m your brain. Your opinion is
my opinion.

If you’re
my brain, prove it! What am I thinking right now? Huh?

Oh,
honestly, you’re hopeless.

I’m not
alone; I take some comfort in that. My good chum Patty-Cakes is as bad (much
worse) as me. Given his way, he would re-paint the entire house and re-carpet before any social event to
be held there. Large parties would, of course, require a complete renovation.
Some might consider this a bit over the top, I say the man is just thorough.
But then, my CD’s are arranged alphabetically, chronologically, and by genre…so
there you go.

I like
to clean but my forte is organizing, (See also: CD collection). I think I got
it from my mother. Long I admired her photo album arranging skills, and dreamed
of the day I, too, could put photos in books with dates and descriptions beside
them! Shortly after I met Prez, he regaled me with tales of his big adventure,
as a teen, when he rode his bike, solo, as far as Arizona. “Hold on, I’ll show you some pictures!”
he exclaimed and I eagerly awaited the album we would pore over together.
Imagine my shock, (the horror, the horror), when he led me to a closet and
pulled out a cardboard box with hundreds of stray photos jammed in every which
way. “They’re in here… somewhere.”

I had to
go have a shower; it was an abomination.

Oh come
on, give the guy a break.

I still
have nightmares.

Yeah,
but what about his fishing tackle?

True.

Anyone
who’s ever fished with Prez, who’s seen the German-like efficiency of his
tackle box, will testify that he is not completely immune from clean-itis. And,
come to think of it, I recall watching a movie long ago, with friends, and
seeing my new guy whip out a Dust Buster, mid-film, and start sucking up chip
crumbs from the carpet beneath the friends’ feet. Oh yes, it was love at first
vacuum.

Spring
is when my disease reaches critical mass. Spring: the flowers, the birds, the
sunshine, the dust! DUST!! So, here I am, smack in the middle of Spring
Cleaning Fever. Luckily we now have an Employee, so I will have more time to
clean…erm, I mean write, more time to
write.

Yes, we
have hired someone. We held off as long as possible but Prez’s back and knees
started soliciting resumes while we weren’t looking. It is odd having an
Employee. I’m really conscious of my behaviour all of a sudden – not wanting to
be anything like all the bosses I’ve ever hated. And yet, part of me feels like
one of those James Bond villains, stroking my cat, sitting in a big leather
chair, laughing maliciously – “Employee,
go dig a hole over there, mwa ha ha ha ha! And move those heavy bags of cement
five feet to the left, mwa ha ha ha!”

But
seriously, the new guy, DJ-B, (I considered nicknaming him “MC Hammer &
Saw” but thought it was a little verbose), is really nice and working like a
madman. Mwa ha ha ha! (I just love
that laugh).

I tried
to come up with a clever segway into this next bit but my brain is too tired.

I am
not!

Shhhhh,
they’re buying it. And the sooner we finish this Chronicle the sooner we flop
on the couch with Emily and watch Eddie Izzard DVDs!

Ooooooohhh.
I see. I’m so tired, I feel faint. I’m swooning.

Nice.

So, last
night I met the Ripsters at a book launch for The Purcell Suite. Their friend
Pat Morrow, a well respected outdoor photographer & filmmaker, was a
contributor to this anthology which celebrates the wild beauty of the Purcell
mountain range. But the book has another purpose.

You may
remember my rant (May 12, 2006) about the proposed development of the Jumbo Valley? (If not,
please visit the archives, and do stop in the gift shop on your way out). Well,
this anthology of stories, poems, and photos is not only a good read and a
fundraiser to help save Jumbo, but also a way of helping people see this slice
of vital wilderness through the eyes of those who love it. I think it’s a
brilliant idea. After all, we only fight to protect things we care about.

At the
book launch, there were readings from some of the contributors, a short speech
from a member of the “extinct” Sinixt Nation, (oh yes, that tribe is extinct
and therefore they won’t mind us taking all their land), and an elder of the
Ktunaxa Nation (he was very hard to hear but I did make out the words “moccasin”
and “boots”; I’m sure they were quite significant), as well as two short,
award-winning films. I was too tired to make it through the second film, but
the first, Still life for woodpecker?, was really fascinating.

