Bye, Beautiful

Hey, Beautiful!

It's New Year's Eve. Ron and Jean will be here soon to see the New Year in as we traditionally do. This time we're celebrating at our place.

M and I have had a moment this evening to sip his favourite liqueur, Amarula Cream and look back on the past year. You were with us at the beginning of the year but now you are gone.

The corner chair looks more at home in the corner window of the bedroom where we had your cat tree. We've got used to the spaciousness of the bedroom now that your scratching post and cushion are no longer there either. We also no longer think to pick up your bowls and wash them when we do the dishes.

We don't look for you as much anymore. We still miss you but not as acutely. Our lives are moving on. Not because we didn't love sharing our lives with you but because that is how life is: it moves on. And we should move on too.

I remember a saying my brother wrote in my mother's fortieth birthday card: 'You come alive each time you dare to die. Let go, move on, say good-bye.'

Bye, Beautiful.

Happy Birthday, M!

'Happy Birthday to my Husband!

We've been through it all - the good, the bad, the very good, the very bad, and the inspiring moments that make it all worthwhile ... and through it all, I've always been grateful to be sharing life with you. I love you!'

So read the words in the card I gave M this morning. We have spent his last sixteen birthdays together. Twice I have forgotten to get him a card and one of those times I almost forgot it was his birthday. That was ten years ago when we were visiting family in Arizona. Poor guy - it's not much fun that his birthday is slap bang between Christmas and New Year. It really is overshadowed by the festivities. Add a trip to the Grand Canyon in the mix and he's sure to be overlooked - bad wife.

M is a good man, not only I say so: my father's favourite description of him - 'champion'. He is honourable, trustworthy and reliable. He's quiet, a clown when he wants to be, and true to his word. Over fifteen years ago, he attracted my attention because his friends spoke so well of him. They respected and esteemed him; those qualities required closer inspection of the man.

That is what drew me to him. I married him because of his strong faith, dependability and financial savvy. I knew I was making the right choice when one of my students said to me, "Ma'am, he treats you like a queen." Which woman doesn't want to be queen in her man's life?

We've stayed married because of our faith, our shared interests, and the fun we have together. We laugh a lot. I didn't know I was funny until I married M. He understands my humour and laughs at my jokes. Also, he's a good hugger and a great kisser.

But the greatest attribute he has brought to our life together is his capacity to change. He's not the man I married fourteen years ago. And just as well, as I am not the same woman he married over a decade ago. I often think that I'm all M wanted in a wife and nothing he expected. His capacity to change has allowed our marriage to grow and he's given me room to explore and be more myself. This is one of his greatest gifts to me.

Honey, I love you and I'm so glad we're still journeying through life together. Happy Birthday! The best is yet to come.

Christmas Romance

Christmas Day 2009 was a gloriously sunny day in Vancouver - sans the snow. This Christmas season Vancouverites wistfully compared the weather to last year when we were blanketed with snow. A white Christmas is both romantic and impractical.

Indeed, this Christmas we missed the romance of last year's Christmas. Christmas Eve 2008, it snowed most of the day. The snow accumulated on top of previous snow falls and driving became treacherous. One of the pleasures of living on Lonsdale is that we can walk to stores, friends and church.

We put on gum boots and stylishly matched them with our hats, scarves and warm coats. Like pioneers we walked eighteen blocks to a Christmas Eve service. We stopped by Morrie and Em's place and walked the last five blocks together. It was snow quiet and dark. We walked in the road as few cars were out and about. As true Vancouverites would, we put up our umbrellas to keep dry from the falling snow.

The Christmas Eve service was sparsely attended. Did I mention the impracticality of snow? We sang carols, commemorated the birth of our Saviour, drank hot chocolate and chatted with others who made it to the service. On the way home, twenty steps from the church, some-one started a snow ball fight. Was it Morrie or was it M? It is almost guaranteed to be one of the boys, but it didn't take long for the girls to join in. We hooted with laughter at misdirected snowballs and ones that hit their mark.

