Puffin Cruise Adventure

Last weekend a couple of women friends and I headed up to lovely Port Townsend for a girls' weekend and a 'puffin cruise'. "What's a Puffin Cruise?" many people asked when I told them of our plans for the weekend. "There are puffins in Washington?" they asked again when I explained to them that we were booked on a three hour evening cruise to view puffins.


I was a little concerned about the weather given our spring/summer track record. I had recently purchased a new sporty lightweight rain jacket at the REI sale. At least I kept to my promise of no new sandals this season. As it turns out, most of my sandals are still safely stowed on the top shelf of my closet looking brand new and anxiously awaiting summer. I was in need of, sadly enough, a rain jacket. I packed my new jacket, a scarf and some gloves (just in case), my comfy walking shoes and some flip flops (always the optimist) and my friends picked me up at 10 o'clock on what turned out to be a summer-like Saturday morning. I could actually wear my flip flops!


Port Townsend, as beautiful as I remembered the last time I visited 15 or more years ago, greeted us with sunny skies, sparkling waters and interesting shops to stroll. First things first, we were hungry! We trekked around town seeking the perfect eating spot to soak up this marvelous afternoon. Sirens Pub provided wonderful outdoor seating, delicious salmon sandwiches and salads. Trying to "be good", I opted for a grilled salmon caesar salad and iced tea. Delicious, satisfying and healthy-ish, it was also the last "somewhat good" meal I had for the rest of the trip. All too easily enticed into joining in on the ice cream cones, nachos, Bloodymary's and scones, by the time the trip ended, my good intentions lost all battles. Oh well, Monday I would start again! Luckily my friends are also avid walkers and we climbed hills, walked the marina and beaches and enjoyed our exercise in the sunshine.


The cruise started at 6.00 p.m., so after checking into our charming and fairly luxurious (by my standards) accommodations, we meandered around a bit more and headed down to the marina for our cruise. Adorned in a few more layers for an evening excursion in the Pacific Northwest and cameras in tow, the excitement mounted as we gathered amongst our fellow cruisers anxious to get a glimpse of these adorable birds. Kristen, a seasoned puffin seeker, remarked about a prior trip to Wales where she walked among 6,000 puffins. Wow, I immediately imagined the flocks of puffin we'd see on this clear cloudless evening.

As the first hour wore on and we slowed to a troll no less than 200 ft from Protection Island, we all hung to the edge of the rail, scanning the island cliffs and beaches for puffins. Using binoculars, we saw several eagles (the eagle counter counted 26 by the end of the trip, but she couldn't guarantee some weren't repeats. They do, after all, move around!), gulls, oyster catchers, rhinoceros auklets, a mama seal and her two pups. All the while, our guide, Roger, never missed a beat speaking in a monotone hesitant manner reminiscent of Batman. Admittedly, he provided a plethora of notable seabird information.

As the temperatures dropped, we began huddling together under blankets to keep warm. In my hurry to get on with the trip out to sea, I'd left my scarf and gloves inconveniently back in our hotel room. They would have been handy at this point.

Alas, we spotted a puffin bobbing out in the water several feet from our boat. Not just 'a' puffin, but a flock of three! While all the eager bird watchers crammed to one side of the boat looking through their view finders and binoculars to capture the moment of finally seeing these exotic creatures, I was practically peeing my pants at the thought of all of us paying $55 each to ride out to this remote island for three little puffins. These delightful tufted puffins appeared to bounce and bobble in the water. Their bright red beaks and white and yellow head tufts making them stand out against the darkening sea seemed so out of place in our neck of the woods. They really were striking.

Our captain finally picked up speed and continued his path around Protection Island to seek out more puffins. After a short distance, we spotted another one. We learned that puffins are solo birds and a flock (or 'gathering') is considered 1.4 birds. I guess seeing three at once made our trip quite successful. Roger also informed us that Protection Island was home to 13 pairs of puffin. Twenty-six puffin warranted naming an entire cruise after them. Wildlife Cruise, Seabirds of the Northwest, Bird Watcher's Cruise all seemed more appropriate and accurate.

In the end, our total puffin tally was four. Apparently, that is a good day out according to the online brochure I read a little closer upon arriving home. "Although we can't guarantee
a sighting on every outing, the chance of seeing a puffin on our evening Puffin Cruises is very good." Reading that back, nothing about that line indicates that we were about to embark on an island full of puffins. A testimony from one bird watcher excitedly reported seeing 4 or 5 puffin in one trip. We all agree reading the fine print might have been helpful in our decision making. However, we may have opted out and would have missed a fabulous weekend in Port Townsend with beautiful weather, delicious food, spectacular scenery, a lovely boat ride and, most importantly, time spent with wonderful friends.

And to the often asked question, "there are puffins in Washington?" Our answer-- "not exactly."