On a
small scale, the film described the habitat, and habits, of the pileated woodpecker on a
much larger scale, the film dealt with the need for conservation of old growth
forests. Have you ever been lucky enough to wander through an old growth
forest? I have. Once you’ve touched a tree so large it would take ten or twelve
people, with arms extended, to encircle it, you gain a whole new appreciation
for the forest. Anyway, there was a bit in the film which I loved because I
think it illustrated, perfectly, the reason why one little species, such as the pileated woodpecker, is necessary to the health of an entire eco-system.

Pileated woodpeckers need large trees for their nests, and they usually carve out a new
nest every year. The empty nests become habitat for critters that aren’t able
to make their own, such as owls, squirrels, bats, etc. Now, the squirrels that
live in these abandoned woodpecker holes feed on, among other things, certain mushrooms
that grow at the base of these trees. In the process of digging up and eating
these mushrooms, the squirrel helps spread spores around which will become
future mushrooms. The tree is dependent on these mushrooms as they help the
tree absorb water and assist in the growth of new roots. Without the mushroom, the
tree would not be strong and healthy; without the squirrel, the mushroom
wouldn’t propagate; without the woodpecker, the squirrel would not have a home.
(Feel free to pop your “Lion King” DVD in and sing along to “The Circle of
Life”, at this juncture).

Anyhoo,
I bought two books. One I will keep for reference, and one I will send out to a
Mystery Recipient. Here’s the deal though, the person who finds “The Purcell
Suite” in their mailbox has a serious mission, (don’t worry, it won’t
self-destruct in 30 seconds or anything so dramatic). Should they choose to
accept this mission, they must a) Read the book as expediently as possible, b)
Write their name in the back, and c) Save the free world from the forces of
evil!

OK, OK,
got a bit carried away there. And c) Pass the book along to someone else,
giving them the same instructions.

After 50
names are in the book, the 50^th person must mail it back to me…upon
punishment of death! Mwa ha ha ha! (I
desperately need some time off). The book may be dog-eared, notes may be
scribbled on it, sections highlighted, readers may do whatever they please to
it, as long as the next person can read it in full.

But if
you can’t wait to find out if you are the Mystery Recipient, then you can
purchase “The Purcell Suite” here. There are also some great websites like
Wildsight and Jumbo Wild that can help you understand why we need to protect
these wild spaces, (and why we don’t need some big ass ski resort full of
neon-clad, mocha-latte-sipping, jet setters, and minimum wage, no-brainer,
service jobs in the middle of it all!)

And
speaking of wild things, our resident brown bear has come out of hibernation,
as evidenced by the garbage can he broke into last night and spread all over
our back yard. Well…sigh…I guess I better go clean it up!

I love
bears.

You only
love them because they’re messy and you get to pick up after them.

Do not.

Do too.

Not!

Too!!

Stupid
brain!!!

QUESTION:
Who will be the Mystery Recipient??? (Mwa
ha ha ha!)

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

The
Princess

p.s. – Here is a pic of the fence we were working on last week and one of Emily helping me with office paperwork. Very talented cat, that one!

Hello
again from the land of rocks…lots and lots of big, stupid, f#@$ing rocks!!!

Another
week, another job. Two, actually. Our first was a deck repair for the elderly
couple who live almost across the street from us. The second was a bit of a
surprise. A frantic phone call, a plea for help, so-and-so recommended you, an
offer of a cash bonus, and next thing you know we are rearranging our jammed
schedule to fit in another Nice Fence…stat! Not just a Nice Fence, though, a
super, extra-delicious, bonafide primo, sock-knocker-off-er, fence. Why?
Because our client is the owner of Purcell Timber Frame Homes and this fence is
going to be at the front of his business – his showpiece. Yikes!

These
guys build the most beautiful timber frames and ship them all over the world.
The one they’re working on right now is for a house in Hawaii. Pressure? Yep.

Our
first challenge was the ground.

One
thing Nelson has lots of is rocks. Spirits were high as we carefully plotted
and laid out our string line for the 108 foot fence. “108? That’s my lucky
number!” exclaimed the owner when we told him the length. Apparently it has to
do with the number of beads in some sort of Buddhist thing…only in Nelson. But
it didn’t take long for our smiles to invert. As we dug, each loud “CLANG”
signaled another troublesome rock, and there were innumerable clangs. With
shovels, a pinch bar, much grunting, and lots of sweat, we wrestled the beasts
from the ground, our curses getting more colourful with each hole.

