Adventures of My Canadian Ass

Plan "B"

2013-01-30T09:02:00.002-05:00

Hello friends! January is coming to a close and so much has happened since I last wrote. We had a fantastic trip to the Isle of Jura and Islay in Scotland over the Christmas break. The scenery was just breathtaking and it was such a terrific opportunity for me to take photos and for Rick to immerse himself (or bathe, if he could get away with it) in distillery hunting and Scotch sampling. I had good fun of an evening when we were tucked into our hotel room creating albums on Facebook to mark our journey. I know our families appreciated being kept up to date on our travels. It was also nice to look back on the day’s adventures.

If you ever felt that you needed to get away, I mean really get away (and not some 5 star all inclusive somewhere swanky), these islands and in particular Jura would be the place to lose yourself. There were times I often felt, when I was standing on a mossy hill with the wind whipping fiercely against me, that there was just no way I could possibly capture the awesomeness of what I was seeing through my lens. How could such expansiveness be so beautiful? Perhaps it was just that. The physical openness allowed my mind to expand too. I found myself considering things about my life that I hadn’t before (like how short our lives really are, what it is that holds us back from doing the things we really want to do with our lives, and if I died tomorrow I would be a happy and content girl). I know, odd things to think about, but that is a sampling of what was rambling around in my head.

The single biggest disappointment with this trip was that the Jura Distillery was closed. Rick was crushed. We came all that way and stayed specifically in the hotel (and the only one on the island) solely for the purpose of visiting the distillery next door. At one point, I thought that Rick was going to walk across the street and start banging and shaking the doors begging them to open up for heaven’s sake. But instead, he pouted when we passed it on our walk to check out the village. One thing there wasn’t a shortage of on the island were wild goats and gosh did they ever stink! And they pooped everywhere. I bet it must drive the locals nuts having the pesky buggers munching their hedges and leaving their business behind. They did make for some great photos, though, so I won’t go on about their bad points.

Speaking of odd smells when we were in Tarbet, we caught a whiff of something in the air that was a bit like sulphur but almost like charcoal. It turns out that they often use coal in their fireplaces. It is funny how smells can stir up memories and this will be etched in my mind forever as Scotland. I took a stab at stoking the fireplace in the pub in the town of Portnahaven. We stayed two nights there (foolishly now we realize that it really was at the end of Islay) in the Burnside Lodge and the wind was so wicked that it made our bedroom windows whistle and the extractor fan in the loo rattle all night. And it was a good job we had black out curtains because the lighthouse would flash through our window as it scanned the harbour.

And back at the pub, we found ourselves making friends with some of the local men (a tall fellow we will call Boomhower because god knows what he was saying, and the young bartender who was a business graduate who knew nothing about the Scotch he served, and the short, mouthy fella who was a Scottish version of Rick and coincidentally they almost got into a fighting match when the Scottish version called the Canadian version an “American”) quickly became our source of entertain in this one pub town. I don’t think this pub (or the village) was the same after we left.

And how about that Scottish accent now we are talking about not understanding someone? There is something about the Scottish accent that does it for me. The guy could be less than desirable (in my opinion) but gosh darn it when he starts with that phlegmy argh that borders on pirate talk, I picture bloody Sean Connery and I am a Missy Weak Knees. And I also believe that it has something to do with the kilt and what does (or erm doesn’t) accompany it.

Okay, getting my mind back on track.... So really between the shortbread (good grief there goes the diet), the amazing selection of Scotch, the crisp salty air, the ever changing and dramatic skies, and that seductive accent, well guess where we will be going camping this summer?

And while I am speaking of photos, the opportunity to take more didn’t end with our Christmas trip to the islands. Twice now I have had my photos printed in the Harlow Star “Photo of the Week” segment. The photo of the frosty forest was the day after we had what was called freezing fog and my photo appeared in their special featured called "Cold Snapped". The one of the ducks on the frozen pond was the day after we had a snowstorm. The snow is all gone now, of course, but this photo was printed in their "Snow Patrol" section and it is a great way to remember the storm in January.

Perhaps travel writing and photography, as plan "B", is not such a bad idea after all.

The Souks of Sheffield

2012-12-07T10:40:00.000-05:00

The last three weekends have been jammed with touring and each location had its own unique qualities that reminded me why I truly love travelling throughout this country.

We drove just outside of Cambridge and on the advice of one of Rick's coworkers did the park and ride into the centre of town. Travel and parking would be tricky and taking the bus gave us a chance to both see the town without stressing about where to park and how the heck to get back out of the town once we were heading back home. The British signage is poor at best and if you don't live here you don't deserve to know where you are going is what Rick and I chant whenever we get twisted around and the signs are sorely lacking to guide us along the way.