Southern Exposure

Yea! Summer has finally arrived. Well, at least it was here yesterday. Today is questionably grey again. My segue from spring into summer involves some organizing and tidying up of my apartment. The smaller the space, the greater the need for those special storage containers, baskets, shelves and other devices that assist in stowing away the clutter in a creative fashion.

Summer brings long warm days, sunshine (those of us in the PNW can only hope), sandals and maybe even bathing suits. I currently have six months’ worth of sandals in a city with only two months of summer. I have sworn off any more sandal or flip flop purchases until I am able to wear the ones I already own.

Along with my summer apartment tidying ritual, I took a trip to the local waxing salon for some necessary tidying “down there”. More than one friend commented on my bravery. Bravery is not required but humility is. Some women wax for their lovers. I personally wax for myself. I cannot stand mess and disarray in my home or, eh hem…in my private parts.

Previously, I’d visited my local nail salon for bikini waxing services. For a pretty reasonable price, Thuy got down to business. Not a lot of small talk took place as English is Thuy’s second language and is limited. Beyond the polite introductions, she did not have anything more to say. I lay quietly still concentrating on the ceiling tiles. While Thuy worked away ripping the hair from my bikini line with great speed and efficiency, her head bent down just inches from my Hoo-Ha, I tried not to feel self-conscious. But let’s face it, it’s a tad uncomfortable having another chick’s face down in your business whether it’s your Ob Gyn or your wax girl.

Recently, a friend purchased some Group On coupons for waxing services. She meant to buy two, but her finger slipped on the keys and she accidentally ordered 20! Realizing there was an expiration date on the coupons, and her hair growth was not that excessive, she passed the savings on to her furry friends.

My first visit to the salon was aborted because my hair was too short to wax. I walked out more than disappointed that I’d have to continue living with the mess down there for another week and a half. I also felt kind of bad for my boyfriend. He’s too sweet to complain, but honestly, that can’t be a turn on!

I returned for my second visit with more than sufficient growth and ready for the grooming. Melissa, my “waxitician”, asked if I wanted a triangle or just a strip. I dunno, no one has ever asked me what shape I wanted. I suppose I could have requested a heart shape or scull and crossbones. “Just a landing strip,” I said.

She begins working away while we discuss our neighborhoods, walking to work, summer plans. Engaging in mundane chit chat is preferable while being slathered in hot wax, and having every hair follicle aggressively ripped out leaving your skin burning in agony.

Melissa then asks me if I want the “extended bikini”. Errr, I look at her quizzically. I don’t even know what that means. “It gets the hair between the butt cheeks. It comes with the regular bikini wax- no additional charge. Once you have it done, you will love it!” she said. Well, if there is no additional charge, why not? I go for it.

I’m already on my back with my legs in a V-shape. She asks me to pull my right knee up to my ear while she doe that butt cheek, then my left knee for the left side. THEN she directs me to pull both knees up hugging them to my ear. I’m reminded of the Happy Baby Pose in yoga and refrain from giggling.

“You know, Melissa,” I said,” just a few more classes and you could be a gynecologist and make a lot more money.”

Once the angry redness calmed down, I was quite pleased with the outcome. And I have credit left over on my coupon, so I get to do it all over again in a month! Oh the joy. As much as I do this for myself, I do hope my boyfriend appreciates the effort.

Clearing the Clutter

It's about this time of year clearing the clutter becomes a major focus for many of us. Spring cleaning ensues as the days become longer and the setting sun through our window brings attention to the blinds that haven't been dusted properly for several months. It's the time for detoxing the body of impurities, as well as the time for detoxing our closets, drawers and garages of the unwanted stuff we've been collecting all winter (or longer). Yard sales become more prevalent. Spring editions of my favorite magazines publish articles on clearing the clutter, reorganizing your space, donating gently used items to charitable organizations.

I'm no different. Something about that spring equinox gives me a spurt of energy and enthusiasm for purging. I've gone through closets, kitchen cupboards, desk drawers and the space under my bed until a pile of shopping bags were stacked in Dr. Seuss fashion against a wall in my living room awaiting the charity truck's arrival. There is no excuse not to get rid of unwanted or unused stuff when someone will come by and pick it up for you. My one bedroom apartment easily begins to bust at the seams if purging isn't done on a regular basis.

I sound so insensitive and unattached as I talk about chucking out the old and relieving some sorely needed closet space. Until...yes, until I'm forced to admit one thing. More than being ashamed, I'm actually rather baffled by this fact. I still have 24 years after the wedding and 9 years after the divorce, my wedding gown. Why do I still have this absurd thing in my possession? I have no idea. It's still in it's "preserved" wedding gown box- the kind where you can see the bodice through a window in the front of it.

One friend commented in horror when I confessed, "You live in a one bedroom apartment! Where are you storing this thing?" Yes, this is my own reaction. Believe me. There is just something keeping me from pushing this (rather large) box out onto the curb along with all my other discarded crap for a strange truck to come by and load up like a piece of garbage. I don't really know why. No one in my family is ever going to want to wear the thing. I got married in 1987. That says it all.