I never
knew 2 feet could be such a long way down.

Which
brings me to this week’s subject: Happiness. Yes, you read that correctly.
Happiness is something most of us seek but where, when, and how we find it is
often a mystery. Of course there are different types of happiness – the short-lived
laughing fit, the deep satisfying pleasure of a good life, the joy that comes
and goes with an event like Xmas or a birthday – but that doesn’t matter to our
memories. Five minutes or five years, we never forget the truly happy moments
in our lives.

If
happiness is our goal, why do we so often fail to achieve it? We have all had
the experience of looking forward to a good time only to find ourselves bored
silly, or worse. Conversely, I’m sure you can name at least one time you were
dreading going to some function, some party, or luncheon, or meeting, or
something, only to have a fantastic time, a memorably happy time. I would even
go so far as to say, most of the good times we anticipate let us down, whereas
the unplanned moments, the impromptu get togethers, the surprise visits, turn
out to be the most fun.

New
Years Eve tops the list for me as some of my biggest let downs. It took me a
number of years to realize the hype about New Years was just that…hype. I
always dreamed of going to one of those big, fancy events downtown with live
music, balloons, and champagne, (they always look so fun in the movies), but
eventually clued in that sitting in a room with a couple hundred strangers
wearing uncomfortable shoes was no one’s idea of a good time. Still, year after
year I eagerly anticipated the last night of the year, and, without fail, was
disappointed.

Until…

I think
the year was 90 or 91, and I was working as a cocktail waitress at a nice
neighbourhood pub in New Westminster, while going to university. The end of the
year rolled around, my boyfriend was scheduled to work New Years Eve, and I’d
had it with the whole deal, so I volunteered to work that night, too, feeling
cranky and despondent. Well, the place was rockin’, all the regulars were there,
and just before midnight the boss waved all us waitresses over to the bar and
poured a row of shooters for us to toast with. After the countdown she told us
that if any customer bought us a drink we could drink it…and we did. What a
party! We danced, we drank, we got monster tips, and it was about 4am when the
taxi dropped me off at home. It was about 5am when the taxi picked me up again.
The boss had rented a limo; we all climbed in, in various states of tipsiness
and exhaustion, and motored downtown for the annual polar bear swim. (I would
say that it is a good idea to be slightly intoxicated before leaping into the
frigid Pacific at 6am). My New Year’s Eve ended sometime around dinner on
January 1^st.

That was
one of the best New Years Eve’s of my life. It is also one of the happiest
memories I have of that turbulent period of my life. Happiness came to me when
I least expected it to.

And what
about this: Have you ever found yourself laughing in the middle of some
horrible experience? Can you recall a failed dinner, a vacation where
everything went wrong, a day at work so hellish you wished it were Monday
again? And yet, when you recall the memory, or share the story with friends,
you find yourself laughing? Hundreds of other days, seemingly pleasant,
stress-free days, slip away from you forever, but that day, that horrible day sticks and continuously
brings a smile to your face years later.

For Prez
and me, our horrible day began in the Loreto airport, in Baja, when we arrived
to catch our Canada 3000 charter flight home.

The
Loreto airport is small. How small is it? It’s so small you have to go outside
to change your mind. Bud-ump-bump.
Um, where was I? Yes, very small airport, and so it was very strange to arrive
shortly before our flight and find the building empty. We checked the board and
there were no flights posted. We called the Canada 3000 toll-free number and
just got some recording that, basically, said, “Piss off, we’re not telling you
anything!” Finally the guy who worked at the chip counter, (which was always
out of chips), asked us if we were waiting for the plane and informed us it
wouldn’t be coming today. We asked him when it was coming, to which he replied, “I think the plane never come.”

This is
how we learned Canada 3000 had gone bankrupt and left thousands of passengers
(like us) stranded. Unfortunately, we were the only people on the entire flight
who weren’t staying at a hotel so our travel agent had no way of contacting us.
Now we were stuck, and Prez had to be back for work, pronto.

With the
help of Chip Stand Guy, we managed to book the last two seats on a charter
flight going as far as La Paz. From there, we figured we could rent a car and
blast to Cabo where we could get the late flight to L.A. and then home.

