tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20542890575964708802024-03-14T09:39:16.407-07:00Mike & Weegee in Gibsons, BCAn American couple adjusts to their life north of the border and blogs about the food, beer, curling and people of British Columbia (BC) Canada - Vancouver, Sunshine Coast, GibsonsUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger442125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-76510930615680249182016-01-19T14:14:00.000-08:002016-01-19T14:14:50.134-08:00The End of One Blog --- The Beginning of Another<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. -- T. S. Eliot</blockquote>
<br />
I started this blog almost five years ago. It was a way for me to process a relocation to a foreign country. It was a way for me to connect with friends and family back home while relating my adventures. <br />
<br />
But the adventure has changed. I am no longer a stranger in a foreign land, but rather at home there. It has come time that I start down a new path and bring this one to a close.<br />
<br />
I will leave this blog up -- but it will no longer be updated. This is my final post.<br />
<br />
Instead, I urge you to follow my new blog at <a href="http://www.weegeesachtjen.com/">www.weegeesachtjen.com</a>. There I share my musings on creativity and how life is infused with a sense of wonder.<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading and being a contributor to the past five years.<br />
<br />
-- Weegee<br />
<br />
<b>Find me at <a href="http://weegeesachtjen.com/">weegeesachtjen.com</a></b><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-6747259423339640842015-12-14T08:59:00.004-08:002015-12-14T09:27:52.645-08:00Our First Stint as Craft Fair Craft Services<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiYOaVg2OTUuAKres-FAz1t7GzAo_82E6NC8q8iDrf5_59X13-8fenZ-BxObCrvlq0vz9XYonMZlSEfNiitLxUPbxDL4BVXAEO_6dH9r9ZhoFWStAHzMy2OHUoeogBVcLFi773i2V4K-f/s1600/20151212_094439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiYOaVg2OTUuAKres-FAz1t7GzAo_82E6NC8q8iDrf5_59X13-8fenZ-BxObCrvlq0vz9XYonMZlSEfNiitLxUPbxDL4BVXAEO_6dH9r9ZhoFWStAHzMy2OHUoeogBVcLFi773i2V4K-f/s320/20151212_094439.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
One of the best lessons I learned from my four years at a film school is how to produce something awesome from nothing just in time. You have no idea how handy that skill can be in every day life.<br />
<br />
This past weekend, Mike and I volunteered to cater a special event at the Arts Building, a community centre dedicated to spreading the joy of creation in the young and old. Every December, the Arts Building holds their annual Festive Sale, a pop-up shop of local artwork and crafts. People walk around the arts building looking at art, collages, creations and paintings.<br />
<br />
It was our job to furnish the kitchen area with yummy goodies for purchase. This ranged from scones and croissants to soup and homemade bread. In short, we were a pop-up food truck or craft services for a creative community and their shoppers.<br />
<br />
What many people don't know is that Mike was considering starting a soup and fresh bread food truck/mini shop in downtown Portland prior to our relocation north of the border. This craft fair seemed like the perfect opportunity to try our hand at the soup kitchen idea while helping out the Arts Building.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZ36ZQx2LPXdZ8xyYZOtQofdrHM2SfFcvZ3kUj_l0aNPWinCg-8vsX76MIlKBHsRgOb2IhJIXgK_mWwydE13WSIuErDVv8z1HwqBqUi4HhzysmA62ANtQ4dmmOn_VNcGnS7EaDg6d5hfR/s1600/20151212_094408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZ36ZQx2LPXdZ8xyYZOtQofdrHM2SfFcvZ3kUj_l0aNPWinCg-8vsX76MIlKBHsRgOb2IhJIXgK_mWwydE13WSIuErDVv8z1HwqBqUi4HhzysmA62ANtQ4dmmOn_VNcGnS7EaDg6d5hfR/s320/20151212_094408.jpg" width="240" /></a>We didn't have a menu or even expectations on how many people we should cook for. The two of us sampled soup recipes before deciding to provide two: a potato ham & a curry split pea with tofu. We tried, tested and retested a quinoa salad recipe. The days before the event, we pre-mixed cookie dough, prepped fresh bread and croissants and cut butter into dry scone ingredients. We crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.<br />
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The first morning of the sale, we set up our baked goodies and hung signs with all our offerings. We put on aprons, loaded up the crock pots with cider and soups. And waited. And waited.<br />
<br />
The first hour of the sale, we sold a cup of coffee. That was it.<br />
<br />
By 11:30am, we were starting to wonder if we made a mistake in pricing or our menu. We were going to be eating soup for a long time. <br />
<br />
Then it happened.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtY3HgZhJeohslDQs_nSOojR-VFxMMP1kUsbD_MrzY25PKbogqEyA9iYIRSMsghSHW3YmNFMZcdrt0849lxWvv78S0NLY9CFNNvGTz1UMasmmGqPktMLztoBcjQuu1Yr1E8V1oxcEOobUO/s1600/FB_IMG_1449977887448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtY3HgZhJeohslDQs_nSOojR-VFxMMP1kUsbD_MrzY25PKbogqEyA9iYIRSMsghSHW3YmNFMZcdrt0849lxWvv78S0NLY9CFNNvGTz1UMasmmGqPktMLztoBcjQuu1Yr1E8V1oxcEOobUO/s320/FB_IMG_1449977887448.jpg" width="320" /></a>One brave soul tried a cup of soup and a chunk of homemade bread . . . and it spread like wildfire. We had a line-up for our soup. People were standing eating soup out of mason jars and Mike's homemade bread. We had to open up a spare room & pull out chairs from storage so people could sit and eat their soup.<br />
<br />
People asked us if we owned a restaurant, if we catered and if we would considered catering. We smiled, thanked them and went back to washing dishes. <br />
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The soup we made was portioned for both days. We went through both days of the split pea and ended the day with one bowl of potato.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL479DfvgrQl6e3KOHSTmDIkCXUS81TnllEEI4wo6a5WaqWBCp2QJaI3lXDE2Y_rnZcOOuP6Ao8dYb-5KeRdDkOzUwb3lSlv30Y6uVtfgjqcVfdlYcM-oD5HMhujfy8kE1LYEoDvEqTaMT/s1600/FB_IMG_1449977465758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL479DfvgrQl6e3KOHSTmDIkCXUS81TnllEEI4wo6a5WaqWBCp2QJaI3lXDE2Y_rnZcOOuP6Ao8dYb-5KeRdDkOzUwb3lSlv30Y6uVtfgjqcVfdlYcM-oD5HMhujfy8kE1LYEoDvEqTaMT/s320/FB_IMG_1449977465758.jpg" width="320" /></a>In the baked goodies, we sold out of cookies, scones, muffins (even the gluten-free) and one entire jug of cider. The only thing that didn't sell was the croissants, which honestly shocked us. The croissants, in my opinion, was the best thing we offered.<br />
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That night, we went home and prepped more items but not nearly as many as Saturday for the staff at the Arts Building warned us it would be slower on Sunday. I made different scones and muffins. Mike remade his soup.<br />
<br />
<br />
We debated dropping the prices on the croissants. It was heartbreaking because Mike believed they were worth the price . . . and wasn't sure why they weren't selling. That's when we decided to make a change. Instead of putting them in a basket, like you would pass around at a dinner table, we decided to display them like they were art work.<br />
<br />
I pulled out a long white serving tray and put five of the buttery pastries on the tray. As we sold one, I added another. Right up until we sold out. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGvE8lY9rwzxGgm612509ecqyprfLFI5UlLPOy55GxDVJ9DQbnNJpC20dADrV8VqXlLmuTJloWxkCdf3_mxsDuGa1NtWNF0npBlejFCGzhc5caUYbwSoG9J4VGTzpyOpYemPR5g3RUk05/s1600/20151213_110626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGvE8lY9rwzxGgm612509ecqyprfLFI5UlLPOy55GxDVJ9DQbnNJpC20dADrV8VqXlLmuTJloWxkCdf3_mxsDuGa1NtWNF0npBlejFCGzhc5caUYbwSoG9J4VGTzpyOpYemPR5g3RUk05/s320/20151213_110626.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
We learned more than just the fine art of presentation when it comes to
food. We learned about teamwork, how to maneuver in a small kitchen and
that the two of us can produce some amazing things together.<br />
<br />
We also learned about the power of word of mouth. We were only there for two days but word traveled quick. Many
of the customers on Sunday were part of the soup crowd on Saturday. They
returned for a second helping, and brought friends who wanted to try
our soup.<br />
<br />
It was lovely, heartwarming and made use feel grateful for their appreciation of our cooking. All in all, it was a winning weekend! Thank you! <br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-26536699666377799362015-11-25T05:26:00.002-08:002015-11-25T05:26:58.897-08:0050,092 Words Later: NaNoWriMo Created a Writing Fiend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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50,092 words. I entered in the last one. Saved the file. Selected all text from the word document and then copied them into the online validater and waited.<br />
<br />
For the past 24 mornings, I have risen two hours ahead of my husband to try and work in 2,000 words. I have rushed home from work, hurried through my chores and ditched friend get togethers to try and eek out a few additional hundred words here and there.<br />
<br />
For, when writing anything, very little of it happens at the computer.