As I began confessing to other friends, also divorced, I learned I am not alone. One friend has the gown from her first wedding still hanging in her closet. That garment has been hanging there for the duration of two marriages and witnessed two divorces. But there is something that prevents her from hauling it away. My brother's ex-wife who I'm very close to still has hers a couple years after her divorce in hopes that one of her daughters might want it. It's funny that we somehow hold more value on the dress than the guys we wore it for. I haven't seen or spoken to my ex-husband for nine years, but I've got this dress staring at me every time I open my coat closet.

If that's not enough, my boyfriend has his ex-wife's gown in his closet! When she moved out, he asked her if she was going to take that with her. "Nope" was all she said.

The dress doesn't represent anything significant for me except a lot of money spent on something I'll never wear again. I did like it. It was special at the time, but I certainly don't keep it for sentimental reasons. I requested the divorce. There is no emotional clutter to clear out. I'm not carrying around some old baggage of deep seeded sorrow and pain. No way. So why can't I seem to part with the dress? I'd like to do something that makes me feel better somehow. Something that makes me feel like it was worth the cost and effort.

My ex-sister-in-law said she went to St. Vincent De Paul recently and saw a wedding gown hanging in the window. Her immediate thought was "Eee Gads, that thing is gaudy!" Then she wondered if that is the reaction her own nearly 20 year old dress would bring.

Another friend bought a used wedding gown off Craigslist last year at Halloween. She proceeded to cut it up, soil it, and apply fake blood for her corpse bride costume. I just can't accept that possible fate for my own lovely gown.

I began soliciting ideas for these old 80's-90's wedding gowns. Donating them is an option, but upon further research it seemed that most of the brides in need would prefer something a little more, ummm, modern. The particular era we're talking about here doesn't make them "vintage" quite yet either.

One friend suggested a tea party where we all wear our gowns. That would be a fantastic idea if I had half a chance of fitting into the thing. I was 118 lbs on my wedding day. Three pounds more than my goal weight at the time and several pounds less than my goal weight today. Yeah, that's not happening. But I'm guessing there would be a few others in the same predicament.

Another suggestion included donating it to the Children's Theater or any other theater group in town. My wedding dress in a play! That sounds better than it morphing into a corpse bride costume.

I thought a charity function of a sort could be fun. A Drag Queen Bridal Fashion Show with money raised going to some worthy cause. Finding small sized drag queens could pose a challenge, but I'm sure it's possible in this town.

At any rate, the Center for the Blind came by yesterday and picked up my eight or ten bags of goods. Not only my wedding gown, but also my mother's wedding gown (which is at least vintage-circa 1947) are still in the closet hogging up prime real estate. Suggestions are welcomed.

A Busy or Simply Satisfying Life?

The other day in my 'ESL Talk Time' session at the Seattle Public Library, we went around the room and said one word to describe the culture in the country we were born. My word was "busy". I remember feeling overwhelmingly busy in my pre-Europe days. I had something going on every night after work, i.e. working out, classes, meetings, a night out with the girls, paying bills, cleaning house, yard work, Thursday night grocery shopping before a busy weekend filled with social events, family commitments or home improvement projects. The busy schedule, while fun most of the time, also wore me out.

My lifestyle in Europe moved at a much slower pace. I didn't own a home, so no house projects or yard work called to me. I had a handful of friends and no family members so my social life was limited yet still full and rewarding. I spent many days alone exploring the parks and cobbled alleyways of the European cities I inhabited. Between teaching English classes, I would spend an hour or two sitting on a park bench writing, reading, or simply people watching, meeting a fellow teacher for coffee or just walking around discovering new shops or hidden gems. If there were several hours of downtime between classes, a mid-morning nap might have been in order. After all, European nightlife frequently spilled into the wee hours of the morning.

It wasn't long after coming back to Seattle, that my old, hectic, and overly stuffed lifestyle took up residence in my world again. Admittedly, I have a very difficult time saying no to invitations, or keeping my schedule limited to one commitment at a time. Overbooking too many things in one day usually results in me being late and, generally, just not 'being present'. I am working on that, however.

Amy Krouse Rosenthal said it best in her book "Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life".

"How have you been?"
"Busy.

"How's Work?"
"Busy."

"How was your week?"
"Good. Busy."

"You name the question, "Busy" is the answer. Yes, yes, I know we are all terribly busy doing terribly important things. But I think more often than not, "Busy" is simply the most acceptable knee-jerk response."

Amy is right. Every time someone steps into the elevator with me at the office and asks how I'm doing, I blurt out "busy" without even thinking. No one honestly cares how busy I am. They're all busy too. It's not a contest, but suddenly everyone is explaining just how busy they really are. And to be honest, most of my busy isn't anything compared to other people's busy. I don't have that house and yard to maintain, no children to raise and run to soccer games, no elderly or ailing parents.