At the
La Paz airport we dashed to the rental car booth and tapped our feet
impatiently while the agent slowly, and methodically, filled out the forms. You
wanted to scream, “Look, we’re not
applying for a mortgage, we just need to drive a couple hundred miles!!” When
the forms were complete he escorted us out to the car with a map. Time was
ticking away. “Now,” he began, as he
passed us the key and pointed to the map, “…the
nearest gas station is here…” Gas station? The fuel tank was completely
empty! Arrrrgh!!!

Fueled
up, we raced to the highway, keeping a close eye on the time. Very quickly we
realized it was Sunday and every resident of Baja was out driving…at 30 mph.
When we hit clear stretches of road, Prez used up what was left of that rental
car’s life span. It was only my last minute cry of “COW!!!”, and Prez’s
excellent driving skills that saved us from near disaster.

The
person who designed the rental car return parking lot at the Cabo airport did
so specifically to make our lives as frustrating as possible.

We
missed the flight.

But,
there was another one that was late, so we could get on!

At 10:00
p.m.

Oh well.

Being
post 911, the airport security crew was stupidly vigilant. They confiscated my
really nice, really expensive tweezers (just in case I threatened to pluck the
captain’s eyelashes or something), and then told us we couldn’t take our
fishing reels in our carry on bags, we’d have to check them. What?? Why?!
Because we might use the line to strangle someone, (well, you better take our
shoelaces too, Einstein!). “Can we carry
them on if we take the line off?” The answer was yes and when we finished
removing all of our very nice, and very expensive, fishing line it looked like
we had gillnetted the security desk.

Dinner
consisted of the last taco left in the cafeteria, which was closing, of course.
It was a chicken & chicken bone taco – heavy on the bone, light on the
chicken.

We
arrived in L.A. at the same time a 747 of French people did, which made the
customs line up interesting…and long…and sllllllloooooooow. It was near 1 am
and our flight to Vancouver was at 7am so there wasn’t much point going to a
hotel. Tired, hungry, and cranky, we bedded down on the coziest patch of carpet
we could find. Who knew they like to drop the temperature in the airport down
to near-freezing at night? Having come from the scorching desert we had only a
sweatshirt and thin pants for warm clothing. Huddled together to stay warm we
drifted off to sleep…for 3.4 seconds, at which time the gas-powered floor
buffer powered up next to our heads. Cribbage and coffee until check-in. Sigh.

We
taxied down the runway; Vancouver was less than 3 hours away, bed less than 4
or 5. All was right with the world and we could relax. Then the captain’s
voice, which was oddly somber, crackled over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to tell you
this but I have to report that a plane has crashed in New York. We don’t know
if it was terrorists, we’ll keep you posted.” And a second later, more than
a little freaked out, we were taking off.

The rest
of the trip was uneventful, (all five hours of it), and the crash of the plane
in New York (not due to terrorists) helped put our sufferings in perspective.
We had a few good chuckles during that horrible trip and even now I am smiling
as I write.

Perhaps
the happiness we derive from difficult times comes from the closeness we feel
with our friends and family at those moments. We are like soldiers, banding
together to fight a common enemy. And this week, the enemy was rocks.

CLANG!

Princess:
“Oh look what I found, sweetie! A rock!”

Prez: “Wow! You’re lucky.”

Prez: “We need something to hold down the tarp on
those bags of cement. Hmmm, what can we use? If only we had some rocks.”

Princess:
“Hey, I’ve got an idea to make this easier!
So, we take some dynamite and put it in the hole…”

It
helped, immeasurably, to return home, muscles screaming, tired as we’ve been in
years, to hear the mellifluous voice of Becky “Mountain Momma” Rippel on our
answering machine telling us to come over for Greek ribs. Not the first time, I
must mention, that she has saved our cold and tired selves from a bleak dinner
of spaghetti with tinned pasta sauce.

Happiness
is tricky, elusive, often fleeting. We struggle and sweat to find it, likewise
to hang onto it, and often don’t appreciate it until it’s gone.

But,
sometimes, happiness is as simple as a plate of Greek ribs shared with good
friends.

QUESTION:
What’s the worst time you’ve ever had that makes you smile?

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

The
Princess

p.s. – I really like the video you see below – kind of eerie but very creative. Enjoy

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

Some of
you may know Prez’s other nickname, “Fast Freddy”. (See also: Freaker Freddy,
Full-On Freddy, Energizer Bunny on Steroids, etc.). This name was given to him
because…oh come on; I don’t really
have to explain it, do I?