It happens in the shower, while watching TV or waiting for the slow
coffee maker to finish brewing. Motive was developed in the checkout lane of the grocery store. The district attorney's opening statement was fine tuned on my walk to Toastmasters. A key piece of evidence was discussed in the car ride to a conference.<br />
<br />
Then, poof! At 7:35am on Tuesday, Nov. 24, 2015, I reached the 50,000 word count goal for National Novel Writing Month. I was declared a winner. My rough, rough, oh so rough draft was done.<br />
<br />
I could have my life back. No more writing in my head. No more obsessions with word counts. My agenda for the day would not start with firing up a laptop.<br />
<br />
For 24 days, I dreamed of watching football games without my computer nearby. Of sleeping in. And then it happened. I awoke on Nov. 25 with the odd sensation that I needed to write. Correction. I had to write. I had to get out of bed and type. . . . something.<br />
<br />
Perhaps that is the true goal of NaNoWriMo: establishing a habit that keeps you writing. Luckily I have blogs to funnel my creative energy into and short stories to type out in the early morning hours. Life won't go back to normal as I hoped, but perhaps it is the normal that I needed.<br />
<br />
Back to writing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-90932781171544975052015-10-25T10:49:00.002-07:002015-10-25T11:13:20.599-07:00Memories Relived via First Streaming Football GameI was miserable. We had just reached Kings Station in downtown London after standing for fifty-one minutes on the train from Basingstoke. It was a crowded train, standing room only for a Sunday night in late January, and my cold had just upgraded its status from mild irritation to drop you to your knees horrible.<br />
<br />
"Will the NFL playoffs game be available on the tele?" I asked the man at the front desk of the London hotel. It was the post-season and our favourite team, the Seattle Seahawks, were scheduled to go helmet to helmet with the Green Bay Packers. Our push to get into London that day was so that we would be able to see the kickoff at 6pm.<br />
<br />
"The what?" He asked leaning forward. I stepped back, determined not to share whatever crud was floating around my head, chest and throat. Our communication was hindered by the echo his voice was creating in my bounding head.<br />
<br />
"The playoffs? NFL? Seattle Seahawks?" He continued to stare at me, waiting for further clarification. "Not a thing here. I get it."<br />
<br />
Once we were on the same page, he mentioned that a pub may be our best bet for viewing. I had serious doubts that I was going to make it to the elevator on my own, let alone my room.<br />
<br />
I made it to the comfort of our room with Mike's assistance and two key promises: a pot of tea and a hot bath.<br />
<br />
While I was soaking my sore muscles and trying to figure out if that dull hum was just in my ears or in the washroom, Mike fiddled with the remote in an effort to decipher the channels. Apparently our guide was out of date. The chances of watching our team was fading. I knew that if it wasn't pumped into our hotel room, I would not be able to hit the pub.<br />
<br />
Moments before kick-off, Mike shouted from the other side of the bathroom door that he figured it out. We may be in business.<br />
<br />
And that televised game was one of my favourite viewing events. It didn't hurt that the Seahawks came back from a deficit to take the NFC championship.<br />
<br />
The game was pumped through an England channel, almost like ESPN. Since they don't have the same commercial amounts that the US does, they often filled the two-minute breaks with the English sports anchors commentary on the plays that had just occurred. They explained the strategies behind the plays, how the defense could have responded and how that will impact the over all game (such as impact on the clock). It was excellent football discussion mixed with hard-hitting action on the play.<br />
<br />
Had I felt better, our viewing experience would have been different. The two of us would have ventured out of the hotel room to mix and mingle with others at a pub. The chance of us hearing the English commentary would have been nil.<br />
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<a href="http://www.buffalobills.com/assets/images/imported/BUF/photos/article-assets/Story-Photos/2014-november/BillsVsJags_London.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.buffalobills.com/assets/images/imported/BUF/photos/article-assets/Story-Photos/2014-november/BillsVsJags_London.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
My trip down memory lane was sparked by this morning's historic NFL live stream of the Buffalo Bills vs Jacksonville Jaguars live from London. It was a worldwide stream of the NFL action -- free of charge -- for the first time ever. <br />
<br />
The awesome thing about the game is that we were watching a game with NFL fans, not necessary the fans of the two teams. There were cheers for the big plays. Jerseys from almost every team was represented. It was a positive energy that came from the fondness of the game. It was what makes watching football exciting.<br />
<br />
There's was only one disappointment for me with Sunday morning's game. I was kind of hoping to have the same format from that one night in London. I would love to watch another game, broken down play by play.<br />
<br />
I think it is a huge step towards online game streaming on a large scale
-- especially for the US. Canada has different streaming constraints
and we are able to view hockey games and extensive Olympic coverage (all
of the sports) online. I think offering streaming to the people who
have cut the cord is a huge step and a trend I would love to see carry
on.<br />
<br />
#watchwiththeworld <br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-79688428572833505082015-10-17T11:09:00.000-07:002015-10-17T11:48:48.869-07:00My Most Valued Memory of My Pops<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEgAvU3QO_nRRJhpdYcAjhs6RtNaMrfclqHKRE8XJ3_5o4SMVIot7atNFEAdaOMeFls97z1avw195cCn-isD9usgXWAG4f6N2Lur4NZQz2x5NAA7fWTFR35CHzt50fkh4M_-hdLajd0z-ITG__Cg3b6lVafURkXgVXWexZUjcM-XVvo89a4BoQDh1oNW=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="The value of a moment unit it becomes a memory" border="0" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-525" src="http://www.weegeesachtjen.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Memory-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a>On this day, I can't help but think back upon the moment I experienced that I knew would be one of my fondest memories. I was lucky enough to realize how precious that moment was . . . and greedy enough to wish I could have it just once more.<br />
<br />
Early February 2013, I remember sitting in the uncomfortable chair next to my father's hospital bed in Carson City as he slept.<br />
<br />
My father's days were numbered. He had pancreatic cancer that had spread into his liver. His body was shutting down. In fact, it really was just the morphine that was keeping him going and out of pain.<br />
<br />
I surveyed his choice of dinner that the hospital staff had just delivered: cottage cheese and applesauce. I figured it would be a win if he got any of the clumped dairy product into his system.<br />
<br />
My mother and sister had headed home for a bit of down time. The schedule of doctor visits, friends dropping in and coping with the impeding end was taking a toll on all of us.<br />
<br />
When he jerked awake and looked in my direction with his clear, wide blue eyes that matched mine, all the thoughts that had been fighting to be the first thing I said to him was wiped clear of my mind.<br />
<br />
He glanced to the beige tray holding his beige dinner and his face scrunched up. Long gone where the days when he could soak his food in hot sauce, Spanish olives and jalapenos. Now the only "sauce" he could add to spice up the entrée was of the apple variety.<br />
<br />
"Want me to find something to watch during dinner?" That was the only words I could think to say. I kicked myself for chickening out as I picked up the remote control.<br />
<br />
I flipped the channels, disgusted with myself. All the thoughts, feelings, emotions that I wanted to confess to my father remained on the tip of my tongue. Yet, it was easier for me to push the buttons than open my mouth.<br />
<br />
"Have you seen this?" I asked, pausing on the action flick that was just getting underway on one of the movie channels.<br />
<br />
"Is that Cruise?" He asked, playing with the cottage cheese.<br />
<br />
"Yeah. It's called 'Knight and Day', with Cameron Diaz," I offered. He shrugged and I put the remote down.<br />
<br />
Within moments, my father, captivated by the story on the screen, paused his eating with the spoon between his mouth and the tray.<br />
<br />
"Did you see that?" My father asked, using the utensil to point to the screen. I told him I did. But my mind was years away.<br />
<br />
Growing up, dinner in our house was always accompanied by a movie. The four of us would load up our plates, grab one of the plastic fold-out dinner trays featuring the seasons and head for the living room. The first one to the living room usually picked the flick of the evening from our limited VHS collection. More often than not, it was James Bond or Indiana Jones. Star Wars was a favourite along with the older Bill Murray comedies.<br />
<br />
There were nights when my father would forget his hot sauce, silverware or even his drink. He would move his dinner plate to the couch so he didn't spill his tray when he got up or came back.<br />
<br />
This would set off a chain of actions that we all knew would happen and yet we could never really stop. My father would return from his kitchen errand, in a hurry and eyes fixated on the screen only to sit down on his own dinner. We paused the movie while my father changed his pants, refixed his plate and joined us. This didn't happen once or twice. It happened often.<br />
<br />
As I watched him in the hospital room, eating his cottage cheese and watching 'Knight & Day', I knew this was it. This was the moment that would be prized for years to come. These ninety minutes of laughter, scene dissection and shared silence would be my most precious memory: my last dinner and movie with my Pops.<br />
<br />
I know how lucky I was to have that moment. But I would give anything to have just one more. One more movie. One more dinner.<br />
<br />
He passed away three days later. Today, he would have turned 64.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday, Pops.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.weegeesachtjen.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DadAOK.jpg"><img alt="Charles Nathan Manlove - My Dad" class="size-large wp-image-526" src="http://www.weegeesachtjen.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DadAOK-1024x768.jpg" height="443" width="590" /> </a><br />