Last Thursday marked the anniversary of my mother's passing away. I thought of her, as I do most every day. I thought about how she'd respond if she heard me moan about being so busy. This woman had six kids and a huge four bedroom house to keep up. She knew busy. All the lunches to pack, meals to cook, laundry, shopping, cleaning. It wasn't until some of the older ones moved out, that she had some well-deserved time to herself.

My busy is all self inflicted; going to local events, yoga, reading, writing, meeting friends, a show, play or concert, working late a few nights a week, my recently added volunteer night at the library, a class I choose to take, spending time with Mr. Wonderful. I do have a lot of interests, as well as interesting people in my life, and want to take it all in, but it's all by choice. So why should I answer "busy" with an exasperated sigh when someone asks how I am? I have resolved to, at the very least, come up with better adjectives like "active", "occupied", "on the go", "rewarded", or in the case of the question posed in the office elevator, "employed".

The Stages of Dating

After many years of first dates and some followed up with second dates, along with a few one night stands, I am finally in a serious relationship. I've had non-serious relationships, i.e. Number Eight, the New Number Eight, and the fireman, but those were just "guys I dated", not real relationships.

Just as 'they' said it would happen, my current man came from out of nowhere, was my friend first and quickly got under my skin. Once we got past the second date and became a "couple", it was evident that there are many stages of dating that I'd either forgotten about, or never experienced since I got married so young in the first place.

There's the first sleepover stage. Where do I put my stuff without intruding on his domain? With the excitement of the first night together, comes also some anxiety about the possibility of any of those embarrassing moments that could occur during the actual sleeping portion of the program. Luckily, my guy has two bathrooms, so I promptly took over the guest bathroom to avoid invasion of his master bath. I did my best to be tidy and neat with my personal affects, but at one point he used that bathroom and came out making a comment about "Camp Wander Woman". I've stayed at his house several times by now, and even though he has cleaned out drawer space in his master bathroom, I still head to the guest bathroom with my overnight pack and set up "Camp WW".

There's the first time you blurt out the "L" word stage. That's a biggie. Does the other person feel the same way? How many times have you had to bite your tongue to avoid saying it too soon, or at the wrong moment? Each person is dancing around the phrase very careful not to scare the other away in the early days of this relationship.

Soon comes the first vacation together stage. After only spending a few weekends together, can your relationship withstand an entire vacation together? I've known friends to go away on a first romantic week long trip only to come home no longer a couple. It happens. It can be eye-opening. Maybe he yells when you try to navigate the rental car, maybe he wears really bad swim trunks, or maybe he totally changes his colors when faced with challenges of traveling in a different culture. Who knows what it might be that puts you over the edge and you realize you just can't date this person any longer. Personally, I can't think of anything worse than being on a romantic holiday with the wrong person. Fortunately, my guy and I passed our first week-long vacation together with flying colors and can't wait for more travel opportunities.

Months go by and so do several other stages. The meeting of the family, the sixth month anniversary, the first fight (which we have yet to experience, but surely it must come?).

And inevitably, comes the moving in together stage. This stage is very different from couple to couple. Some couples want to co-habitate within a few months of dating, some take years to decide to go down that road. Some couples don't see eye to eye on that topic and each person has a different idea of when that should or will occur.

One friend of mine has been working on her boyfriend to move in with her for several months now. He is moving at a "glacial" pace as she puts it. I can understand his resistance a bit. Although he loves her, he's been alone forever and is used to his space. I've been alone for nine years and I'm quite used to my space.

Another friend lived with her prior boyfriend for nearly 20 years. She has been with her current man for almost five years and they do not live together. Their relationship is quite serious and they are definitely committed to one another. They just don't happen to feel the need to live together, full-time, under the same roof. This woman said something very profound. "Living together deepens the relationship, but not living together keeps it fresh, new and exciting." Both very good points.

My guy is living in his house up in Snohomish County- the great white north as he calls it. It would be convenient to have him live closer and in town. It would simplify our logistical challenges when working out our weekend plans. However, selling a house in this market is the bigger challenge. A few mentions of "consolidating" have come up during his recent searches for places in town and I've basically reacted like a deer in the headlights.

Realizing that may not have been the reaction he was going for, I did assure him I could see us living together someday. Just what day that will be is still unknown.

At the moment, we're approaching the "longest relationship I've been in since my marriage" stage. Let's just go with one stage at a time, shall we?

A Queen Anne Stalker

In a recent conversation with a friend, I was relaying my man's stocking fantasy. We'd had a hefty bet on a cribbage game. The loser had to comply with the winner's wishes, foot massage, breakfast in bed, sexual fantasy, whatever. Game on. I lost.

Once I got into my story I realized instead of stocking she heard "stalking". No wonder she suddenly got so quiet on the other end of the phone. I can only imagine her face, eyebrows furrowed, lips thoughtfully pursed curious how I was going to pull off a "stalking" fantasy. And while kind of a strange fantasy, he's entitled. Just what does a stalking fantasy entail? Would I call him frequently at inappropriate hours? Pester him at work? Show up on his doorstep in the middle of the night unannounced?