Who else could we throw snowballs at? We headed to friends who live one block down from Morrie and Em. We could see easily into their second floor apartment. Angus was watching TV and Josie was working at a craft at the dining room table. We directed snowballs at their window. Splat, splat. Our snowballs were getting their attention. Angus came to the window irritated by the neighbourhood kids throwing snowballs. He opened the patio door and we broke out into a rendition of "We wish you a Merry Christmas!"

It was good to be kids again. We smiled, waved, shouted Christmas wishes and went on our way.

Christmas day was spectacular! The sky was an intense crisp blue. The snow was pristinely innocent. We equipped ourselves again in our gum boots, scarves and warm coats and trudged up to Morrie and Em's for brunch. A local supermarket had been cordoned off overnight; the roof had collapsed under the weight of the snow. A neighbour of Morrie and Em's was red-faced, exasperated and sweaty as she finished digging her car out of the snow. She didn't look too merry as we greeted her. I did mention the impracticalities of snow, didn't I?

Yes, we sure missed the romance of a white Christmas this year, but at least we don't have to dig ourselves out of the rain.

A Walk and a Wedding

Saturday afternoon we got our walk on the beach to Haystack Rock. There were no red-painted toe nails sinking into the warm sand this time. We bundled up with jackets, gloves and scarves. No hat was required but sunglasses were. Morrie and M strode ahead.

Summer sand castles were replaced by broken sheets of ice where the river tide had receded. The seagulls were fewer but plenty enough had stayed in town to delight me with their aerial show. A few diehard surfers took on the waves - wetsuit required to avoid hypothermia, even in summer. Dogs chased seagulls and walkers enjoyed the brisk air. Em snapped some pictures and we talked. We wondered what the boys were talking about.

This moment was a breather in the busyness of December; Christmas was just thirteen days away.

We didn't expect to be part of a Cannon Beach wedding reception. The ceremony was a private affair. It was rumoured the bride, Susie McEntire, sister to Reba, wore a black suit and carried flowers. A singer at our Christmas conference, Susie met her husband-to-be in May 2008 at a Cannon Beach conference. Now, Saturday afternoon's free-time was the perfect opportunity to tie the knot. While the lovely couple was married, we took our walk on the beach.

At dinner that evening, essentially the wedding reception, Morrie felt it would be fitting to toast the happy couple. He started to tap his glass with his knife. Guests at nearby tables turned their heads to look at us. My inhibitions got the better of me. Startled, I looked at him across the table, wide-eyed, "Morrie, what are you doing?"

Morrie stopped. My look pulled him back from a moment of light-heartedness and fun.

"You're blushing," one of the elderly ladies at our table commented to me. Not only that, I was kicking myself. I had single-handedly kiboshed a spontaneous toast and those turning to look at us had small smiles on their faces not frowns. But the moment was lost, Morrie wasn't about to start over. He laughed, "I saw your look and thought I'd better stop."

Later that evening, at the indoor caroling with hot apple cider, hot chocolate and cookies, Susie and her husband had their wedding dance while she sang. Her husband, Mark, snuggled in for a cuddle. "Hey, I'm still singing here," his wife laughed.

Too bad they never got their wedding toast. Morrie would've done a good job.

Clam Chowder and Tea in Oregon

This time, when we rolled into Cannon Beach, the restaurants were subdued and quiet. Cranky Sue's was closed (see Lunch Date August 2009). Their outdoor tables were packed to the side and the artificial thatch umbrellas were stacked for the winter. Already this little town felt familiar, part of the family, part of our lives. I eagerly anticipated two days of our lives unfolding here.

It was too early to get into our rooms at the conference centre and M had a taste for clam chowder. We headed into Seaside for lunch. Dundee's Bar and Grill looked appealing, served clam chowder and the menu at the doorway indicated that this pub would not rip our wallets out of our pockets and empty them for us.

The clam chowder was indeed superb, thick and flavourful; we earmarked it as a pub lunch well worth heading back to Oregon for. M ordered his served in a sourdough bread bowl. Yummy! I relish that part of marriage where what is his is mine too. I savoured the bread, especially the sticky side that was covered with the clam chowder.