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<i>***This blog originally appeared on my personal site: www.weegeesachtjen.com </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-aavZhVO25h8CoB5SOaWgagkRqeXhM5RQPAYgRD-EZajSkjMNBwPK1pp2BdfbJnEDbOLVqpMqRUBMt5x0nKDFtnaNod1UHYsJa5Vw71R3b2lUiUZZ0-dEIz6f15H0oRBP-H6Zt0xlivl/s1600/20150919_160713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-aavZhVO25h8CoB5SOaWgagkRqeXhM5RQPAYgRD-EZajSkjMNBwPK1pp2BdfbJnEDbOLVqpMqRUBMt5x0nKDFtnaNod1UHYsJa5Vw71R3b2lUiUZZ0-dEIz6f15H0oRBP-H6Zt0xlivl/s320/20150919_160713.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This weekend is my first artist showing.<br />
Well, not really my showing.<br />
Okay, sort of. But not really.<br />
<br />
Let me explain.<br />
<br />
A month ago, I wrote about my commitment to participate in the <a href="http://artsbuilding.org/random-acts-re-vision/" target="_blank">Random Acts of Art</a>. For $2, artist of all ages and abilities get a sealed envelope containing an instruction sheet and a randomly chosen phrase. The artist then had until October 12th to create a wall piece inspired by that phrase.<br />
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During the this weekend's famous <a href="http://www.sunshinecoastartcrawl.ca/" target="_blank">Sunshine Coast Art Crawl</a>, all pieces will be displayed as part of a joint show at the Arts Building and the Landing Gallery in downtown Gibsons, where guests and visitors can purchase one of the Random Acts of Art for $25.<br />
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My phrase: What a Difference a Day Makes<br />
<br />
I'm not sure I'm supposed to do this . . . but here is my artwork that will be shown this weekend as part of the display:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xIR4lCLSkQAXc-STbPFYW6f8f54L79s9vKIZRXpx1nzJQDKqLM5kesy5H6-ax7E-ricNeUJMb8dx4LXKgxEoJcz49RvjZG7scfCEIvq_dlkux87QxET90muVXEM6cGyJdHWC-KF2HB0B/s1600/20151003_145231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Random Acts of Art - Art Crawl Sunshine Coast" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xIR4lCLSkQAXc-STbPFYW6f8f54L79s9vKIZRXpx1nzJQDKqLM5kesy5H6-ax7E-ricNeUJMb8dx4LXKgxEoJcz49RvjZG7scfCEIvq_dlkux87QxET90muVXEM6cGyJdHWC-KF2HB0B/s320/20151003_145231.jpg" title="Random Acts of Art - Art Crawl Sunshine Coast" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm not a painter or rendering artist. My piece relies heavily on my card making skills and love of cutting shapes from craft paper. My inspiration was the quote I posted on the edge of the frame:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Just when the caterpillar thought the world was ending, it became a butterfly." *</blockquote>
I wouldn't consider myself a visual artist, by any means. However, for one weekend, one showing, I will have a piece of original art on display for purchase for the first time in my life.<br />
<br />
It's awesome.<br />
<br />
My piece will be mounted in the Arts Building (Wynn and Fletcher Road, Gibsons) during the Sunshine Coast Art Crawl Oct 16th through 18th, 2015. Hours are <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1283826680" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">Friday</span></span> 10am to 5pm and 7pm to 9pm; Sat and Sun 10am to 5pm. <br />
<b></b><br />
Come check it out!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>* If you zoom into the photo you will notice a misspelling. It was corrected but I forgot to retake the photo. </i></span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-56472277117793870742015-10-13T05:58:00.000-07:002015-10-13T05:58:00.610-07:00"You Two Must Be a Lively Couple"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSLvXtFgqCC-hgSuP0aKGz_GWyO0IE0agZ-KqvEwO9pOMgp2NnJkzzycV3BRyv9w1M4nCifeNkuLLmhSD-9c3My4BgSXhY3gFSQhxjZmdQkcMVfCwtKdvP8nbGZf44I7FFg0ZmdbVmDMg/s1600/20151007_070857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSLvXtFgqCC-hgSuP0aKGz_GWyO0IE0agZ-KqvEwO9pOMgp2NnJkzzycV3BRyv9w1M4nCifeNkuLLmhSD-9c3My4BgSXhY3gFSQhxjZmdQkcMVfCwtKdvP8nbGZf44I7FFg0ZmdbVmDMg/s320/20151007_070857.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="vk_ans" style="margin-bottom: 0;">
<span data-dobid="hdw">live·ly</span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_ent_ph">
<span class="lr_dct_ph"><span>ˈlīvlē</span>/</span><span class="lr_dct_spkr lr_dct_spkr_off" data-log-string="pronunciation-icon-click" style="display: inline-block;" title="Listen"><input height="14" type="image" width="14" /></span></div>
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<i><span>adjective</span></i></div>
<div class="xpdxpnd vk_gy" data-mh="-1">
<span>adjective: <b>lively</b></span><span>; comparative adjective: <b>livelier</b></span><span>; superlative adjective: <b>liveliest</b></span></div>
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<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span>full of life and energy; active and outgoing.</span></div>
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<span> </span></div>
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<span>Every week, the hubster and I turn the weekly Toastmasters morning meeting into the Sachtjen Show. The two of us are signing up for duties, speeches or making announcements. There was one week where the two of us did back to back speeches. </span></div>
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<span><br /></span></div>
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<span>This last week, Mike filled the role of Grammarian (came up with word of the day and watched for great use of grammer, phrasing or unique wording) while I took my turn at Timer (keep track of times for speeches and reports on lengths at the end of the meeting). </span></div>
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<span><br /></span></div>
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<span>It was after the meeting that my Toastmaster mentor came up to me and said: </span></div>
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<span><br /></span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span>"You two must be a lively couple. You are just full of life."</span></div>
</blockquote>
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<span><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjlKtD1BoS63z6aowIhpgqByZYQ8x5fS7jAitXgmXiWTolCcDIAqYP_O5s_Lrr3GE6p6wqo3cpVJuyHlcrh6KS1062hjFc22EV-GeZqs6BDPvFqI0IJ69v1W4sVB_9yGYs4JG7DtuqVuv/s1600/20150909_074035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjlKtD1BoS63z6aowIhpgqByZYQ8x5fS7jAitXgmXiWTolCcDIAqYP_O5s_Lrr3GE6p6wqo3cpVJuyHlcrh6KS1062hjFc22EV-GeZqs6BDPvFqI0IJ69v1W4sVB_9yGYs4JG7DtuqVuv/s320/20150909_074035.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span>The interesting thing about her comment is that it came after we did two of the more . . . technical positions. It wasn't the creative role as "inspirator" or an enthusiastic "evaluator." My position included a stop watch and Mike was counting the "ums" and "ahs."</span></div>
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<span> </span></div>
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<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span>It wasn't our duties she was commenting on but how we executed them. Apparently, those are two rather stoic roles that have become a bit formulaic. She was intrigued by the way we take ownership of the roles and make them our own. </span></div>
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<span><br /></span></div>
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<span>I've been called out on that before. The Inspirator is to give a two minute speech (uplifting) that ends in a toast. Instead of the usual "Raise your glass with me" intro to the toast, I told the room to "grab your coffee cups." I thought it was me showing my rough edges to the polished rockstars of the room.</span></div>
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<span><br /></span></div>
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<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span>They see it differently. More of adding a new gem to the rock bed.</span></div>
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<span> </span></div>
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<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span>Mike kidded later that it may just be our American side showing. Perhaps there is truth there. </span></div>
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<span> </span></div>
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<span>However, it was an incredibly sweet thing to say and I'm going to take it for the gem it is: we offer something new to a group of a rockstars that is giving us a lot in return. </span></div>
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<span> </span></div>
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<span> </span></div>
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<span><br /></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-43641192578953999152015-10-10T05:38:00.000-07:002015-10-10T05:38:24.171-07:00Home Projects Put on Hold By A Special Request<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKww9T-exujjmsVHZmYmIO475HKItcDv2zFQUIPW-zabfYt7R3UAPsUODeIVB6Dzv-O91Qe9-rtXcnhAjOiCfOsUo8aZrCgSYGXAmyvGXhJsT_J7pH9SS4501DlJ4Y6O4d_BXAmMEh6n5/s1600/20151010_052912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKww9T-exujjmsVHZmYmIO475HKItcDv2zFQUIPW-zabfYt7R3UAPsUODeIVB6Dzv-O91Qe9-rtXcnhAjOiCfOsUo8aZrCgSYGXAmyvGXhJsT_J7pH9SS4501DlJ4Y6O4d_BXAmMEh6n5/s320/20151010_052912.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
With a steady stream of guests at our home over the summer, there were several projects that were ignored, skipped over or pushed to the wayside. Basic chores like cleaning out the fridge or changing out the shower curtains played second and twenty-seventh fiddle to slightly more urgent matters.<br />
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I took a look at our calendar in August and noticed that October had yet to be booked, I blocked the unit out for the entire month and worked on my "to-do" list. Which worked out well for the first couple of days.<br />
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I was putting the summer furniture away into storage, ordering new marketing material, polishing furniture and tackling the weeds in the garden. We met with contractors about possibly working on the garage roof.<br />
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I was hitting one home project a day. I was rocking my October.<br />
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And then I got a special request from a former guest:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"We were hoping to come back over to stay in your beautiful B&B in October. It looks all booked up, just wanted to check with you to confirm it really is."</blockquote>
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The request came from the first couple to EVER stay at our B&B. I posted our unit on Sunday, February 1 and the two of them were here that following weekend.<br />