So in Cambridge there are a lot of people that bike and it reminded me quite a bit of Amsterdam in that regard. You certainly had to watch where you were going when you were crossing the street as bikers zoom pass you and they are not always easy to spot or hear so it would be simple to get blindsided. The shops were mostly upscale and the streets narrow and cobble stone laden (Rick has to watch he doesn’t twist an ankle) and we did some Christmas shopping in a market.

Of course, Cambridge is known for its university and when we stopped for lunch, I struck up a conversation with a young lad sitting at the table next to us. When he went to the loo and left his plate of onion rings, I told Rick it would be so much fun to take them and when he returned start eating them and see how he would react. It turned out that he was from Brazil and taking his PhD in physics at the uni. What a bright and engaging boy he was. He actually offered to share his onion rings with us after I confessed what we joked about doing with them.

The best fun we had in a while was getting together for a weekend at the end of November in Sheffield with our good friends Susanne and Steve Holland and Jill and Arthur Armstrong. These are the folks we met in Morocco and we all hit it off so well that we have kept in touch since December 2010 and had a previous reunion in Nottingham in February 2011.

Sheffield didn’t disappoint as we left our hotel room and had a night out on the town, despite the fact that it was pouring rain and quite cold. We hopped on a tram (actually crammed onto one), and when the trolley jolted at each stop we wobbled and fell into each other and giggled like a bunch of school kids. We asked a fellow passenger where the best place was to eat and he recommended a Chinese food all you can eat restaurant and we thanked him and King Arthur and Ricky lead the way along the wet streets.

Well, we didn’t find the “all you can eat” place but we did find another fabulous Chinese restaurant that appeared to be popular with the local Chinese community. And feast we did. The food was more than all six of us could handle and it was incredibly fresh and delightful.

The next morning we did a tour of downtown Sheffield which I would describe as historically modern (now that’s an oxymoron) and we came across a market that Rick claimed took months for him to plan. And what to our wondering eyes did appear but a section of tents with vendors selling their wares..... from Morocco! I was so pumped to find a cosmetic and spice stall so I could buy my favourite beauty item of argan oil.

We stopped for a latte in the Sleigh Bar (with a shot of Bailey’s, of course) to warm up our fingers and toes and I just had to sit in Santa’s sack to get my picture taken. With our bellies warmer, we carried on and did some window shopping and just generally enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.

We are already planning our next adventure together and options that were discussed, after too much Chinese food and fizzy drinks, were Benidorm (Rick and I so enjoyed our trip there in April 2011 and having a group go would be that much more memorable) or a Riad in Morocco (no five star hotel outside of Marrekech we want to be in the heart of the action next time). I know, however, that where ever this crew goes, that laughter, good food, and great stories will be high on the agenda.

I Wanna Ride the Pony.

2012-11-16T08:24:00.000-05:00

Last weekend we had great fun checking out Old Harlow and Churchgate and found a house that was for sale that we loved. When we came home and looked it up on-line and almost gagged on our cheap UK wine (how we miss being clobbered by the LCBO back in Canada– not!) when we saw the listed price of 399,000 pounds! Good grief, Charlie Brown, why are houses so expensive here? And secondly, how do the average Brits afford to buy a place? I do find that rather disappointing in that we (okay well mostly me) would like to own again. I often struggle with the whole rent versus own dilemma but after Ricky spent 12 years working endlessly on our place in Douro, I know he is not eager to take on another “do it yourselfer” anytime soon.

When I stopped in Churchgate to ask the local butcher if I could take a picture of his shop, he asked where we were from (gosh people are so friendly here too by the way). When I explained that we were Canadians, he asked if we were associated with the Memorial University of Newfoundland’s campus in Harlow. I had heard that there was a Canadian connection but wasn’t sure until we chatted with him. His girls were adorable with their ratty hair and unmatched outfits. They stared at us while we chatted with their father and the oldest reminded me of a young ratty-haired Molly in her cropped Hello Kitty t-shirt and black patent shoes. She’d be embarrassed by her lack of style and disheveled hair now, no doubt!

After touring the little village, we just had to wet our whistles in the local pub. I felt like a celebrity as we sat and sipped on our tea, as the locals got into a staring match. The couple sitting behind us at another table gawked when we ordered our drinks; another at the bar examined us when we chatted with the bartender. The young lad behind the bar had to mind his head on the beams in the low ceiling and they had to stoop when they came through the door from the kitchen. He didn’t ogle at us and we had a good discussion about the dangers of his job and how Rick and I, obviously due to our small stature, would be ideal as barkeeps in there. I think he found our discussion, about work related injuries, amusing.

Then on Sunday, we got out on our bikes (mine incidentally was sorely lacking in the gear changing and brakes department and we rode for over an hour before I finally got cranky about my bike. Rick didn’t realize it was not up to snuff and was wondering what all the whining was about – Gee go figure) and hit the nearby trails and stopped to pat the ponies in the fields along the way. We both commented on how much happier we are living here in Harlow compared to Dartford. I think it is our close proximity to the countryside and the area being more open and green.