There’s
an episode of Star Trek (yes, here we go again) where Capt. Kirk somehow gets
transmogrified with a fly (I think, and, yes, I may have made that word up) and
suddenly he is moving so fast that the rest of the crew appear to him to be
standing still – frozen in place. I imagine that’s how we all must appear to
Prez. 

I’m not
a particularly fast person by nature but living with my husband I have
developed different gears. When we shop together, as an example, I have to curb
my ‘wandering’ tendencies. Prez, you see, is not just fast, he is also
efficient. If he could, I’m sure he would have us review a grocery store ‘plan
of attack’ the night before to maximize shopping/per minute.

Prez: “Quadrant 1 is Fruits and Veggies. Here we will
spend no more than 2.17 minutes to acquire the following: bananas, apples,
broccoli, and tomatoes. Ignore the bright displays and don’t even think about
going near the organic section. Now on to Quadrant—“
Princess:
“Ooooo, can we buy a starfruit this week?”
Prez: “What the bloody hell is a starfruit?”
Princess:
“Umm, well, I saw it on a TV show, a
cooking show, and they were—“
Prez: “You don’t even know what it is, do you??”
Princess:
“Well… it’s shaped like a star.”
Prez: “Moving on, Quadrant 2 is…”

Grocery
shopping has always been a sore point between us. We have been able to strike a
balance in almost every arena of our life together, except for the grocery
store. As a result, we end up going it alone most of the time. Prez zooms out
and is back within an hour, with a minimum of bags filled with mostly practical
foods he has priced out for the best bargain. My trips to the grocery store can
turn into small vacations. Prez occasionally finds a postcard in the mail:
“Dear Prez, Having a wonderful time in the canned goods section of Save On,
wish you were here!”

The
truth is, I’m easily distracted. Walking down the canned foods aisle my
thoughts might go something like this: ‘Hmmm,
green beans. I wonder if I should buy a can of green beans? No. I always hated
them as a child. What is it with vegetables in cans? Disgusting really. Oooo,
these ones have bits of mango in them, though. That could be good. I sure miss
mangos. The mangos in Costa Rica were delicious, so full of flavour. What was
the name of that bridge we crossed on the way back from Panama when we bought
those mangos? Oh damn, it’s on the tip of my tongue. I wonder…oh look, canned
beets! Those always remind me of Xmas…” and on and on it goes.

When I
finally return home, I’m sure Prez must be in a state of agitation wondering
what exotic goodies he will find in my bags.
Prez: “Tinned green beans with mango? When the hell
are we ever going to eat that!?”
Princess:
“Ummm, well, remember in Costa Rica when
we…”

Relationships
are all about adjustment though, aren’t they? Prez has learned to accept,
however grudgingly, my culinary oddities and I have learned to speed up. I can
now shower, dress, and coiff myself in roughly the time it takes the average
person to sneeze. It wasn’t an easy learning process. I can distinctly
remember, more than once, stepping out of the shower, dripping wet, in
preparation for a night out somewhere and Prez yelling up to me from the front
door, “I’ll be in the truck.” The
good news is if there is ever some kind of national emergency and we have to
flee our homes on very short notice, I will be the only refugee who’s freshly
showered, eaten a full meal, and has written off a few dozen emails to friends
before leaving.

The down
side to life in the Prez lane is that you get used to it. And that’s fine, when
it’s just the two of us. When you have to deal with the rest of the world,
things get a bit trickier. How many camping trips have I been woken at dark
o’clock, flung into the madness of packing and prepping – “Breakfast? We don’t have time for breakfast! Let’s go!! Let’s go!!!”
– only to arrive at the home of our camping buddies who have only just rolled
out of bed. “We’ll be ready ion a minute!
We just have to shower, do our laundry, pack, make eggs and pancakes, write a
few emails, clean the house, and bake a lasagna to take with us.” And there
we sit, for the next two hours – Prez tapping his feet, me glaring at him while
my stomach growls in complete sentences.

How many????