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I'm sure everyone has a soft spot for their "first" whatever it may be. And it was no different with this couple. It was without hesitation that I shelved my to-do list for one weekend to open the suite up for my "first couple." <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXAdkTSo2FIpcE8-VZd_Oe4LbP9RosSRzHe5h8MKnA41KfCS7qVstiAQMZ4tFE85hMb3ieVsIeLCgqYW67RbAHDFFH1Ikb3e3uP_z30ikhCnGeh3w1e4lFpjBGwFHOQl8iNpnlTOvklGf3/s1600/20151008_131204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXAdkTSo2FIpcE8-VZd_Oe4LbP9RosSRzHe5h8MKnA41KfCS7qVstiAQMZ4tFE85hMb3ieVsIeLCgqYW67RbAHDFFH1Ikb3e3uP_z30ikhCnGeh3w1e4lFpjBGwFHOQl8iNpnlTOvklGf3/s320/20151008_131204.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And to further their "first" status, they will be the first to have our new homemade Vacation Roast coffee made right here at <a href="http://www.sweetstartbandb.ca/" target="_blank">Sweet Start B&B</a>. <br />
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We've been thankful for the business we've had and the people we've met. But it's the returns that build the relationships, that strengthen connections, that feel like family.<br />
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It was a great way to spend Thanksgiving weekend (Canadian).<br />
<br />
Happy Thanksgiving. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-12110060318386435782015-10-03T05:12:00.001-07:002015-10-03T05:31:26.879-07:00Our First "Crack" at Coffee Roasting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11Ga55eldchvBhh4TQN6ovJ81g9UElHSCmVDufsv_v1W41KmaqU-eIXLCKXG99LhyphenhyphenmLrynM3BeyvlAkysxQ82LWm-9Bb3NJBnDMuIUOT7Ro8uWbJ7xA_ywM4Ii2xFmECm4ydb6s3oNsgX/s1600/20150929_170728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11Ga55eldchvBhh4TQN6ovJ81g9UElHSCmVDufsv_v1W41KmaqU-eIXLCKXG99LhyphenhyphenmLrynM3BeyvlAkysxQ82LWm-9Bb3NJBnDMuIUOT7Ro8uWbJ7xA_ywM4Ii2xFmECm4ydb6s3oNsgX/s320/20150929_170728.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
"I have an idea!" My husband said. He's quite famous for those four words. They were the ones uttered moments before he sprung the idea for us to move to a foreign country. The same four words were used to move us further into the country where people have to take a ferry to see us. They were also the same four words, this time by me, to purchase our first home and B&B.<br />
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"I'm excited and nervous for you," the cashier <a href="http://www.continental-coffee.ca/" target="_blank">at Continental Coffee</a> said when he was looped into my other half's idea. "Please tell me how this works out."<br />
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<i>This will make one helluva story</i>, was what I was thinking.<br />
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I didn't realize Mike's little experiment was going to make one "damn fine cup of coffee," to use the famous words of Agent Cooper in <i>Twin Peaks</i>.<br />
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Summed up, my husband used a Whirley-Pop stove-top popcorn maker to roast green coffee beans on our barbecue in the backyard last night. This morning, I made my weekend <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flat_white" target="_blank">flat white</a> (an espresso and steamed milk beverage we've been making at home but didn't learn the name until our trip to the UK).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJd9iO9KXsuxzUstaWS_M0jSVrstM0j1tsLI2Q04z44XnI9kOfZSPf11yUo8xsgxlRs9vZx-UvKT69D4cpy8skzOXtC0bnsczAOywNQqXy8LKkUv3mOb4ZifuGMiU1XeafWZBSYKiJ9kC7/s1600/20151003_043155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJd9iO9KXsuxzUstaWS_M0jSVrstM0j1tsLI2Q04z44XnI9kOfZSPf11yUo8xsgxlRs9vZx-UvKT69D4cpy8skzOXtC0bnsczAOywNQqXy8LKkUv3mOb4ZifuGMiU1XeafWZBSYKiJ9kC7/s320/20151003_043155.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I know.<br />
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Turns out, this style of roasting is a bit "rodeo" for the roaster has to monitor the rising and falling temperatures of the beans, make adjustment and hand crank the Whirley-Pop. Too much heat and the beans will burn, too little and they’ll bake.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjajEPXxn7qMdvcRTKIKeL-1FHNlaInMAsefxrkTG1lZlrDAUCixOqsIZJEwvbGMF23Z3jlz-BPQMNh3R6MTXjDyqLNubiZz6XUt8D54U2UPD93JnArOy-qqf-5ftZ_3y-6fZAg0Sku2R/s1600/20151002_172841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkjajEPXxn7qMdvcRTKIKeL-1FHNlaInMAsefxrkTG1lZlrDAUCixOqsIZJEwvbGMF23Z3jlz-BPQMNh3R6MTXjDyqLNubiZz6XUt8D54U2UPD93JnArOy-qqf-5ftZ_3y-6fZAg0Sku2R/s320/20151002_172841.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The reason we did this outside on our barbecue burner is that roasting beans is smokey. They give off a lot of smoke and chaff (flake off from the roasting process.) When I say a lot of smoke, I'm a bit surprised our neighbors didn't call the fire department.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBzRNsULt69GgON7b9PPMVm8IBNXYAeiQcxzVSG71-fE3qfv6iSG1i-AtNSOAyzyFG3UEHeiagcM2SNc-2PFyZdM-M9ReQSR3m4d0IkqRp8lNz8uDBtWJXDDdlpFfsKpZEvxbg7ATM_4-/s1600/20151002_174256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBzRNsULt69GgON7b9PPMVm8IBNXYAeiQcxzVSG71-fE3qfv6iSG1i-AtNSOAyzyFG3UEHeiagcM2SNc-2PFyZdM-M9ReQSR3m4d0IkqRp8lNz8uDBtWJXDDdlpFfsKpZEvxbg7ATM_4-/s320/20151002_174256.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;">My favorite bit is the "first crack" which, coincidentally, sounds like popcorn popping. It is just shortly after first crack that you arrive at "city roast." Here was our first crack: </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;">We were aiming for what is called a City+ Roast, which means "</span><span style="color: #333333;">the coffee has cleared first crack, and time is allowed for an even bean surface appearance to develop," according to <a href="https://legacy.sweetmarias.com/library/content/using-sight-determine-degree-roast" target="_blank">Sweet Maria's website</a>.</span><br />
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<br />
<br />
The whole process took less than fifteen minutes. We left it sitting out overnight to de-gas and then ground it up this morning for our flat whites. It was awesome! <br />
<br />
We named it Sweet Start Vacation Roast. It is our hope (well, now that it turned out) to perhaps roast our own coffee for guests in our vacation unit. Fifteen minutes goes a long way towards unique services.<br />
<br />
Now all I need is a diner that sells a damn good cherry pie.<br />
<br />
<b>Resources:</b><br />
<ul>
<li><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flat_white" target="_blank">Flat White (Wiki)</a></li>
<li> <a href="https://legacy.sweetmarias.com/library/content/using-sight-determine-degree-roast" target="_blank">Using sight to determine degree of roasting</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.continental-coffee.ca/" target="_blank">Continental Coffee</a> (Vancouver coffee shop that sells green beans) </li>
<li><a href="https://www.sweetmarias.com/" target="_blank">Sweet Marias </a>(Order Green Beans Online, Ships from US)</li>
<li><a href="http://ineedcoffee.com/stovetop-roasting-with-the-whirley-pop/" target="_blank">Whirley-Pop Coffee Roasting</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-44063146008616527282015-09-27T07:18:00.000-07:002015-09-27T07:20:49.033-07:00Chance Encounters of the Beer Kind at Oktoberfest <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczPlono3cxnaDBAO4i8TNWgJURUzWJo90Ik-op_pkfgRXaAuqCW2ZnV6kf-M3ckhvDMWnMgoJZMRGQLclDc1Dv0DuqZrWekJKtfbTUxKOmKtbnTo8HLTIxS5SC66-WIinhswOHBzZkgxi/s1600/20150926_131715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczPlono3cxnaDBAO4i8TNWgJURUzWJo90Ik-op_pkfgRXaAuqCW2ZnV6kf-M3ckhvDMWnMgoJZMRGQLclDc1Dv0DuqZrWekJKtfbTUxKOmKtbnTo8HLTIxS5SC66-WIinhswOHBzZkgxi/s320/20150926_131715.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
As a blogger for dating websites, I tout the benefits of getting out of the house to meet "the one." It makes sense. Unless your Prince Charming wears a FedEx uniform, you need to mix and mingle with other singles in order to meet other singles.<br />
<br />
Sound advice.<br />
<br />
This advice holds true for many adults who find themselves in a position of trying to make new friends such as at a new job, in a new city or just looking to extend their social network out of the current confines. <br />
<br />
Often times our social situation changes and we find ourselves wading into the pond of strangers and just hoping not to be taken out by a beach ball. Maybe that's just me.<br />
<br />
I was at that point this weekend. My social world was starting to feel a bit . . . limited. I felt like I was having the same encounters with the same people. I needed new insight. New dialogue. New viewpoints. A change.<br />
<br />
That's when my worlds collided in an unexpected way. We'll call the event Oktoberfest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgofLo3jjrktiT0cJwp1_ja2OFUJQpC7YJLF0P76A1gN9GWQ37-TERSFtyjppeiIN2vRo0V_l8jrhYbMmWgv9llhPtPmsLUIHu0njQ2U0NKA3tp_LUctA3e3nwsGj7-vcFtFr7KJZ349AA7/s1600/20150926_122821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgofLo3jjrktiT0cJwp1_ja2OFUJQpC7YJLF0P76A1gN9GWQ37-TERSFtyjppeiIN2vRo0V_l8jrhYbMmWgv9llhPtPmsLUIHu0njQ2U0NKA3tp_LUctA3e3nwsGj7-vcFtFr7KJZ349AA7/s320/20150926_122821.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Willing to support local breweries while hanging out in downtown Sechelt, Mike and I popped into the second annual Oktoberfest event. Our plan was to sample a beer or two, listen to music while sitting on a hay bale and then book it home.<br />
<br />
"Don't we know him? He looks familiar," Mike said, trying to by sly by jerking his head towards the Persephone Brewing Company's tent. We had just purchased beer tickets and were headed that direction, but Mike wanted to know if we knew the guy before creating a social faux pas.<br />
<br />
"He looks like our former housemate from Vancouver," I said. "But why would Matt be pouring Persephone? Isn't he in the Northern Territories or something?"<br />
<br />
In Vancouver, we lived in a five-unit house on the very busy Commercial Drive. The house and surrounding yard was our sub-community in a community that often felt overwhelming. It was a community that watered each others veggie garden, brought figs
to their door and shouted "Hello" from their cars before clearing the
gate.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-PZcNDzjZUq6u-Uy-Fa91q_elMPKu5RIuOYYRW4J_IfUFimZg44x9xNihT2zf65WwLKknWprF0fVQXnnYYHVR8CNCZ6TEaDj1I-y5jrskmAC3NYNZt3Fv1X3Ynony3Z_p8K9xaSNED8op/s1600/20150926_122619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-PZcNDzjZUq6u-Uy-Fa91q_elMPKu5RIuOYYRW4J_IfUFimZg44x9xNihT2zf65WwLKknWprF0fVQXnnYYHVR8CNCZ6TEaDj1I-y5jrskmAC3NYNZt3Fv1X3Ynony3Z_p8K9xaSNED8op/s320/20150926_122619.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt (on the left) serving up Persephone!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The person above us, Matt, and the couple in the basement unit, Evan, would often join Mike and I outside on the lawn for beers on the weekend. We would hang out, and watch the crows fly to Burnaby. That was until Matt moved to White Horse, we moved to Gibsons, BC and Evan started his own brewery (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/doanscraftbrewing" target="_blank">Doan's Craft Brewing Compan</a>y).<br />