The other wonderful surprise for us is the fall colours in the trees and the collection of fallen leaves that we just didn’t get in Kent. As Canadians, we get the most spectacular colours in the fall and being in England last time lead me to believe that we would not experience that again. So when the trees here started turning and they don’t go bright red like in Ontario but the yellows are brilliant I was so friggen happy. I wanted to scoop up the leaves, toss them over my head, and jump in a pile like a freckle-faced 10 year old fool. It is funny how simple things like that can bring you such joy.

When we had biked to the point that I had to stop and walk instead of ride, given its condition, Rick could hear the pub on our street calling us and we made our way home. But no bike ride is complete without some sort of injury and I greeted the hedge down the street with my face and the seat of my bike greeted my woo hoo with the same eagerness that my mouth expressed loudly my sheer displeasure with the tumble that I was sure it would be some time before I could venture out and do this again. As I hobbled the remainder of the way back home, Rick waiting with a look of “what is the problem now” written on his face, I knew the next drink was not going to be tea. And before I talk about the pub next I tell you when Rick took my bike out for a spin while I sat inside with a bag of frozen peas on my well “you know” he told me he didn’t realize how rough it really was and apologized for not sorting this when he first did the maintenance when we bought them. And like the good man that he is, he got right to straightening out the kinks but I still was not feeling the love on the concept of jumping back on that horse just yet to try out the improvements. I’ll save that for next weekend’s touring.

So the pub that is 88 steps from our house is just a peach. There are three sections to the pub and each would cater to whatever type of atmosphere appeals to you (pool table, loud music, and boisterous drinkers in one end and the restaurant serving 2 for one meals in the other). We like the Snug which is in the centre. It is quiet and cozy with a fireplace and leather chairs and dark wooden beams on a low ceiling (just like the pub in Churchgate). Book your parties here, the chalkboard sign says, and Rick thinks he would like to celebrate his 60th. I think he just wanted to be able to have a nap in there. I’ll keep that in mind, I tell him. I’ve got some serious work to do then, my friends. We chatted once again with a female bartender and she asked where we were from. Funny how your nationality comes up on a regular basis here and at home we hardly give it any notice. I don’t mind to be honest. It gives you an ice breaker and an opener when speaking to a stranger. I like that. I like even more that we can explore new places again too even if it means I’ll be choosing padded seats for a while.

Mind the Gap

2012-11-06T07:18:00.000-05:00

Standing on the Tube platform, oddly, I am reminded of a scene from the children’s movie, “James and the Giant Peach”. James is lying on a beach with his mom and dad having a lovely time and looking up at the clouds. But suddenly, the wind picks up and a dark cloud with the image of a rhino is charging through the sky and James’ parents are taken by the storm leaving him behind. And like the charging rhino in the movie, the carriage approaches with the same force. One moment there is a remarkable stillness as I wait along with the throng of other commuters and the next a distance rumble tells me it is on its way. A wind builds and my scarf dances and a light shines out of the tunnel. The train bursts into view so violently that I wonder if it will stop. But it halts; people collect and wait anxiously for the doors to open. Will I get a seat? We all scurry into its belly perhaps ignorant of its strength and volatility. Mind the doors, please. Move right down into the carriage and use all available space. Mind the doors. Mind the closing doors. And allow ourselves to get swept along as it travels to its next stop.

The past two weeks, I have felt a bit like James. The HR job, that I was so pleased to have secured, turned into a major disappointment. The woman, who was assigned to be my manager, took great pleasure in picking apart everything I did, expected me to automatically know where to find things and what I needed to do to accomplish my tasks, and instead of being grateful for my assistance was generally irritable and impatient with me. The icing on the cake was when she asked me to update some information on applicants in their spreadsheet and when I simply asked when I pointed to the various documents in the directory which one I should be using her response was “why is this here?” and “what is that doing there?” and “you forgot to add the details on this” while she took over my computer and banged up and down on the cursor arrows going over “my” mistakes. Hold the phone, Aunt Sponge, I just asked which spreadsheet I should be using.

The daily travels to London, as well, were long, hot, and taxing. The trains from Harlow are excellent in that we are on the Stansted Airport express route which means that they run often and fast to London but the challenge was the additional journey once I got off the train and entered the world of Tube travel. As Canadians, we are accustomed to our space. We live in a large and spacious country and we live, for the most part, in large and spacious homes. There is something , for me anyway, that is not quite right about being so close to a stranger that you can tell what they had for lunch. People sneeze and they cough into the carriage without covering their faces. Their oversized purses and hard covered briefcases often jab you in the back, butt, or the shin depending on how you are pinned in the Tube next to them. And when you think that there simply can’t be any more room for another passenger, the train stops and several slink in and join the band of smoked oysters in this underground can. It gets particularly hot, stuffy, and smelly in there as well and I learned to remove my outside coat before my train arrives. There have been times that I have had to put my scarf around my nose and mouth as someone next to me smelt so awful, it made me nauseous.