The chowder was good, the bread was good-good and the company was goodest of all. The only below average item was the tea - known as hot tea in the USA to differentiate it from iced tea.

I'm a tea pot. I drink pots of the stuff whenever I can. I like it hot, black or red, medium-strong and with milk. However, not many North Americans have acquired the etiquette of drinking tea. It is equated with coffee and a tea drinker is expected to put cream in her hot tea. Many times I ask for milk, other times I bastardise my tea and add the cream. My friend, Jules, won't desecrate her tea that way, but I'll take my tea anyway I can get it.

At my request, Dundee's did provide me with milk to add to my tea: a glass full. Next time though, I will request that a kettle is boiled rather than provide lukewarm water from an urn.

On second thoughts, I'm in a pub. When in a pub, order a beer - much simpler.

Cannon Beach, Here We Come!

It was winter dark at 7am. Within the next half an hour gossamer streaks of sunrise would start to paint out the darkness. We were headed for a weekend trip down to Cannon Beach with Morrie and Em.

In the darkness and quietness of the car, as we whooshed down the I5 highway, we recounted stories of our trip to Calgary to our friends. Our week so far had seen us spend Monday and Thursday in Vancouver, and Tuesday and Wednesday in Calgary. Now it was Friday and we were in Washington State headed down to a Christmas Conference in Cannon Beach, Oregon, until Sunday.

I looked forward to spending the weekend with our friends in this little jewel of a town. I also looked forward to a wintery walk on the beach.

Would the seagulls swoop up into the sky as if they were one just as they did in the summer? I had enjoyed lying on the summery warm beach with the seagulls squawking and swooping in the cloudless sky above me. A disturbance would set them all a flight: their circling orchestrated by an unseen conductor. It fascinated me how they circled and flew in different directions but still operated as a whole and didn't collide.

With my private view of the seagulls in flight directly above me, I felt part of their display. In that moment, I was a little girl again, seeing the world from a different angle. It reminded me of the times, as a girl, I would lie on the grass, look up at the African sky and lose myself in the shapes of the clouds. It's a surreal experience of time ceasing and being fully present in the moment.

I looked forward to seeing the seagulls, and I wondered which new memories would make their way home with us on Sunday.

Christmas in Calgary

This year we celebrated an early Christmas. We didn't have to dream of a white Christmas. Calgary's winter blizzard had blown in the weekend before our arrival. The temperature was North Pole cold at -15C , and -28C with the wind chill. Driving from the airport to the hotel we saw Santa's reindeer gearing up for their around the world trip as they meandered in a snow laden field. Our Christmas tree was brightly decorated and placed in the hotel foyer. Christmas lunch was a delicious Moxie's chicken burger enjoyed in a hurry before we reported for our Christmas elves' duty.

We knew a few of the elves volunteering at the Christmas warehouse; shoe box co-ordinators from other Operation Christmas Child collection centres in the greater Vancouver area. There was no shortage of gifts. There were thousands, and not one was for us. As Christmas carols and songs filled the warehouse, we sorted shoe boxes and taped them shut ready for their long trip to Central and South American children.

As elves, we inspected the shoe boxes for candy that was not hard-boiled. We removed offending candy that could melt or breakdown into a powder form resembling narcotics. Toys that might leak, melt or bring offence (war toys, playing cards) to the receiving country were also removed. Most shoe boxes were well and fully packed but, where needed, additional items such as paper and pens, knitted dolls and toys were added. Samaritan's Purse honours the intent of the donor and, except for when the shoe box is under packed and/or offending items are removed, the shoe box is sent on as it is received.

We worked hard - two shifts the first day and two the next. We returned to our hotel room tired, with home-made Borscht soup in our tummies, and pleased with our Christmas elves effort. I rewarded my tired muscles with a soothing soak in the tub. M stretched out on the bed and watched 'Law and Order'.

On our last shift I skipped my coffee break so that I could maximise my time and seal as many shoe boxes as possible before we had to hang up our elves' hats and head back to Vancouver on the 4:15pm flight.