<br />
"It's my housemates!" The man at Persphone Brewing Company said over the chit chat of festival attendees and the music blaring out of the speakers.Wow.<br />
<br />
Through interrupted conversation as he filled the plastic cups of festival attendees, Matt told us that he had moved to White Horse for two years and then got a job teaching in Sechelt and a home in Half Moon Bay. While we were surprised to see him, he was equally shocked to learn that we were once again neighbors. In a way.<br />
<br />
The chance encounter may offer proof that it is indeed a small world -- but I gleamed a slightly different take.<br />
<br />
Sure, in our small community, I run into the same people at the same social events. They are the members of my sub-community -- much like my old housemates. They are the people that I share common bonds with such as location or self-development goals. It's probably time I take the run-ins up a notch, create the attachments where we recognize each other after two years. Go beyond the friendly small talk chit chat to a deeper friendship.<br />
<br />
I didn't need a change, just a shift in perspective thanks to a chance encounter of the beer kind. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-90084812253280592652015-09-24T11:30:00.000-07:002015-09-24T11:30:29.854-07:00Backed Into A Corner with My Back IssueTwo weekends ago, Mike ended up sleeping on the couch with the cat. It was at that moment that I realized that the situation was a bit worse than I wanted to acknowledge.<br />
<br />
About a month ago, I did something I shouldn't have -- I lifted a heavy bin by myself. Well, to be honest, I lifted it inappropriately and pulled my piformis muscle.<br />
<br />
This muscle goes from the outer thigh across the buttocks and to the tailbone, irritating the nearby sciatic nerve. Squatting, walking up hill and rolling over in bed would cause the muscle to spasm, creating ripples of pain up the spine and spreading numbness down the leg. <br />
<br />
Awesome. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the first person I went to see may have been focusing on joint alignment (pop and crack) a bit too soon for my healing muscles. Some joints (hips) were a bit difficult to align and perhaps were worked a bit harder than they could handle at that stage of recovery.<br />
<br />
The proof came when my hip decided that it would "relieve pressure" from the tightness and subluxation of the pelvis ensued (slip, slight shift). This "release" made sleeping, bending over, walking and even sitting difficult. It would seem that life in general puts pressure on the hip area.<br />
<br />
"I think there's a bulge above your hip?" Mike expressed one day. I tried to brush off his concern. It's my frumpy sweater. It's my love handles. It's anything other than an issue that needs to be looked at by a chiro. <br />
<br />
I was scared to go back. No pop and cracks. <br />
<br />
After Mike was stationed on the couch because the only comfortable spot was tap dead center of our mattress (which took me a good portion of the morning to get out of), I realized something had to give. However, I was terrified of going to see a professional again.<br />
<br />
Live uncomfortably or buck up?<br />
<br />
I bucked up . . . sort of. I went to another doctor and expressed my fear about manual alignment. That I wasn't ready to jump back into the pop and crack method. She was down with that and has treated me with kids gloves.<br />
<br />
The hip is still out but the muscle spasms are down. I am sleeping and my range of motion is returning. While my days and evenings are spent icing and heating the region in order to loosen up the muscles, I feel like I am headed the right direction.<br />
<br />
The lesson here? Use your legs to lift heavy bins while the husband is away. Duly noted.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-43222929895201681322015-09-20T11:02:00.000-07:002015-09-20T11:02:06.307-07:00Commiting to Random Acts of Art<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVblwpBeyS5VotUP3avsqGbW_4czsqk6O7EciJcH4OqwO9OWsBM6MwH9_2f71HLAotZ-L_7gGpRL-mDkpbZGQVpAdran0QtodFhlUIfOrayFcm1sQsDLQOc55S2qFk1WZr9D7vN_OTc5Nt/s1600/20150919_160713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVblwpBeyS5VotUP3avsqGbW_4czsqk6O7EciJcH4OqwO9OWsBM6MwH9_2f71HLAotZ-L_7gGpRL-mDkpbZGQVpAdran0QtodFhlUIfOrayFcm1sQsDLQOc55S2qFk1WZr9D7vN_OTc5Nt/s320/20150919_160713.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We are about a month away from the annual <a href="http://www.sunshinecoastartcrawl.ca/" target="_blank">Sunshine Coast Art Crawl (Oct. 16-18, 2015)</a> -- one of my favorite events.<br />
<br />
For three days, artists throw open their studio doors and invite guests, visitors and other artists to come in, interact and purchase art. It is a first hand gland into the vibrant arts community on the Coast, for most of us are working from home on creative endeavors. <br />
<br />
As part of the event, local artists of all abilities, ages and media are invited to participate in the <a href="http://artsbuilding.org/random-acts-re-vision/" target="_blank">RANDOM ACTS OF ART</a>. For $2, you get a sealed envelope containing an instruction sheet and a randomly chosen phrase. You have until October 11th to create a piece inspired by
that phrase.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNogO0BbQ5HGzTPdY3Pd-1FsecwXNyyho698xS4c_W19RIU0NC785PgH5DaPugIj0uE026523EYyOUXmhDwtA7c14ApbRNdsoWP-krYxjsmItlmhEqWT6ITg8DqMJNUL8g5f2rlpdLFfto/s1600/20150920_110117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNogO0BbQ5HGzTPdY3Pd-1FsecwXNyyho698xS4c_W19RIU0NC785PgH5DaPugIj0uE026523EYyOUXmhDwtA7c14ApbRNdsoWP-krYxjsmItlmhEqWT6ITg8DqMJNUL8g5f2rlpdLFfto/s320/20150920_110117.jpg" width="240" /></a>During the Art Crawl, all pieces will be displayed as part of a joint show at the Arts Building and the Landing Gallery in downtown Gibsons, where guests and visitors can purchase the work of art for $25. <br />
<br />
In the two years Mike and I have lived on the coast, we have purchased a work of art as part of the yearly art crawl tradition. While we do have plans to do the same this year . . . we have also purchased the sealed envelopes to create our own contribution.<br />
<br />
My phrase is "The difference a day makes" and Mike will be inspired by "Contrary to Popular Belief" . . .<br />
<br />
Updates soon on our Random Acts of Art! <br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-66109681495485951132015-09-12T09:51:00.000-07:002015-09-12T09:52:01.353-07:00Our New, Improved View Out Our Bedroom Patio DoorsWhen we purchased our gem in "middle-shire" Gibsons, the home inspection made a few minor issues known to the hubster and I. One of them was the rotting French doors that opened onto the deck from the bedroom.<br />
<br />
A year later, that minor issue became a huge one.<br />
<br />
Warmer temperatures and no air conditioning inspired me to open our
patio doors back in May. It wasn't long until the effects of the wet,
harsh winter on the doors became known. The bottom of the French door
pretty much fell out, dropping the frame holding the windows. It as
barely holding on, even with my husbands "made do" fix-it attempt. <br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
We contacted THE local door company, who caters more to building contractors than the home fix-it type, regarding replacing the doors. With business trips, vacations to the States and miscommunications, August rolled around and we still didn't have doors that closed upstairs.<br />
<br />
The state of "somewhat of an emergency" became "absolute urgent" when a BC storm rolled in. High winds and heavy rain destroyed what door we had left. Pieces of wood frame and shards of glass were found littered around our bedroom -- which we were sleeping in through the two day storm.<br />
<br />
"It's probably the best birthday present you will receive." Turns out the only day the door company could install our new doors was . . . on my birthday. That or two weeks later.<br />
<br />
I'll take it.<br />
<br />
It took about two days (the frame was damaged so we had to order a frame built which was installed the next day), but I am finally able to open and shut the doors. And that is pretty much all I have done since they were installed. Open. Shut. Repeat. One more time.<br />
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Last night, we slept with the drapes open just so that we can see the world outside our new doors when we woke up. Don't under-estimate the value of doors.<br />
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Open. Close. Open. Close. I have a busy day ahead! Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-13673514255340354112015-09-04T08:20:00.001-07:002015-09-04T16:47:55.718-07:00My Compulsion to Write . . . One Day at a Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It’s not that easy to ignore the gnawing feeling that starts to eat your
insides. You can't flip your mental station when it starts the "You should . . . " mutterings. It's hard to tune out the dialogue you mutter to yourself as you mental work out the kinks. <br />
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It's hard to communicate the compulsion to write, the overwhelming feeling that I must put words to digital paper. Writing is how I explore my world, how I relate to new input. I
start counting down the days since my last blog post or the last time I
saved my novel. My fingers start aching, my thoughts consume me and I
become irritable.<br />
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I know I've hit rock bottom when my shopping list is a scene, complete with dialogue. At this point, a post on Facebook or an IM won't satisfy the writing craving.<br />
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I have started crossing off full days on my calendar. Once a week, I take a Weegee Writing Day. I skip doing laundry. I ignore the mounting pile of dirty dishes. My to do list is MIA.<br />
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It's just my music, my muse, my computer and me. And it's awesome.<br />
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Perhaps it is knowing there is an end in sight. Maybe it is the fact that I took a step to do something that matters to me. It could be that I have taken a step to making time for my art. Either way, my writing days are my favorite parts of the week.<br />
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I store up my dialogue musings, ideas, tidbits and unleash them in a fury of writing. Blog posts, short stories, my first novel. It's like a dam. I build it up during the week and then open the flood gates until my creative flow is drained, emptied and spent. At the end of the day, I can be found in my bedroom recliner watching true crime episodes on YouTube . . . regrouping from the outpouring.<br />
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It's awesome. I love Weegee Writing Days.<br />
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I think everyone should take a creative day. Something that taps into their muse. Something without the usual constrains of time, responsibilities. A day that is just yours to feed the artist in all of us.<br />