Getting a seat is also a luxury and people will toss their manners, if they had any to begin with, out the window and have no hesitate beating you to a place to sit down. I have been bumped, knocked, and at one point when I was actually removing my pack and clearly assuming the seated position, challenged for a seat. Now I can’t say that all travellers are this rude as there have actually been two instances where a man, a very kind one in my opinion, has offered his seat to me. Chivalry is nonexistent in the commuting world. And it is not that I am expecting that a man gives up his seat for a lady but gosh darn it does he have to practically leap and stumble over folks feet in order to get to a place before me? Then there are the unexpected and ever present delays that occur and you just never know how long it is really going to take you to get from point A to B on any given day. Sometimes it’s a slower train ahead that stalls the process, or someone’s bag has become stuck in the closing doors, or for reasons I just can’t wrap my head around no matter how unhappy or unsettled I may have felt in my life, decide to throw themselves in front of the train and experience what I imagine to be an excruciating death on the tracks.

So when the doors opened on Friday after I had done my final stint with Sponge (I’d had enough earlier in the week and gave my notice) and a gush of recycled air from the platform blew on my face, I felt as though I was leaving a bizarre world where anything can happen behind. But the Tube gets in your head. It can make you hard and put you in survival mode, of sorts. I know for me it heightened my need to create my space when I am out in the public and however convenient public transportation may be here, I’d like to avoid that raging rhino and walk as much as possible to get me where I need to go. Because I’ll mind those doors, mind the closing doors alright. No problems.

A Soft Place to Land

2012-10-08T11:40:00.002-04:00

I’ve learned that as quickly as you have dismantled your life around you, you can rebuild it again. I’ve also learned how important making a home comfortable is to me. Purging our place in Douro was gratifying to a point but once it became an empty shell, I didn’t want to live there anymore. It felt hollow and cold and the fact that I was there by myself made my urge to move on even greater. It is true that a house is just a house and that it is the people, the love, the joy, and the trials and tribulations that make it home. For me, home has to be a soft place to land and as quirky as our place is in Harlow it has been a good landing so far. I am happy to have been able to move on. Quirky Manor is a three bedroom mid terrace house that was probably built in the 50’s. The walls are solid and it is difficult to hang pictures. The good news is this means that unlike our place in Dartford we can’t hear the neighbours sneeze. There is also lots of space for storage which is unusual for many British houses. I guess the good part about that is that it discourages you from being an over consumer. I think of all the things we had in Douro and in the end did we really need them? Probably not. But having adequate storage to put linens, dishes, and clothing is certainly a bonus here.

The bathroom arrangement is interesting in that there is a toilet and sink in one room and right next to it another separate room with a sink, a tub and shower. Both are quite tiny and neither have matching flooring. In fact, the one with the toilet has a sink that is so petite Rick’s hands barely fit it in when he washes them. We also tend to spill water on the floor as a result. A small mat on the floor will remedy that. There is no place to store cosmetics and shampoos so we finally found a three tiered free standing storage units that we can tuck under the pedestal sink. The Brits are very inventive when it comes to making the best use of space and it has been fun being creative with ways to do just that with our kooky water closets.

The furniture in the lounge has posed a challenge. They are rather large and surprisingly comfortable black faux leather and resemble a psychiatrist’s furniture. And interestingly enough, our landlord is just that! Things were tickyboo until we bought our tellie (an awesome 40” Sharp flat screen at a terrific price in Sainsbury which is our local grocery store) and had to put it on a stand and then scratch our heads and stand back and say gee how do we position all this now so we can actually see the screen? Well with some creative thinking and some shifting around, I think we have it figured out. Now when we watch the news I feel like I am looking up the announcer’s nostrils. I have never had such an excellent picture and it almost makes me feel boogly-eyed watching it. We are still on the hunt for a proper entertainment unit but for now the arrangement we have seems to be working just fine. Now next to the ultra modern living room furniture we have this interesting Victorian dining room furniture which has taken some getting used to. The table is round and at first glance looks like it is covered in glass but in actual fact has a plastic top (so you have to be careful putting hot dishes on the surface). The wine coloured plush chairs are comfortable enough but the style is just so formal that we chuckle whenever we sit down for a meal. We feel somewhat regal when we dine. It certainly is not the type of set we would spend our money on but they are functional and will provide for great conversation when we have guests over. I’ll tell them my Aunt Betty and Uncle Phil were cleaning out Windsor Castle and asked if I could take it off their hands. The kitchen has a lovely window that looks out onto the back garden. I like to stand at the sink and eat my breakfast as the morning sun spills into the room. There is also a little breezeway between the kitchen and the patio with doors that have big window panes and I love to open this up and let the fresh air in. There certainly are more cupboards in this kitchen compared to our last British home and I have ample space to do my food preparation. Our landlord put in a new hob and I am enjoying cooking with gas which provides a quicker and more even heat. The house is so quiet and aside from the ticking clock (gee this reminds me of Douro) the fridge every once in a while makes this funny noise that actually sounds like someone quietly farting. It would freak me out a bit when I first moved here when I would get up in the night to get a drink. The wall clock would be making its rhythmical tick and all of a sudden “perffff” and I swear to god I thought there was someone else in the room.