So back to the stocking fantasy. I had picked up a pair at Macy's some time ago and figured I'd surprise him one evening. What the heck. This is a pretty tame fantasy as far as fantasies go, so I'm game to play along. After the cribbage game he inquired if I owned any stockings. I could have lied. I should have lied. Instead I fessed up. He didn't hesitate. That was his request.

I retrieved my new stockings, lace demi-cup bra, panties and heels and tucked myself into the bathroom to don my costume. By the way, this is so not me. I hardly feel I can pull off the whole sex-kitten thing. But a bet's a bet.

I'd never worn stockings before and had no idea how they'd fit. Once I worked them up to my thighs, the elastic lace become a bit too tight. The fleshy (fat) part of my upper thigh squished unattractively over the top of the lace! The size of my legs haven't really been a sore spot for me as far as body parts go- my tummy, yes, my bingo-arms, definitely, but overall I can put up with my legs in general. But now they looked like stuffed sausages sticking out from my body. I don't have a full length mirror in the bathroom so when I looked down at myself I was horrified.

Hearing my grumbles and groans from in the bedroom my guy assured me it was okay to abort mission if I didn't feel comfortable. I promptly removed the offending hosiery and stepped out of the bathroom in the rest of the getup. From the reception I received, it was good enough.

I don't think I'm off the hook with regard to the fantasy in question, however. One friend suggested sheer non-control top pantie hose. Those won't work. They aren't any more attractive on me and the fantasy involves "stockings". She then suggested a little black skirt to camouflage the squishy bits. The "stalking" friend recommended the old fashion pin up girl stockings with garter belt and all.

This is getting complicated.

Is He a Keeper?

A couple of months ago, I came across one of those online tests to determine whether your man is a "keeper" or not. You know the ones. The tests that are right up there with "Ten Ways to Tell if Your Guy is Cheating" and "Top Five Favorite Fantasies". So I see this 'keeper' quiz and decide to look into it further just to see what they have to say.

1. He's willing to put you first.

Is my guy willing to put me first? Absolutely. He goes out of his way to make sure I'm taken care of before looking after his own needs. I try to protest, but to no avail. Okay, he passes the first test. By the way, I show him appropriate amounts of appreciation.

2. He's there for me in a crisis.

We haven't had much in the way of true crisis, but he's definitely been there for those little annoying inconvenient troubled times, so I'm pretty sure he'd be there in an actual crisis. I'll keep you posted if in a real crisis, he fails to deliver, but I somehow doubt that will be the case.
Yes, I'm overly optimistic.

3. He appreciates your quirks.

This one is HUGE. Mainly because I have a lot of quirks. One of the items on my list of required characteristics in a man (I developed this list during the separation from my ex-husband nine years ago) is that he accept and embrace my quirks...and simply let me be me.
My fella is constantly pointing out how "cute" my quirks are. I am fully aware that those things he is finding endearing today, will drive him crazy in the future. So I thank him profusely. I should probably have him write this stuff down and sign it, so that in the future when he complains about said quirk, I can whip out the sheet of paper and say "see, you loved this about me in the beginning!"

4. He shows you how much he cares.

He does...all the time. And I continue to show him appropriate amounts of appreciation.

5. He is kind.

Not only is he kind to me, which is of course important, but he is kind to everyone else. Very admirable and actually a turn on.

6. He's consistent.

There is nothing more crazy making than a guy who is up, down, and all over the place. You never know what to expect with regard to mood or actions. Consistency could equal boring to some women, women who indulge in those "bad boy" types. I happen to like a guy I can count on and know what to expect. A little surprise now and again is exciting, but overall, I like knowing what I'm in for.

7. He wants to build a life with you.

Okay, this is a tricky one. What do we mean by "building a life" exactly? Marriage, babies, moving in? I guess for everyone that means something different. Maybe the statement should read "wants to build a relationship with you". Some people have lives they've built on their own. They might have homes of their own and have no intention of co-habitation again, successful careers, or kids from previous marriages. They may be in their 50's, 60's or 70's and not be thinking of building a life together. They may simply want a companion to enjoy the life they've already built. This question might be suitable for 20-something year olds I suppose.


8. He can handle your emotions.

Again, we haven't been together long enough for any "emotions" to surface. I haven't even seen a tear jerker movie with him yet, I'm not one to get PMSy, in general, I don't have a temper, and until menopause strikes, I'm not sure about the answer to this question.

9. He fights fair.

We are still in the gooey happy couple stage. A first fight has yet to ensue.

10. He's a grown up. Competent and confident in managing his own life.

Hallelujah! Yes, he is definitely all those things, while still being young, adventurous and fun.

In all fairness, I thought it only appropriate to read the companion article "Is She a Keeper?"

1. She cooks your favorite meal for no reason.

I stopped there. No need to read any further. These quizzes are just stupid and immature.