And
Prez’s fastness is often mistaken for rudeness. Believe me; he isn’t trying to
be disrespectful. The small talk and pleasantries so many of us are used to
simply take up too much of his precious time. The staff of our local building
supply store must cringe when they see our red truck wheeling into the parking
lot. To be fair – aren’t I always fair – it’s not Prez’s fault. Most of the
folks working the front desk are…ummm…not as fast or knowledgeable as they
should be (was that kind enough?). The lumber yard guys are good; Prez trained
them up quite quickly and a case of beer at Xmas doesn’t hurt. Front desk
is…yeah, like I said, not so fast. And the guys in the yard are likely on
crack.

So,
anyway, the procedure for getting stuff from the yard (such as bags of cement,
drywall, flashing, etc.) is supposed to be this: You go inside, order and pay
for all the items at the front desk. Then, you go out to the yard, give the
nice young man the yellow copy of your receipt, and he loads up all the items
into your truck. Uh huh. It’s a great idea, except half the time the front desk
people have no clue what item you’re asking for, or what the code is, or if
it’s in stock, etc. etc. Then you actually have to find a yard guy. And he has to put down his crack pipe to search
for your items, so it isn’t a very speedy process. Nor is he going to care if
said items are bent, dented, or otherwise messed up.

Here’s
our new system: We drive to the yard and find all the items we need (noting the
sku’s and codes), load them into our truck, go to the front desk and give them
a list of what we have. Bypassing the yard guys probably shaves at least 15
minutes off our time. Now, if we could only figure out how to bypass the front
desk, too. Hmmmmm.

But
speed has worked in Prez’s favour here in Nelson. You may have heard the
expression “Mexican Time” referring to the slow pace at which things get done
in Mexico, well, there is also “Kootenay Time” which is slightly faster than
Mexican Time and near lightspeed compared to “Bahamian Time”, but still significantly
slower than “Prez Time”. One client was amazed that we; a) showed up so
quickly, b) showed up, c) actually completed the job in the time frame we said
we would, and d) knew what the heck we were doing.

Well,
all you really have to tell people here is that you just moved up from the
city. “Oh, from the city you say? Can you
start today?” They immeadiately want to hire you before you are sucked into
the vortex of the laid-back Kootenay lifestyle.

Now that
the sun is shining, Prez is even more revved up. Yesterday I cut out an ad for
the local tennis club and left it on his desk – I think I actually heard a tiny
part of his brain pop into life. It isn’t the ocean, we’re not in bathing suits
(yet), and mornings we still have to dress as if we are about to trek to the
Antarctic, but spring is here and life is beginning to bloom! Not fast enough
for Prez, I am sure, but then, nothing ever is!

Hoppy
Bunny Day everyone! Have a wonderful weekend and a VERY happy birthday to
Titanium Chef Kozy, who we miss lots and lots!

QUESTION:
What is your speed?

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

The
Princess

p.s. –
I’m going to try to put a video on here, not sure how successful I’ll be but
it’s quite funny – be patient, hang in for the cat bit at the end.

p.p.s –
There’s a new photo album from Baja & 29 Palms, check it out!

Hello
again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

This
week I thought I’d write about the death penalty, gay marriage, abortion, and
legalizing marijuana. NOT. Whew, it’s a lot of work being controversial, how
does Rosie O’Donnell do it??

Actually,
this week I thought I’d share some randomness with you…I’m feeling very random
today.

The
movie I raved about in a previous Chronicle, “Sharkwater”, is now out in wide
release. How excited was I to see a huge, glowing, review in The Vancouver Sun
newspaper? Let’s just say there were cartwheels…and we were in a restaurant!
The movie has already won numerous awards and the reviewer gave it four stars.
Here’s some unauthorized quotes (apologies to the writer):

“…Sharkwater is guaranteed to make you think
long and hard about the daily decisions you make, and their impact on the world
in general. Specifically, Sharkwater asks the viewer to take a second look at
the toothy predators of the deep, and their longstanding reputation as
ferocious maneaters.”

“It’s the shark’s beauty that finally
outweighs all the politics, and it’s also the strongest part of Stewart’s film.
Shot in high definition, the movie is one of the most beautiful underwater
movies ever recorded without the use of IMAX technology, and could easily become
a nature classic.”

COOL!

Go see
it…please.