I’ve taken some pictures of Quirky Manor so you can see things like the tiny bathroom sink, oh yes and the interesting ventilation system in the window for when you have a shower (you pull the strings to open and then close it again), Aunt Betty and Uncle Phil’s dining set, the back yard which Rick has only just recently raked and turned up a tube of toothpaste, an ashtray, and three spoons and a fork along with the dead leaves, and has since mowed, evened out with new top soil and reseeded with grass seed. I have also taken some shots of the pub which is only 88 steps (Rick counted them out when we went for a pint last Saturday night), the houses in our area (one which caught my eye when I was out for a run on Sunday morning – such a contrast with the pink house and the autumn coloured vine and wispy tree in the yard), the hall runner which we picked up at North Weald market, and our dealio on the round coffee table from a nearby “blow your mind away with the prices and selection” charity shop.

Goodbye My Friend

2012-09-18T21:16:00.001-04:00

Three more sleeps. Only three more sleeps left in the house until it closes this Friday. The kids are all away at school now and Rick has been in the UK for three almost four weeks. The house is mostly empty and there are only a few items left to tuck into our new Ontario home which incidentally is 10' x 15'. Now that's downsizing! The stairs sound hollow when I clunk up and back down again. The kids' rooms are all empty. I wander from room to room and picture Keaton with his head buried in a sports game on his PSP, a rhythmic thumping comes from Channing's room as he listens to dubstep, and the blow dryer whirs in Molly's and above she sings along to Michelle Branch or Taylor Swift. The house is silent now. It has become a shell. I cry mostly because it is hard to let go and say goodbye but also because I am grateful for what we had here as a blended family. We beat the odds in these rooms. We meshed together and raised our children like a traditional family. Not many kids from split families had the benefits of stability, strong values, and mutual love and respect. And yet as difficult as the last three weeks without Rick have been I am anxious to move on. He has settled nicely in his new school and so amazed at the difference in not only the behaviour of the students but the general positive and supportive nature that permeates the building. I am so happy that he has found a place where he will thrive as a teacher. Goodness knows he deserves this. He is such a dedicated and talented teacher and I want nothing more than to see him content and appreciated as an outstanding professional. Working for two years at the Leigh in Dartford was his bootcamp and now is the time to reap the benefits of his labour. Just writing about him makes me realize how strange it has been being here without him. We have never been apart for more than a week and this has been a true test and testament to the strength of our marriage. He has been busy making our new house in Harlow a home and each day he writes an email so I have this to read when I wake in the morning. I miss his laugh and I miss his arms around me. Life carries on, no doubt, but there is just something odd about closing out the house, our house, without him. Having said that, I am almost there. There is such a sense of relief when I come home and see the "sold" sign at the end of the drive.

This means we can turn the page on this chapter of our lives and see what the next one brings. I am so proud of what I have been able to accomplish in order to make this all possible. It is a time that I am most grateful for being focused and organized and my daily lists and weekly planning have proved to be invaluable. There has certainly been no time for being flaky or scattered. But there has been time for tears, catching up with good friends, tying up loose ends, and taking stock of what I have and what I have had. So the next time I write I will be settled back in England. The house will be sold and I will have said my last goodbyes. Goodbye, my friend. We got off to a bumpy start but you grew on me over the years and I was able to call you home. Now it's time to say farewell. Goodbye, my friend. xo

In All Things Be Grateful

2011-09-25T13:30:00.003-04:00

Three weeks have passed since we moved back into our home. We had our homecoming party last weekend and it felt amazing to see all our good friends again and we enjoyed hosting in our expansive house. It really is ideal for entertaining and when I think of our tiny spot in Britain, I am reminded of how fortunate we are to have such a fabulous home in which to live. The tunes were cranked and we didn’t have to worry about offending our neighbours, folks mingled and wandered without feeling crowded, the drinks and food flowed, and at one point I felt as though I was dreaming.