My memory of my first quick in and out trip to Calgary is the city's skyline from the aeroplane, bone-chilling-I'm-glad-we-live-in-Vancouver cold, an over-heated hotel, seeing more shoe boxes than snowflakes and relief that we weren't stranded by the next winter blizzard that was showing its presence on our drive out to the airport.

But most of all is the great sense of satisfaction that, in a small way, we too are making a difference to a little someone somewhere else in this world.

Calgary Shower

I assessed the situation. The shower head and faucet can always be found in the expected place wherever one happens to be showering on the globe. The nuances though are to be found in how one operates it.

Do I get rushing water by turning a protruding gadget this way or that? Do I have to pull out a lever to switch the water from the bath spout to the shower spout or is there an ingenious way to accomplish that feat? Do I have to move a handle quickly from cold through warm to get to a hotter temperature or can I make a good guess and hope to find the right temperature straight away? Some showers let you do that others don't.

The shower at our hotel room in Calgary seemed pretty straight forward. I turned the protruding faucet handle through the various temperatures until I found the temperature I liked. While the water gushed into the bath, I looked with my trained eye at the apparatus more closely. Yes, this one had an almost indiscernible extension to the bath spout. If I pulled that down it should divert water to the shower head. Only problem is, if I'm right, I have to be quick and get out of the line of fire of the first burst from the shower.

I moved and angled the shower head. Hmmm - that looked about right. The initial blast of cold water coming out of the pipe would not assault my nakedness. I switched the running water to the shower head and, in a quick flash, stepped back.

Success! No rude awakening for me this morning.

I stepped in under the warm water and thought what a treat the shower is for M when we travel. It's my job to recce the shower. I'm deployed to ascertain its strategic features and to gain the upper hand. Equipped in my birthday suit, I run the risk of an ice cold or a blistering hot assault if I make a wrong move.

M on the other hand, approaches the shower equipped with the knowledge of where the strategic gadgets are, how they operate and at which hour to have the handle of the faucet for just the right temperature. No suprises for him.

However, to be fair, I conduct the shower reconnaissance because it takes me longer to get ready in the morning. It's not my face but my hair that takes the extra time. And to be really fair, when we travel, I get to put my clothes on the bed and M packs the suitcases; he also co-ordinates the all important paperwork (air tickets, passports et al).

Hmm, come to think of it, now that I'm warm under the shower, my recce contribution isn't such a bad assignment after all.

The Barracuda

Out came the Italian silk suit (see Divas Night Out November 2009). I matched it with a glittering evening top (inherited), my stylish black coat (also inherited) and I was ready for a night on the town. M and I were headed, together with an unmarried colleague of his, to the company's annual holiday gala (see Ride Sally Ride October 2009).

Over the years it has become an annual tradition that the three of us are an item at the gala. So much so, that this year Geena picked us up and chauffeured us to the Hotel Vancouver for our shindig.

One of the company treats was an automatic photograph cubicle to snap how good you look in your glitter rags! M and I lined up for our photograph. Geena joined us to have our picture taken. Like I said, we've become an item at the company gala.

Geena challenged us to do The Barracuda. The What? Well, what you do is open your eyes really wide and blow bubbles with your lips when the camera takes your picture. You look wide eyed, blubbery lipped and not real pretty - kinda barracuda like. Sure, why not?

Thankfully, we had four shots to get it right. As you can tell from the progression, Geena had a bit of a time getting her face into the shot. We had to encourage her to cosy up to M. Like I said...

M got it right straight away. He's proving to be a keen party animal. I, of course, had a bit of time loosening up. First I was tense, next a touch more relaxed but still looking down trying to figure it out and then ... I got it! It was great fun. We roared with laughter from beginning to end. No one else seemed to have as much fun in the cubicle as we did. But then again, like I said...

Much later, heading back to the banquet hall after the dessert buffet, we passed the open doors of the dance hall. The band was playing. M grabbed my hand and groovied through the doors. He wanted to dance. The dance floor was big and empty. Not another soul out there. I hesitated, and then agreed.

We hardly recognised ourselves out on the dance floor alone. Other patrons had already mingled in, standing to the side or finding a spot at the occasional tables. M and I danced anyhow. We applauded ourselves and the band at the end of the song. M was all geared up for the second song but I called it quits. It wasn't a good song and my bravado had cooled.