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Mike once asked if I have ever considered doing a writer's retreat, a vacation where I can just right in a city condo or cottage by the lake. Oh yeah. I've thought about it. Perhaps the better word would be dreamed about it.<br />
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One day. For now, I will just enjoy and thrive on my one day a week.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-16377705191995545162015-08-25T16:00:00.000-07:002015-08-25T16:00:10.644-07:00Guestbook Gold<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Love the details."<br />
"Cozy, cute and quiet."<br />
"It was the perfect 'home' away from home."<br />
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Sure. We've received a few five-star reviews online for our little vacation rental in Gibsons. We've had guests submit their opinions on our living space via a public forum on AirBnB.com or VRBO.com.<br />
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But our favorite gush item is something most people will never see -- our guestbook.<br />
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Inside the suite, we have a green guestbook that resides on the hallway table. We encourage guests to tell us about their travels, what they did while on the Coast and any recommendations they have for restaurants or venues.<br />
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Every guest has left their impressions for our eyes and other guests to see. They share their stories, like what brought them to the coast. They talk about their adventures, from hiking to beach excursions. They talk about their interactions with us and why they will be back.<br />
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Their musings have created the best of Gibsons. Their highlights. What made the trip special for them . . . in hopes that the next person will see the wonderful world they saw.<br />
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It was a small dollar store investment that I really saw as gathering dust. It's worth its weight in gold.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-41498292215540299012015-08-15T07:31:00.000-07:002015-08-15T07:31:10.563-07:00United by NFL, Divided by Our Teams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Pick your own team," my father told mom and his two girls. Pops, as we called him, was an avid Raiders fan but he wanted us to enjoy watching the games on the multiple screens in our house by having our own favorite. This meant, our house was a Raider, 49er, Bronco and Oiler house.<br />
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Personally, I think he just wanted someone to cheer against.<br />
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On Sunday, the four of us would figure out the television schedule (this was before NFl Gameday anything). Who's team was playing who at what time. And heaven forbid one of our teams should play another member of the house's favorites -- it was all out, smack-talking, throw-down war. <br />
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Ah. Those were the good old days.<br />
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Or so I thought. <br />
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Last night, my husband (avid Seahawks fans) took our 12th man flag down to CenturyLink stadium in Seattle to watch our men in blue and green go head to head with the Denver Broncos -- my mom and sister's team . . . Who also attended the game with us. <br />
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There was a bit of trash talking amoungst us . . . And with strangers as they took note of their orange glittery baseball hats or my momma's Bronco logo earrings. My husband and I would holler and high five at the touchdowns, with a friendly glare at my kin when they did the same. <br />
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I think my dad was on to something. The four of us last night were united by our love of football but divided by our favorite teams Even in opposiition, there is something to be gained -- a different perspective on plays, players and even some questionable calls on the field. <br />
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It was an awesome game and a great way to kick off the 2015 NFL season! <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-89572356883824515572015-08-07T08:37:00.001-07:002015-08-07T08:52:04.032-07:00Our Sneaky, Furry Housemate Reveals His Escape PlanIn July 2008, Waller County Sherriff's Office in Hempstead, Texas, claimed that a 26-year-old
hatched an escape plan to literally slip out of jail. <a href="http://www.kwtx.com/home/headlines/25804079.html" target="_blank">According to investigators</a>, the inmate intentionally lost 30 pounds in three months so he could squeeze out the one
foot wide air vent in his cell to freedom.<br />
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He was caught taking a swim in a nearby hotel pool four days later.<br />
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In a similiar manner, our once large cat has lost enough weight to shimmy his way out of his "cell," also known as our front patio. <br />
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Our feline, Random, isn't a small cat. Most people inquire as to his weight when he darts through the house to his favourite hiding place or when "robot" (auto feeder) goes off.<br />
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In our eyes, he's a bit over the limit for his age but we like to think he's dropped a few ounces. Maybe? Not sure. We can only hope.<br />
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However, this morning, I received confirmation that our furry housemate is slimming down.<br />
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Mike and I leave the second storey doors of our home open during the summer, welcoming the cooler night air into our A/C-less home. The doors open onto a secure, isolated patio. Or so we thought.<br />
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This morning, I found dewy paw prints on the WRONG side of the secured parameter, which leads me to believe that Random has lost enough weight to get through the guardrail. A guardrail that once kept him contained on the patio.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrAESDn4_isju5LIqxtVKZ7pPzoR6Vn3AQIq9LXpK29rLV1gIf0ID6EBSy3bU2A2PVmSKm3UA1FdrQKIakjbncWX9MKCK075-cntxFfaagoYlqC60J0EhPx7QkNoJfiG0g5Jw-IhqGCwv4/s1600/SlimJim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrAESDn4_isju5LIqxtVKZ7pPzoR6Vn3AQIq9LXpK29rLV1gIf0ID6EBSy3bU2A2PVmSKm3UA1FdrQKIakjbncWX9MKCK075-cntxFfaagoYlqC60J0EhPx7QkNoJfiG0g5Jw-IhqGCwv4/s320/SlimJim.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Perhaps he lulled us into a false sense of security -- "Oh, he's too big to get out of there. Our cat would never do that." Lucky for us, he's not that great at covering up the damning evidence. We're on to him. However, in our favour, he hasn't discovered that with a small jump and a bit of tree scaling he could be on his way to freedom . . . or the nearby hotel pool.<br />
<br />
I think we have a ways to go before his escape plan comes to fruition -- but I'm on to him. <br />
<br />
Sneaky little guy.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>References: </b><br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.kwtx.com/home/headlines/25804079.html" target="_blank">Skinny Escapee from Texas Jail Nabbed in Hotel Pool (KWTX.com) </a></li>
</ul>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-26716539783616307882015-08-04T11:21:00.004-07:002015-08-04T14:30:48.715-07:00"He's Going Down" : My Worst Fears About Mike Traveling Come True<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuSqtQTPvhQ3kDnRWhnRPOxozfHoIux9qy3O8siYLkR6e8xBr7QcgexVTwdoPtRJA_OaRUveCxx4X6aHoZ5BUmRJnAoXdTM9h4gnzqXkziTLCM2U3hwBvXdm1kJlg_JAqSjzIc_iAnOjb/s1600/20150117_095924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuSqtQTPvhQ3kDnRWhnRPOxozfHoIux9qy3O8siYLkR6e8xBr7QcgexVTwdoPtRJA_OaRUveCxx4X6aHoZ5BUmRJnAoXdTM9h4gnzqXkziTLCM2U3hwBvXdm1kJlg_JAqSjzIc_iAnOjb/s320/20150117_095924.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
"How's Paris?" I asked my other half. I expected to hear about purchasing figs and baguettes from outdoor market vendors near his hotel. I expected to hear about missing his train stop.<br />
<br />
"I fainted." Didn't see that coming. From Mike's retelling, neither did he.<br />
<br />
Mike was a bit out of sorts the day he was supposed to fly to Paris for a week long training session. He was a bit stressed about an upcoming job evaluation with his manager. Stressed to the point that his stomach was in turmoil. In short, my big guy wasn't eating.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, Mike tends to fall asleep during the taxiing part of the flight. But wakes up shortly after take off, usually with a bad case of motion sickness. This time was no different.<br />
<br />
Worried that he was going to be sick, he jumped up awfully quick and tried to hustle through the tight rows for the galley restrooms on the large airplane heading for the Atlantic.<br />
<br />
"Sir, are you okay? Are you okay?" A stewardess asked as Mike headed down the aisle. He learned afterward that she has seen the signs before and knew he wouldn't make it.<br />
<br />
According to Mike, things went black and he had the thought to tell the inquiring woman that perhaps he wasn't fine. But that's the last thought he had before waking up on the floor of the jet, staring at the ceiling and three people in flight uniforms.<br />
<br />
They told him to stay where he was, that it would be a few minutes before he should move. They gave him water, OJ and helped him to his feet when the nauseous feeling passed. <br />
<br />
They told him that the stewardess caught the attention of other flight attendants by saying, "He's going down." They were able to catch him before he took out other passengers or cracked his head on the carpeted walkway.<br />
<br />
This wasn't the first time such an event took place on the airplane. According to his nurses, this happens when someone who has been sitting for too long jumps up. The blood flow isn't fast enough to keep up.<br />
<br />
I secretly worry about the little things that can happen when Mike is traveling. Would they know to contact me? What happens if he did crack his head and suffered amnesia? Or couldn't communicate who he was? Who to call?<br />
<br />
While it was my other half telling me the story via video call, there was a bit of paralyzing fear that washed over me. What if?<br />
<br />