It is still all so surreal being in England one day and then back here in Canada living our old life but being two very different people. It is as though body and spirit were in different locations. Not sure if this makes sense to any of you but oddly enough it also got me thinking about if I felt like this only after two years living in a relatively similar country how might it feel for someone that has lived in a third world country for an extended period of time, fighting in Afghanistan, or in captivity. How on earth did I make this correlation, you are probably asking? Well, I think it speaks to the awakening that one experiences when they step outside of the box of their regular lives. Again, our lives in England were comfortable and interesting but we were separated from our families, long-time friends and our home and for me it was that time apart that made me reflective and being reunited I feel grateful. Be grateful. Now there is a good motto.

And speaking of grateful, having a steady income again (vs. the unpredictable pay as a temp) is certainly handy especially since Rick is unemployed. Although the first few days when he was dropping me off at work, I would whine, “No, Daddy, don’t make me go to school. I don’t want to go.” And he would shove me off with a “there, there” and I‘d walk in half happy to be with friends (and taking tap dance lessons again) and half irritated by what I was missing back in London at EY. Gosh, I loved working there. The job was challenging and fun and the folks were great. They worked hard and partied harder and I had no problems fitting in. And now that I have worked in the private sector where results are the order of the day, being stuck in a process driven environment is not what I can truthfully see myself in for a long time to come. But for now, it is meeting the purpose of giving us time at home and time to reassess how we truly do want to move forward particularly since teaching jobs in our area are just not happening for Rick.

And on the note of moving forward Rick has certainly not been idle. Every day he makes a list of things to do for the day such as clean windows (and gosh we have a LOT of them), cut the grass, fix the furnace, unpack boxes we had stored upstairs, and he is literally working from the time I leave for work at 8:00 am until I return again at the end of the day. The place is looking so tidy and a marked improvement on what we first encountered in August when our tenant was on the end of his lease. What a relief, by the way, to get him out of the house. And as a side note, we are still trying to recover several of our missing kitchen items from him. Rick seems more patient with the man that I am. Personally, I would still like to find that ugly dog I had requested in my previous blog entry to come and chew his butt off (or a few fingers for taking things that clearly don’t belong to him). Speaking of grateful, I should be that he didn't trash the place. And as Rick would say, “are you still carrying that woman on your back” which means I am hanging onto something that I should be letting go. So I’ll move on. Okay, I’ll try to move on and be grateful as well that our move back to Canada was quite seamless and void of major challenges.

The Reality of it all

2011-08-28T17:25:00.000-04:00

It’s true that sometimes you need to step away from something in order to have a good look at it and being away from Peterborough for two years and returning a week ago has certainly offered me a new perspective on my hometown. My first reaction to the city was just how large everything seemed. Cars are larger, houses are larger (and mostly detached), gardens, streets, and unfortunately, the woman seem larger than in the UK. I am still finding it odd catching the Canadian accent when we are out shopping and I feel as though I am hearing my voice through a recorded message for the first time. Is that really how I sound? No wonder the Brits would mistake me for American. We really do sound a lot alike (except for the southern states or the Midwest that is

It seems funny to be using the Canadian dollar again with the coloured bills all in the same size. British notes were certainly not as colourful but they varied in size depending on the denomination (a fiver was smaller than a twenty) which aided in identification, I thought. Canadian flags posted on buildings, sitting on car antennas, or hanging as curtains are further reminders that I am not in the UK anymore.

We are getting a kick out of (or should I say quickly irritated by) the slow rate at which Peterborough residents drive compared to Dartford. A green light here means let me think about this for a second, gee what colour is that light, well I guess I should go now and I can feel Rick’s skin crawling as we sit only three car lengths behind and still waiting for our turn to go left. Gone are the roundabouts and being able to whiz around town, weaving in and out of the streets, and squeezing into ridiculously narrow parking spaces. Here the drivers like to travel at a snail’s pace and cautiously manoeuvre their massive Buicks into parking lots built for caravans. Even the way shoppers walk in the mall seems slower to us and it is as though we have been transported into a Valium-filled bubble and we can’t decipher if this is the dream and UK is the reality or vice versa.

We have had our share of sticker shock with a visit to the grocery store and dropped 50 bucks for one dinner for the family. You may think well that isn’t a big deal but when we are so used to hitting the market in Dartford on a Saturday and loading up on avocados, bananas, apples, onions, tomatoes, you name it, for a pound a bowl, we croaked when saw the price of produce here. Even since returning we have had our friends ask us if we found it expensive to live in the UK. Generally that is the opinion Canadians have about the country (as did we before moving) but the truth of the matter is that as I mentioned food is certainly less expensive as are toiletry items like shampoo (2 pounds as opposed to 7 dollars), clothing (endless good quality items found in charity shops for under 5 pounds), household items and furniture, and the list goes on. I am sure that as the weeks go by and we continue to reacquaint ourselves with life in Ontario, we will be battling it out with the cost of living and doing our best to budget effectively.