That wasn't the last dance of the evening. We like to dance and so does Geena. The three of us hit the dance floor, now full with others, shortly afterwards. We groovied the night away. At times I danced on my own; as long as the music is good I'll stay right out there.

At eleven o'clock the three of us called it a wrap. There wasn't much more fun we were going to squeeze out of the night. We had done the Barracuda, danced solo, and boogeyed our hearts out. What more was there to do?

Mediterranean Green Beans

M will eat pretty much anything I put in front of him. This makes for a happy marriage as I have little patience with fussy eaters. Also we like the same foods: Thai, Greek and Indian are our favourite with neither of us being overly keen on Japanese food. We'll eat it to be polite but, personally, I have never understood the furore over sushi.

However, there are some vegetables M doesn't care to eat. I don't understand what he has against brussels sprouts, green beans (or any type of bean) and peas. Speaking of peas, M will eat canned peas, whereas for me the mushy texture of canned peas is right up there with sushi.

Since our marriage, M has come to enjoy cauliflower. When grocery shopping together, he'll hold up a cauliflower, look at me expectantly, raise his eyebrows and nod his head hopefully. It's actually the cheese sauce that he likes so much. I can never make too much cheese sauce. I think M would happily eat a cauliflower cheese sauce soup. I have a good cauliflower shrimp soup recipe that helped win him over in appreciating this humble vegetable. I really should make that soup again this winter.

This year it was the year of the bean. I have won M over in enjoying black beans and green beans. He has no problem gobbling up black beans in that ever-so-copious-and-super-delicious chili recipe I got from Jackey (see Beef Chili with Cornbread Topping October 2009). There is also Em's refreshing Santa Fe salad that is loaded with sweet corn, cilantro, red peppers, the juice of four limes and black beans. It's a winner with summer guests and M alike.

But my greatest win so far has been my Mediterranean Green Beans. I first made this dish as an appetizer and served it with tuna. Next, I left out the tuna and served it as a side vegetable. M's been taken with these green beans ever since. The winners in this recipe are the fresh basil leaves and the lemon juice. The capers and sliced stuffed olives add to the Mediterranean twist.

And better yet, it is a snap to put together!

All you do is trim and slice the green beans, gut and slice the red and yellow bell peppers, and keep them at a rolling boil in salted water for 5-7 minutes. The beans should be tender but still firm. Drain well; add a tad of chopped red onion and a fair amount of chopped fresh basil leaves. Sprinkle with lemon juice and olive oil and toss to coat. Add capers, halved cherry tomatoes and sliced olives, season with black pepper and sea salt. Toss again very lightly. Best of all, it can be served hot or cold.

Yummy, yummy, M's got green beans in his tummy; now to find a great trick with peas and brussels sprouts. Any ideas?

Missing Magoo

Madam, it's been five days since we said our good-byes. Five long days. I find time is passing slowly and thoughts of you occupy my mind. I never imagined I would miss your bundle of fluff and fur so.

M misses you too - he told me so. I know you were very fond of him. Remember the night, November 18th, when M came home late from an evening meeting? I was reading in bed and you were settled for the night. Yet, when you heard him unlocking the door, you flew off your cat-tree at lightning speed to greet him as he came in. I didn't know you could still move so fast.

We do miss your greeting as we come in the door, even if sometimes you said, 'It's supper time! Where have you two been?' We miss your late night licks and washes which wake us (no, M doesn't). And we miss your early morning scratches informing us sleeping time is over. I even miss the cat litter you scattered over the bathroom floor like beach sand.

We look for you on your cushion in the bedroom; we look for you stretched out in front of the fire. We long to call out in greeting when we get home or tell you that we are leaving - and sometimes we do.

Amy inherited your bed and your dry food; Sid and Meg your scratching posts. Jango and Miss Minnie got your wet food and treats; Nibs and Coco your cat litter. We packed away your rug, threw away your cushion, and your bowls went into the cupboard. Yet with little evidence of you around anymore, we still look for you.

We miss you Magoo.