Happy Twenty-Eleven

I think the rule is saying "happy new year" anytime within the month of January is still proper etiquette. So Happy New Year!

New Year's Resolutions are either well underway by now or have already been forgotten or blatantly dismissed and abandoned. People might say after a couple of weeks of attempting quitting smoking, "Oh, what was I thinking? It's hibernation time. I'll try again in the spring." I don't really blame them.

January is a tough month for many- the after holidays blues, dreary gray weather, promises of dieting and weight loss, contemplating the past year and making new [most likely unachievable] goals for 2011. It's rather exhausting. Or maybe it's just me. I start out the first of the year with a bang of energy. Rarin' to sign up for a dozen classes, get back to into my full exercise routine, list all my goals and quickly become overwhelmed by my extensive unrealistic list of dreams and wear myself out into a lie down on the sofa with a good book instead.

As I was taking down my Christmas cards recently, feeling semi-guilty for not sending out my usual bundle of cards this holiday season, I came across a card my friend, Adele, sent me from Lisbon last year. Inside she wrote:

"2010 Preview:
A wild and fantastic love life
An adventurous career
Fulfillment of dreams"

Inside the card she included a pressed four leaf clover from her garden, which I cherish. As a kid, I spent hours hunting for a four leaf clover in our lush green lawn never to find even one, so to have Adele send me one from her garden 5,000 miles away was special. I began reflecting on her "preview" of 2010.

A couple weeks ago, while walking with another friend, she reminded me of what a fantastic year 2010 was for me. Just as I had been lamenting over lack of employment in the early part of last year, I received a phone call which ultimately led to getting my old job back. It's not an ideal job. It's not my dream job. But in this crazy economy it's a sorely needed job and I'm very thankful for it.

I'd always had a pipe dream of learning to ride a motorcycle. Once employed and earning a regular paycheck, I took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation Course in the spring and, by the end of the summer, bought my own motorcycle. I'm still learning to ride the thing, but am loving it and can't wait for spring to get more miles and experience under my belt.

Through my desire to learn to ride a motorcycle and having started back at my new/old job, I was re-united with an old co-worker friend who soon became a love interest and, by fall, we were dating. I now seem to be part of a happy couple. That was certainly unexpected and snuck up on me out of the blue. Just as the saying goes "when you're not looking, you'll meet someone."

So yes, 2010 was a good year for me, as well as for many of my friends. Marriages, graduations, grad school, moves, new jobs, new homes, and adventurous travel were among the great events of many of my pals' lives. Even in a crap economy people are making the most of their lives and that is inspiring.

What does 2011 have in store for me? That's a good question. There will be more travel (last year's travel opportunities were few) and more romance with Mr. Wonderful (I am optimistic). The rest of the year is unknown at this point. I will go for a long walk, do some yoga, eat a bowl of cereal and figure out my life. Yeah, I may need more protein if I've got my whole life to figure out.

Just How Does The Other Half Live?

Just back from a holiday vacation with Mr. Wonderful and it was, well, wonderful! I'm pretty sure he felt the same since he didn't screech up to my front door after nine full days together and chuck me along with all my luggage, skis, boots etc. out of the car and speed away. Admittedly, I was slightly (only slightly) anxious about spending an entire week together non-stop, day in and day out when we'd only had a history of spending a mere weekend together and been dating for just four months. We're still in that "getting to know one another" stage. I've known friends who've gone on vacations with new loves only to return no longer a couple. While I wasn't in fear of that happening, I was concerned about not having enough "Loreley Time".

My concerns turned out to be completely unwarranted. From the moment we set off, after fueling up on Starbucks' coffees and low-fat turkey bacon breakfast sandwiches, we got along famously and enjoyed each other's company for nine days straight....day in and day out.

Our road trip to Banff involved a two day drive with a stop over in Revelstoke the first night. We stayed at the Powder Pillow B&B where we were put up in a charming comfortable loft apartment. I would highly recommend this accommodation to anyone staying in Revelstoke, BC. Mr. Wonderful was feeling a bit under the weather, but the comforts this loft provided him rest and helped nip that cold in the bud a bit sooner rather than later.

We arrived in the beautiful mountain town of Banff, Alberta late the following afternoon. I was immediately drawn in to this little village nestled at the base of the most stunning mountains I've seen since my trip to Europe, so many years ago now.

We checked into our home for the week, the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel, and scoped out our room. Just what does one get for the exorbitant fee for a King View Room at a fancy pants castle hotel? As it turned out, not that much. Neither of us was completely "wowed". It was fairly basic, comfortable, did have an incredible view from the corner alcove window, and the bathroom needed updating (cracked tile, peeling wallpaper and worn bedspread is what you'd expect from a Travel Lodge Motel, not from a Fairmont Hotel). However, I wasn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth and Mr. Wonderful isn't exactly a complainer, so we unpacked our bags and made it home. Later we discussed that if we had complained, we're sure they would have found us a more suitable room. I've worked in tourism. I know the drill. I also had contempt for the whiners. C'est le vie.