I try not to think about it . . . but I am counting down the minutes until he is back home.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-20534013551682161392015-07-28T05:05:00.001-07:002015-07-28T05:05:18.012-07:00Small Town Parades and the Choices We've Made<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0RWJjvSI_VUxzAyS8NKYUVMCincWKZm5H-0X0vWEdpaKEwr_PoTEPgrUSRf_XwpsvA6n5YhAdHl5UmulomvHxblDcqI2PAgFGEq-kNAyDdpvY0tC0k5fYrf7LUK7LznicjzufBS3Ixlk/s1600/20150725_114014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0RWJjvSI_VUxzAyS8NKYUVMCincWKZm5H-0X0vWEdpaKEwr_PoTEPgrUSRf_XwpsvA6n5YhAdHl5UmulomvHxblDcqI2PAgFGEq-kNAyDdpvY0tC0k5fYrf7LUK7LznicjzufBS3Ixlk/s320/20150725_114014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Choices. That was the word fluttering through my mind the past Saturday, July the 25th -- also known as the first anniversary of Mike and I buying our first home.<br />
<br />
One year ago, Mike and I received the keys to our lovely new two-storey home in "middle shire" Gibsons before watching the parade that kicked off Sea Cavalcade weekend. This two day event celebrates the small town we call home while providing the community a chance to mix and mingle.<br />
<br />
This year, our plans really didn't change much. Rather than getting up to fetch our keys, we grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out to the back fence to watch the small town parade as it drifted down the hill into lower Gibsons.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVknVocPXNsAd7hyphenhyphen0nDOAQvvxJ9oR76DvQX3R0ToNXGmqFCj7YGDFLCYNTxKiEAJ0ol44tuE7G20h9AktESllwZvuEDBnUbRitXKwXwls33gbXmLS1GdeBQEWHdnXyJ0BLVdYhWyHH5hW/s1600/20150725_120644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVknVocPXNsAd7hyphenhyphen0nDOAQvvxJ9oR76DvQX3R0ToNXGmqFCj7YGDFLCYNTxKiEAJ0ol44tuE7G20h9AktESllwZvuEDBnUbRitXKwXwls33gbXmLS1GdeBQEWHdnXyJ0BLVdYhWyHH5hW/s320/20150725_120644.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
But it was different this year.<br />
<br />
This year, we knew people in the parade who hollered our names and as they drove the Search and Rescue vehicle down the hill. Our friends in the local theatrical society stopped and posed for us in their elaborate costumes. The drummer in the legion band stopped his beat to point his drumsticks at us with a smile and a wink. We chatted with our lovely neighbors while Mike signaled to the people on the floats that "yes" he did want another snack-sized bag of Skittles.<br />
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<i>"One's philosophy is not best expressed in words; it is expressed in the choices one makes... and the choices we make are ultimately our responsibility." -- Eleanor Roosevelt</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRlVPHvnrOZTdigP-fTaZv1lofgCD9_4Pyt1pRKqq-DByl8A6MCvdMlBRlgEBpfQHfGBID-P_W83mdc3Dgvdd7Vw8xBL3dwcTs6FVDyrR0ANOpDhwxpa4ggMrJb5QC5Kc8gXOvu-C7JpKS/s1600/20150725_113909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRlVPHvnrOZTdigP-fTaZv1lofgCD9_4Pyt1pRKqq-DByl8A6MCvdMlBRlgEBpfQHfGBID-P_W83mdc3Dgvdd7Vw8xBL3dwcTs6FVDyrR0ANOpDhwxpa4ggMrJb5QC5Kc8gXOvu-C7JpKS/s320/20150725_113909.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Our lives are the results of the choices we make. Some we regret. Some we are proud of in the end. <br />
<br />
Our move to Canada was on a whim, moving to Gibsons was an escape from city life and buying the house was an investment in our dream of being B&B owners. Choices made. <br />
<br />
As the firetrucks rounded the corner, bringing up the rear of the parade, I couldn't help but feel that we've made some pretty good choices. Choices that will continue to pay dividends in the years to come.<br />
<br />
We've made some pretty good choices. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-23669485102617313532015-07-20T09:06:00.001-07:002015-07-20T09:06:36.268-07:00Blackberry Season Has Arrived in Gibsons, BC! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SRqvXTVzfDY/Va0cQfyFxXI/AAAAAAAAsUY/noz8080zTuc/s1600/20150717_135429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SRqvXTVzfDY/Va0cQfyFxXI/AAAAAAAAsUY/noz8080zTuc/s320/20150717_135429.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Juice stains our fingers and palms when Mike and I return from a short walk to the post office or to the grocery store. The warm temperatures has pushed forward our favourite end of the summer tradition - picking bountiful, wild blackberries along the trails and roadsides of Gibsons, BC.<br />
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The flavourful fruit can be found along the roadside, on fencelines, down the stream banks and sprouting along popular walking paths. The bushes, a bit thorny, can be challenging to pick. Especially the ripe ones in the center!<br />
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There is a fine art when it comes to picking blackberries. You want the deep, black berry that pulls free from the plant with little resistance. Red or purple berries are not ripe and do not ripen once they have been picked off the bush. Pick as you need. They only last a few days in the fridge.<br />
<br />
Happy Berry Picking Season! Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-43908725336080646342015-07-13T09:21:00.000-07:002015-07-13T09:21:24.974-07:00A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Public Speaking . . . <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidt_ED1g0eY6ogkK-XcWDSmKJjVgAKB0OYYc8FjkTiixrYaCO0sALxORQGlx_3YiQNEOsB4r0mjV6S6SLfxYNfVX1tXoU4tY8kD86QU786rYT2ZPbOQocKfoJJixOgM8Wdh-xZ3vyMpE-2/s1600/360px-A-Funny-Thing-Happened-on-the-Way-to-the-Forum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidt_ED1g0eY6ogkK-XcWDSmKJjVgAKB0OYYc8FjkTiixrYaCO0sALxORQGlx_3YiQNEOsB4r0mjV6S6SLfxYNfVX1tXoU4tY8kD86QU786rYT2ZPbOQocKfoJJixOgM8Wdh-xZ3vyMpE-2/s320/360px-A-Funny-Thing-Happened-on-the-Way-to-the-Forum.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Funny_Thing_Happened_on_the_Way_to_the_Forum" target="_blank">Image Courtesy of Wikipedia</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Growing up, one of my favorite musicals was "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum." The "musical tells the bawdy story of a slave
named Pseudolus and his attempts to win his freedom by helping his
young master woo the girl next door.<br />
<br />
The plot displays many classic
elements of farce, including puns, the slamming of doors, cases of mistaken identity
(frequently involving characters disguising themselves as one another),
and satirical comments on social class.<br />
<br />
The title derives from the line
that vaudeville comedians often used to begin a story: 'A funny thing happened on the way to the theater'." (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Funny_Thing_Happened_on_the_Way_to_the_Forum" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a>)<br />
<br />
And the title is very fitting for and odd twist in my recent personal development.<br />
<br />
I joined Toastmasters to make public speaking, or specifically speaking with the public (small talk) a little less awkward for everyone. As I muddle through the process of being able to present coherent thoughts to our vacation rental guests, there as has been an unexpected side effect.<br />
<br />
I have an overwhelming urge to write. Every day.<br />
<br />
I have been getting up at 4am, even on the weekends, to squeeze out and hour or two of writing bliss. I have been writing speech drafts, blog drafts and rewriting drafts of my first murder-mystery novel. I find myself crafting dialogue while pulling weeds in our garden. My villian and I have long conversations on how to make them seem less evil, therfore less obvious from page one.<br />
<br />
Where is this coming from? I have a theory.<br />
<br />
Once you open yourself up to sharing a part of yourself, throwing caution to the wind and revealing your vulnerable side, the other parts you have secreted away bang on the door to be released. Stepping into center stage, taking a chance makes the next one that much easier.<br />
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Well, if I can write a compelling speech . . . perhaps I can write a compelling story. If I am willing to share my awkward teenage years with a room full of my peers, why can't I share my fictional story with strangers?<br />
<br />
Instead of being afraid of feedback, you start to crave it. Am I headed the right direction? What would you do? How do I make it better?<br />
<br />
A funny thing happened on my way to public speaking, I became a dedicated writer.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-72467798801799906002015-07-12T07:55:00.003-07:002015-07-12T07:55:29.542-07:00My Husband's Affair: Why I Am Happy With His New Distraction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-n4TiFa6WJMmpGdpdKFk0uwl_L2bw_RzFBqUsXcfrO-CkF3KmmHfXlKpNRp54AQoSSRVHAo-QhaZY4k76JmNkoO_C6I0QXGTWA0qzYy7prJoc817vnVpIFBgFeQNObIC2LBE-7nP9BhnG/s1600/20150509_073554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-n4TiFa6WJMmpGdpdKFk0uwl_L2bw_RzFBqUsXcfrO-CkF3KmmHfXlKpNRp54AQoSSRVHAo-QhaZY4k76JmNkoO_C6I0QXGTWA0qzYy7prJoc817vnVpIFBgFeQNObIC2LBE-7nP9BhnG/s320/20150509_073554.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
He sneaks away at all hours of the day to steal a few moments with his new obsession. I have caught him sneaking a few minutes with his new interest in the morning, before the alarm goes off, and late at night, long after I have turned out my own light.<br />
<br />
My husband's attention has been captured -- and I couldn't be happier.<br />
<br />
When Mike and I first started hanging out, I think his yearly book count was one. One book partially read in twelve months. Made up worlds created by the written word just didn't hold an appeal to him. Instead, he used his down time to play video games, surf the net or watch TV.<br />
<br />
That was until recently.<br />
<br />
Maybe it is the warmer weather. Sometimes it is cooler on our patio than in the house. Perhaps it is his recent work travels to Europe where he sits for nine hours at a time on a plane. Whatever the reason, my husband is speed reading books . . . bumping his book count up to one a week. <br />
<br />
That's right. He started a book I brought home from the thrift store on Monday last night. I can't count how many times I rolled over Saturday night to see him reading, the ending near. <br />
<br />
His newly discovered love of the written word has resulted in a purchase of an e-reader so he can take multiple books on his travels without adding a bunch of weight to his suitcase.<br />
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To me, I hope it is the start of a long-lasting love affair. For it means I can carry on my own literary obsession too! <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-82717563285983765052015-07-01T05:06:00.000-07:002015-07-01T05:06:59.743-07:00Happy Canada Day & the Bag O' Books Sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fn5ikaIPJzE/VZPWxQP65RI/AAAAAAAArho/FVY740Pfhng/s1600/CanadaFlag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Happy Canada Day in Gibsons BC" border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fn5ikaIPJzE/VZPWxQP65RI/AAAAAAAArho/FVY740Pfhng/s320/CanadaFlag.jpg" title="Happy Canada Day in Gibsons BC" width="320" /></a></div>
Happy Canada Day!<br />
<br />
From coast to coast, Canada celebrates the anniversary of the British North America
Act (now called the Constitution Act), which united three colonies into
a single country called Canada within the British Empire.