I think the greatest disappointment we have faced since coming home is the state of our house. The overgrown gardens were one thing (it was our responsibility as the owner to maintain this) but when I think of how tidy we kept our place in Dartford, the flowers we planted, and the lovely vegetable garden Rick tended, I just couldn’t imagine renting a place for a year and not so much as pulling a blade of grass. The inside of the house was another story. How frustrating to see the place looking so dirty and dishes chipped, broken, and things missing. And this was from a tenant that kicked up such a stink when he moved in claiming it was filthy, the cupboards were messy, flies were in the light over the stove, and tissue was left in the garbage in the bathroom (really insignificant things to be honest) and he wasn't sure if he wanted to move in after all.

This was the same person that claimed he was “freakishly clean due to the nature of his profession (a chef)” and he “would be the best tenant you have ever had”. So even though we questioned the state of the house when he moved in since family had lived there before hand, we dished out the cash to get the place professionally cleaned in order to keep what we thought was a fussy clean freak chap happy. How ironic that he turns out to be a slob and the state of the kitchen was such that there would be no way I would want to prepare food in it. So this started me thinking about what else he could have lied about to us and suddenly I didn’t trust him. How unsettling to have someone living in your house and mistreating it and all I can think is that I want him out.

Thank goodness we came home when we did. If he had rented the house any longer, heaven knows what further damage he could have done. So when we meet with him on Wednesday the 31st to conduct our inspection with our inventory sheet (and probably a video camera), I can honestly say that I will most certainly let the door hit him in the ass (his sorry Canadian ass, that is) when he leaves. This is when I wished we owned a big ugly dog to chew at his heels and chase him off of the property. Anyone willing to loan us such a beast on Wednesday, feel free to give us a call.

Hello my Friend...

2011-08-16T09:11:00.000-04:00

We have just returned from our two week camping trip in France and northern Spain and are now in the thick of packing up the house. We fly home on the 19th of August and there is much to do before we leave on Friday.

We have loaned out our camping equipment and delivered most of the items we sold at our “Going out of Business” party in June. The car (aka Sticky Vicky Vauxhall) is tidy and ready to be packed with the things we want to keep here. She will be covered and stored at our friend’s place down the street and we are happy that we won’t be parting with her as a result of the move. It’s amazing when I think that we only paid 450 pounds which included 200 pounds worth of licensing and all the places that she has taken us since we bought her last year. Why we must have put at least 3,000 km on her this summer alone. Sounds odd, but I feel as though the car has been our friend; and a faithful and reliable friend at that. How many times have we pulled out our map of the UK, and most recently the European one, and took to the road for another adventure?

And this summer’s travels were particularly memorable. Firstly, Rick did a terrific job of driving back “on the other side” and despite a couple of wrong turns, we really didn’t get lost. I enjoyed being the navigator and reading the maps, watching for signs, and being the one to tell Rick “where to go”. We did find that the European map we purchased was not entirely accurate and there were times that we were relying on Rick’s keen sense of direction to get us where we needed to go. My personal favourite was when we were just outside of Caen, France on a ring road round the city and it wasn’t until we passed the IKEA under construction twice that we realized we had made a complete loop. Never mind, we managed to take the correct exit on our second attempt. And this was generally how things went for us. If we messed up, it wasn’t long and we were back on track again. The sign of a seasoned traveler, perhaps?

The biggest challenge we faced with camping was actually being able to get an undisturbed night’s sleep. What is it about camping that encourages folks to sit outside, drink, and talk until the wee hours of the morning with little or no consideration for other fellow campers? In fact, our first night in France had us listening to a group of chaps laughing and talking literally until the sun came up. And then as the daylight emerged, they packed up their cars and left the camp ground! Gee, thanks for that. What could you possibly have to say that requires you to talk all night? Anyhow, we did bring ear plugs but that didn’t do the trick with drowning out their laughter so we just had to rely on extra coffee to keep us vertical the next day.

We found the travelling through Western France pretty boring, to be honest. It was very much like driving in northern Ontario with miles and miles of forest and a monochromatic and flat landscape. It reminded me of the times that my family would be loaded in the car and made the journey between Nipigon and Thunder Bay and how you would just want to shoot yourself if you saw yet another ever green tree or rock cliff! The good news is that once we made it south of Bordeaux and headed towards San Sebastian, the Pyrenees emerged and the scenery suddenly got interesting (actually it was spectacular). As well, the cost of tolls to travel on the major highways along with the higher gas prices also meant that we were pretty pleased to have made it to Spain (the home of all things cheap).