Throughout the week, we kept reminding ourselves that the room fees did include all the amenities of the hotel, which were quite elaborate; indoor and outdoor heated swimming pools, exclusive spa (for additional exorbitant fee, of course), unaffordable shops toting designer wear and exotic furs, several overpriced restaurants, a wine bar, activities for kids and families (if that had been our thing), a fitness center we had every intention of using, skating rink, ice bar complete with a curling rink, and, of course, the privilege of boasting "we're staying at the Fairmont." Seeing how the other half lives for one week was somewhat eye-opening for this hostel traveller.

Our first full day in Banff, we walked briskly into town and shopped, saw the sights, took pictures like the tourists we were, drank hot cocoa to warm up from the frozen temps, and then walked back to the hotel for a tour of The Castle. The tour guide, Dave, had been with the hotel since he was a young lad. Dave, no longer young or a lad, was the hotel historian and quite the character. We couldn't tell if his speech was practiced or on the fly, but he was sputtering and stammering out anecdotes and dropping famous names in hopes of impressing his audience. Although his stories were a bit difficult to follow, the tour itself was impressive. The hotel is vast with public areas open for all to wander and enjoy any time of day or night. It really was built in the spirit of an old castle and even after a week, I was unable to confidently work my way around the labyrinths and rabbit warrens tunneling in every direction.

We skied at Sunshine Mountain, which had more snow than the other two resorts of Norquay and Lake Louise, but was still in need of several more inches. It was impossible to go off piste and anytime I tried to find an open black diamond, my skis found the hard sharp ground before I could see it coming. I still haven't mustered the courage to view the bottom of my boards!

We tried our hand at curling, ice skating and took what sounded like a romantic sleigh ride on Christmas Eve. We booked this excursion our first day in Banff when there was loads of fresh snow covering the ground and predictions of more to come. Three days of clear sunshine filled skies later, no snow and chilling temperatures, we were on our way being drug through partially snow covered, lumpy and grassy fields by horses that seemed less than enthusiastic. And romantic? We were loaded onto a twelve person sleigh huddled together under stinky old blankets. We passed the quintessential charming "one horse open sleigh" along the way. A young couple was cozied up drinking hot rum drinks, cloaked in fur throws and looking somewhat more comfortable than anyone on our rig. We had the screaming child begging to go home, the mother scolding him to be quiet, a horse with a stinky bottom and a lot of miserably cold adults hoping the ride would be cut short, but no one willing to pipe up and suggest taking a vote to end the madness. When the sleigh finally returned to the barn 45 minutes later, everyone piled off as fast as their frozen bodies could move and ran for the warmth of their cars. The screaming child had actually fallen asleep at some point mid-whine. I'm pretty sure it was simply a case of hypothermia that lulled him into a frozen coma.

Later that night, still in the mood for romance, we had a special Christmas Eve dinner at the Banffshire Club restaurant in the hotel. It was our first meal in the hotel itself, it was Christmas Eve, and we wanted to make it memorable. Upon being seated, our waitress wheeled a complete bar in front of our table explaining three different kinds of champagne on offer, the unique martini created just for the occasion and any other spirit we might crave. Without asking the price (it seemed crude in a place of that caliber to actually ask the price of anything, hence the phrase "if you have to ask, you can't afford it.") we each ordered a glass of the Moet & Chandon Brut Rose. Uh hem...we proceeded to order a second glass still not knowing how much this bubbly was costing. You can see where this is headed. We both ordered the special Christmas menu at $89 a plate; Mr. Wonderful's was a poached sole and mine was the 'traditional turkey dinner'. The menu description stated "turkey breast, dressing, silky mashed potatoes, green beans and cranberry sauce". I was a little hesitant about ordering this meal as I didn't want anything too heavy and I don't eat much dressing, nor do I care for cranberry sauce. Turns out, none of that mattered. The turkey, although tasty, consisted of three 2" round pucks of meat. There was a teaspoon sized dollop of dressing and three tiny melons of "silky" mashed potatoes squeezed out via a pastry bag set atop a smear of what I can only assume to be the cranberry sauce. Sprouting out each of the potato balls was a green bean--the diameter of a toothpick, but only a quarter of the length. After all that food, a bread basket, the two glasses of champagne and a heavenly dessert, I didn't go away hungry by any means. I also didn't go away with my wallet in tact. I'm not accustomed to paying those kinds of prices for meals and that bill, after a hefty tip, could have flown me across the country--and back. I'm not sure I'd say it was exactly 'worth it', but it was memorable, we did enjoy ourselves, we have a story, and I have gotten a small taste of how the other half lives.