From parades to fireworks to cake-cutting ceremonies, each Canada town
embraces their own tradition for celebrating the holiday.<br />
<br />
One of my favorite traditions of Canada Day in Gibsons is the annual Bag o' Books Sale, hosted by the <a href="http://gibsonspublicartgallery.ca/" target="_blank">Gibsons Public Art Gallery (GPAG)</a>. For $10, browsers received a
canvas tote with a screen print of our lovely Molly's Reach restaurant.
After which, we could fill the bag with as many books as we wanted or
could fit into it. From gardening to cookbooks to murder mysteries to
picture history of Canada, there were books for every taste.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXyagXJ1qDOGIde3BDqjNohV8k9q-HgiC6q5v4yv09_UD8JwwTHWdAXk-sY-vMPVVE3qrFIf-Fv1WXE85pei6Gidf1J4tPLnSJFjsfEXvwndh6KWqwIBlq4R1jppklppjqhwPiPBAPT2j/s1600/20140701_121213.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXyagXJ1qDOGIde3BDqjNohV8k9q-HgiC6q5v4yv09_UD8JwwTHWdAXk-sY-vMPVVE3qrFIf-Fv1WXE85pei6Gidf1J4tPLnSJFjsfEXvwndh6KWqwIBlq4R1jppklppjqhwPiPBAPT2j/s1600/20140701_121213.jpg" width="150" /></a>Bookstores and book faires have this strange hold on me. I love books. I love to read the lettering on the binding, envisioning the story line between the cover. I like the just feel of the paper between my fingers and the smell of the ink on the cream coloured pages. I like the idea of stacks of books surrounding our home, waiting to be opened and their imaginary worlds expanding into my living room.<br />
<br />
The downside of it is, I read them too fast. I spend $10 on a paperback and the magic is over in a day. The portals into a different world becomes a dusty door that lingers on a bookshelf until I make the heartbreaking decision to take them to the thrift store.<br />
<br />
It's hard to make that short term investment -- except at the GPAG Bag O' Books sale. <br />
<br />
My $10 for a eco-friendly bag filled with fiction, mystery, gardening and beach reads helps open doors to the imagination while funneling money to a great local organization. The other side benefit of the sidewalk book sale is that it is a community event. Mix and mingle with friends while scouring for the perfect addition for your home library.<br />
<br />
What a beautiful way to spend the holiday! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xn97K8sIsE0/VZPXAXs27QI/AAAAAAAArhw/fPSE2TLHJaU/s1600/BagOBooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xn97K8sIsE0/VZPXAXs27QI/AAAAAAAArhw/fPSE2TLHJaU/s320/BagOBooks.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bag O' Books Sale - GPAG, Gibsons BC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-20305874241624939622015-06-24T13:30:00.001-07:002015-06-24T13:30:36.514-07:00Icebreakers: How I Introduced Myself to ToastmastersAs part of a four to six minute introduction, most people would avoid shining a spotlight on freakish growth spurts, mentioning the age they first bought a bra or openly discussing their fear of social interactions.<br />
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That wasn't the case today.<br />
<br />
This morning, I summoned my courage and delivered my first speech as a Toastmaster, entitled Sit It Out. The "Ice Breaker" is a speech to introduce oneself to fellow club members. This can include background, interests, ambitions, career or why one choose to join Toastmasters. It is an easy speech on a topic that the speaker knows well - themselves.<br />
<br />
"How do you pick what to talk about?" I had sent in an email to my mother-in-law, Cecelia.<br />
<br />
She wrote back, "The same way you write your blog. If it is important and interesting to you, it will be informative and interesting to them. You could approach it like a resume' or you can tell them about the interesting things in your life that helped to make you - you."<div>
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<div>
Interesting. </div>
<div>
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<div>
I remember doing an exercise during college as part of my RA (resident assistant) training. I stood on a platform about five feet off the ground, crossed my hands and fell backwards. The other 20 RAs caught me within a foot or so -- but I had to make the choice to lean back and fall into their hands. </div>
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That is kind of what the Icebreaker is. Relationships are built on vulnerability. It creates openness and trust. Giving yourself to the group allows them to "catch you" and lift you back on your feet -- and into a better place. </div>
<div>
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<div>
I made the choice to lean back this morning when I stood behind the podium for the first time. I shook. I sweated. I secretly prayed I wouldn't throw up. I gave my first speech. </div>
<div>
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<div>
I highlighted my vulnerable areas, telling the group that I am uncomfortable with my height and social interactions. I led the white elephant I call self-esteem issues into the centre of the room and let everyone pet it. </div>
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<div>
The amazing thing, that I found out afterwards, was that everyone had a pet elephant too. Some people hated their curly hair. Some found that having glasses at a young age only gave them a nerdy image. Many felt my pain of having to shop for tall girl pants. </div>
<div>
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<div>
The more personal, the better the bonding glue. </div>
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PS: It was a great experience . . . and I'm glad I did it. I look forward to many more.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2054289057596470880.post-82927228115047711352015-06-17T18:06:00.000-07:002015-06-17T18:06:19.147-07:00Honestly? Who Fears Going to the Hairdresser? <i>This blog entry was inspired by a impromptu speech I made at
ToastMasters this morning on fear. It was part of the Table Topics, a
long-standing Toastmasters tradition intended to help
members develop their ability to organize their thoughts quickly and
respond to an impromptu question or topic. The speech wasn't quite as
coherent . . . so this is my "revision!" </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-diwQJFue4N8/VYIY8Tk-gcI/AAAAAAAArAA/ez-gEfOYHdo/s1600/20150617_094448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-diwQJFue4N8/VYIY8Tk-gcI/AAAAAAAArAA/ez-gEfOYHdo/s320/20150617_094448.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I can understand not being a huge fan of the doctor's office. Sure. I totally get that the dentist office isn't high on everyone's list. But today I had to confront my appointment fear when I dialed up the . . . hairdresser for the first time in two years.<br />
<br />
You read that right. I have a fear of going to the hairdressers. Let me explain.<br />
<br />
I am near-sighted. I can't see anything unless it is two inches from me, with my glasses on. Once you are in the salon chair and that black cover is draped over your shoulders, the first thing the hair artist demands is that I take off my spectacles.<br />
<br />
As I sit there in the pumped up chair, I squint in a fruitless effort to witness the mane alteration. The only thing that I am able to glimpse is large chunks of my hair as it falls in clumps onto the floor.<br />
<br />
The other issue I have with going to the hairdresser is that my attention is divided between trying to watch my hairdresser and engage with small talk. Chit chat about the weather, where I work and how long I have lived on the Coast is not my area of expertise. In fact, I do what I can to dodge small talk when possible. Being held hostage in a salon chair by someone with sharp utensils next to my face pretty much means I have to power through it.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-469X9AVNnQ8/VYIZB7Rp74I/AAAAAAAArAI/8hJHf5kwI8Q/s1600/20150617_111137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-469X9AVNnQ8/VYIZB7Rp74I/AAAAAAAArAI/8hJHf5kwI8Q/s320/20150617_111137.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I believe each of us grows just a bit every day. A pod cast gives us a point to ponder. An article touches us in a unique way. We grow. Learn. Expand. Eventually, how we see ourselves is no longer what the mirror reflects. We gain confidence. We grow more accepting of our flaws, embrace our strengths.<br />
<br />
I needed to sync up what I was feeling inside with my image outside. Lately, I feel like I can take on the world and it is time I had a haircut that could also.<br />
<br />
I went to the appointment. I explained my fears -- and we left the glasses on. My small talk was stilted, awkward . . . but I did it.<br />
<br />
Perhaps getting my haircut wasn't about matching what was inside . . . but the person I am trying to become. . . . one awkward conversation at a time. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0