Emily is
recovering from hepatitis. Weird, huh? I took her to the vet after we returned
from Baja for a check up – she just wasn’t herself. The vet was very concerned.
Emily is 14 and she had suddenly lost a lot of weight, was “hiding” in the
bedroom, and was extremely dehydrated. We took blood; the result for her liver
was off the chart, so much so that the vet was positive she had liver cancer as
well as hepatitis. You can imagine how stressed I was. Well, they say evil is
hard to kill; she’s made a full recovery. I have instructions to let her eat as
much as she wants and you better believe she’s milking that one for all it’s
worth. If you’ve never had a cat sit on your head at 3a.m meowing because her dish
is empty, you, my friend, are a very lucky person.

Here’s
some more things I like about Nelson:

– We go
home to eat lunch. Nothing we need or want is more than 10 minutes away.

– People
on the street routinely say hello and strike up conversations. We have been
building a fence on a fairly busy street and we get a constant flow of
encouragement. “Hey, looking great!”

-Artsy
stuff is everywhere. Today we finished pouring cement and setting the last few
fence posts and the owner of the house came along and set shiny glass beads in
the wet cement; it looked really funky!

-We went
into the office of the local paper just after Xmas, about one of our ads, and
there were letters all over the wall that Nelson kids had written to Santa. One
little girl wrote: “Dear Santa, how are you doing? I’m going to leave you milk
and cookies but I was wondering what kind of milk you would like: cow milk, soy
milk, goat milk, or rice milk?” Isn’t that hysterical? Sooooo Nelson.

The snow
is mostly gone. Good riddance (apologies to skiers)! We have one tiny patch
left on our lawn. As we passed by it on the way to the Rippel’s place for
dinner (mmmmm, creamy, fattening, garlicky pasta) we gave it the finger. It is
sunning out today and the Princess is joyous!

Speaking
of the Rippels, they just returned from a week in the Dominican Republic. They
travel very much like we do, usually, but this one time they did the
all-inclusive thing. Anyhoo, the Ripster went scuba diving for the very first
time! Hooray!! We watched the DVD of his dive that the resort makes for the
guests. We were simultaneously thrilled to see our good friend making bubbles
and exploring our “turf”, and cringing (we are PADI certified Divemasters,
after all) at the complete lack of safety or training the operation provided.
Yikes!

The
Roneys also just returned from a sunny getaway. Interestingly, they usually do the all-inclusive route
but this time decided to go it alone (um, they weren’t exactly roughing it, in
a 4 bedroom villa, so don’t feel too sorry for them). Their trip was fab,
apparently, but I’m sure they will now heartily support me when I remind people
to always carry a change of clothes and other necessities in their carry-on
bag!

I
received TWO parcels last week. Have I told you how much I looooooove parcels?
So silly, really. One was from Writer’s Digest magazine and was one of the
books that is part of my prize. The other was from Mom Nancy – who always sends
the BEST parcels. This time she sent a Cross pen for my future book signings
and a book about…a bookstore . How fun is that? She also recently returned from
vacation – Carribean cruise.

Hey, did
everyone decide to leave town the same two weeks or what??

We
watched the movie “Borat”. It wasn’t as funny as I thought it was going to be,
but still pretty darn funny. We also went to the Castlegar Theater to see
“300”. Not a lot of subtlety to that flick, but lots and lots of buff beefcakes in leather thongs…yummy!

Well,
that’s life this week.

Oh, but
wait. This week, while I was thinking about all the people cheering us on as we
build the fence, I remembered a funny thing that happened about five or six
years ago. Me, Martha, and Cathy (another friend), were out for a long run on
the dike. We had to return to the local golf course parking lot to get to our
cars and little did we know that there was some big fundraising walk/run going
on that morning. So, we come trotting around the corner and here’s all these
people yelling, clapping and cheering us on. Then a band starts playing – I kid
you not. There were balloons and refreshments. They looked at us a little strangely
when we veered off to our car and not to the post-race meeting area. The three
of us all agreed that we would probably enjoy running more if there were always
that kind of support along the way! LOL.

DOH! I almost forgot. CONGRATS to Miss Eng and EJ who have officially decided to make it official and join the ranks of the happily wedded!!! Couldn’t have happened to a nicer, or cuter, couple. Way to go!! (She’s going to kill me when she reads this. Good thing she doesn’t know about the photos I posted at the bottom!)

Well, my
Prez is sleeping – tired after a long, hard week of wondering why he has to
keep showing me how to do the same things over and over and over and over – and
I think I may join him for a nap.

QUESTION:
What activity would you most like to have cheerleaders for?

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

The
Princess