Christmas Day was spent in the spa, each of getting pampered with a body treatment of choice, mineral baths, steam rooms, saunas, and general relaxation. It was pure heaven and after the meal from the previous night, I'd given in to just pretending I was Mrs. Rockefeller. Later that day we enjoyed a proper English Afternoon Tea which was fabulous and a true Christmas treat neither of us had experienced before. They were offering champagne, but we both stuck with the tea service included in the set price. Enough is enough already.

I joke about the accommodation, the costs, the moderate ski conditions and the touristy sleigh ride, but I must say, this really was one of the very best Christmases I've ever had, maybe even the best. It was truly a romantic and memorable week with someone I care for. Technically, we could have been anywhere and I would have loved it, but "The Castle" in Banff was absolutely magical.

17 Days Til Christmas

December 8th and people are starting to ask me "Are you all ready for Christmas?" Ready for Christmas? Well, no. It's December 8th.

In years past (way past) I'd have had my 8 ft tree personally hacked down from the tree farm, hauled into my house and fully decorated by now, including those time consuming popcorn strings and individually tied bows. I would have taken a day off work to bake several dozen of a variety of yummy and festive Christmas cookies. In addition, I'd have pies, breads, and other goodies underway. Much of my Christmas gift shopping would have been completed at this point. Approximately 50 homemade Christmas cards would have been inscribed with personal notes and in the post.

My garage, a.k.a. craft area, would have looked like Santa's workshop with Christmas decorations being made, crafts for friends and family, holly and cedar swag wreaths in the works. I was a full on Christmas Holiday Maker. I planned all year long. I'd decide early in the year on some homemade gift idea and start collecting supplies. One year I made homemade vinegar and oils. Another year it was flower pots I painted in ceramics. They didn't sell during the summer flea markets so I had to get rid of my surplus somehow. I built bird houses made from finds from our own back yard and wooded area, wind chimes, potpourri, candles from beeswax and dried flower arrangements. I saw myself as quite the little industrious and creative holiday artist. I was slightly delusional. Nothing turned out all that great. But everything was made with love and good cheer.

I'd take special care with my gift wrap, choosing a unique theme and carefully creating matching bows and trinkets placed on each package.

After leaving my old life behind, I left much of that Holiday Maker Girl behind too. While I was living abroad, I was either renting rooms from local ladies, or on the move. A Christmas tree and decorations were not an option. Most stores in Europe wrap the gifts for you in store (at no additional charge). It isn't fancy, it won't match, but it's sweet and I found it a nice touch. No need to go purchase more items to wrap the gift. Here in the States, I often find wrapping the gift can cost more than the gift itself! Gift bags, matching tissue paper, ribbons (that nice fancy stiff cloth stuff that makes great bows), gift tags, and you're well over your budget for wrap.

Because my kitchen is miniature and cookery sparse, I hardly bake and find when I try, I'm just not as successful at it anymore. Although, my current man will beg to differ as I've managed to crank out a pumpkin pie and pumpkin-ginger bread at Thanksgiving of which he seemed appreciative! Personally, I think he's easy to please. Those are not exactly delicacies. I haven't tackled a cheese cake or those tedious, yet delicious, creatively frosted cut-out cookies in a long time.

If I decorate my apartment, I hand carry a 3 ft tree from the grocery store that sits on my coffee table. Gifts are generally wrapped in recycled gift bags from last year's generous givers, and today I found boxes of Christmas cards for $2.97 at a store in my building that is going out of business soon. That was a bitter sweet purchase. Yea for me for finding a deal, so sad for the store going out of business. I'd like to think the owners are getting out ahead and retiring to the Caribbean for the winter. I'm not sure that is the case, though.

It's not that I don't appreciate the extravagance of Christmas bling. I think I've just simplified it down to what is, for me, reasonable. The whole gift exchange is also a stickly issue for me. I do enjoy giving and receiving, but I have to admit that I have a hard time with excess. It makes me feel uncomfortable. My posse of friends get that about me and respect my wishes (usually) of "no gifts please" or very small tokens. However, there is always going to be some unbalance that makes me cringe. My brothers and I don't generally exchange gifts due to the distance we live apart. Sending material items across the country was getting unproductive, as well as costly (another expense that can easily exceed the cost of the gifts being shipped!).

Last year I did give the one brother who lives in the area a belt. His daughters said he needed a brown dress belt. I thought I was doing well to give him something he needed and not too extravagant. I know he is financially strapped and I've been in the same boat these past eight "transitional" years. He, in turn, gave me a Helly Hansen Fleece Jacket. Seriously? I gave him a belt and he gave me Helly Hansen Jacket? How am I to walk away from that gift exchange feeling good at all? I felt like crap. A year later and I'm still, obviously, feeling like crap.

This year Mr. Wonderful and I are going away for Christmas and that is our gift to each other. I am really looking forward to a Christmas in the snow and spending time with someone I really dig.

Before too long I will get my discount Christmas cards mailed, gift shopping done, and my little apartment spruced up with a bit of holiday cheer. I might even tackle a batch of cookies. But we'll see. That seems a little ambitious. After all, it is only December 8th.