Once in Spain, I did find, however, that unlike French, I struggled a bit with Spanish. A highlight for me, when we spent the day checking out San Sebastian, was when Ricky confidently ordered us dos cafe Americanos con leche. Where did that come from, I thought? As a result, I crowned Rick “The King of Spain”. It is funny how your partner’s strengths (and or weaknesses) can be revealed when you travel. I guess what I am trying to say here is that travelling can put you out of your comfort zone particularly when there are language barriers to overcome. But what I learned on our European vacation is that you can’t be afraid to give it a go even if you think you may not say things just right. It is more important to make the effort and surprise yourself (and your partner). I also found most French people to be very receptive to our efforts and in turn they would take a stab at some English as well. It is also interesting how hand gestures and facial expressions also play a big part in being able to interpret what someone is saying and I learned to pay attention to these as well.

So when we made our loop past Pamplona and then north ward again toward France, I was studying our French guidebook and reacquainting myself with the language. I was fortunate to have studied French in Elementary School all through Secondary School and again in College so I was feeling eager to try out such things as “Il vous reste des place?” and “Combien pour une nuit?” all in order to secure us a camp site but more so to show Rick that I could contribute too. It did render me the title of the “Queen of France” and that’s what I’m talking about!

And even though we are looking forward to returning home, I can’t help but reflect (fondly oddly enough) on what we encountered throughout the course of our two week road trip. We survived a stomach virus while in Paris (poor Rick), heat rash (the sunscreen didn’t agree with me), an infestation of slugs in the tent (okay there were only 8 of them but it felt like an invasion), midnight mariachi bands doing a Spanish rendition of Achy, Breaky Heart (why why why start playing at midnight when everyone is already asleep?), a tumble in a pot hole and a sprained ankle (Rick again), and finally more inconsiderate late night partiers (at a very expensive 30 Euros a night camp site, by the way) and a rude receptionist that shrugged when we asked about their alleged no noise policy the next day (“Hello my friend, give me your money now ef off” was the motto from that stay). Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all about sleepless night, freaks of nature, and dashing to the loo. It was also about climbing up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower and looking out over the city of Paris, driving through the Pyrenees mountains, wine tasting in Chablis, walking the same streets as my son Keaton did in San Sebastian, entering a magnificent Spanish church that was centuries old and having the

breath snatched from my chest.

Just think of the stories we now have to share not only as a result of this recent trip but all the other adventures we have had over the course of our two years here. It is sad at times to think that it is coming to an end but won’t it be fabulous to be with our families and friends again? So much has happened in their lives too and like us they are just as eager to get caught up. And my guess is that our kids will be more self sufficient as a result of our absence and what a great opportunity this has been for them to have grown into adulthood and find their own way. Will they appreciate and value our relationships more, do you think? I am sure all parents ultimately hope for this, don’t they?

Well, I feel as though I should be ending this blog entry with saying something really inspirational or thought provoking but what more is there to say other than I have no regrets, the two years flew by, my family and our house is waiting and they need us and it is time to go home.

Love my Kindle

2011-06-29T16:54:00.001-04:00

Totally enjoying my new Kindle and currently reading a book that I originally downloaded as a sample called, "Confessions of a GP". Light, funny, and simply told from a young man's point of view of his every day encounters as a family doctor. Gosh, they sure have to deal with some loo loo's.

Enjoying Every Moment

2011-06-29T15:56:00.000-04:00

The countdown is on. There are officially four weeks left of school for Rick and my contract at EY is done on July 22nd. We have booked our flights home for 19th of August and with our “Going out of Business” party and sale over and done with, we are starting to concentrate of what else we need to either sell or donate to charity and what we can take home. Rick is interested in going in a “boot sale” to try our luck selling some of our things. Purely for the experience, he says. And for my Canadian friends a boot sale is not a sale of boots and shoes but a type of garage or yard sale only from the trunk of your car (or at least what you can transport to the sale in the trunk of your car). The Brits are nuts about their boot sales and I have to confess that throughout our travels in this country, we have stopped and done some poking around and managed to pick up a deal or two ourselves. My favourite purchase to date is our wok for 2 pounds which I use to cook stir fries with on a regular basis or my “Dickies” rain jacket brand new tag still attached for 5 pounds. The coat has proved to be very useful for camping.

The weeks have flown by and we had a terrific break with my aunt and uncle at their new caravan, just south of Ludlow, during Rick’s final school break at the beginning of June. The weather was fine, and as I anticipated, we spent a lot of time outdoors going for walks around the lake and playing games of bocci and bowls. We drove to Wales and visited the Elan Valley Reservoir, in the county of Powys near the town of Rhayader. What a spectacular journey that was. We stopped at four of the reservoirs, which incidentally were built to supply the city of Birmingham (which is about 100 miles east) with fresh water. Wales is such a rugged country and there is an abundance of sheep wandering the hills and snoozing or munching on the side of their narrow roads. The air was very fresh and it felt good to be hiking and soaking up the scenery. We still have not been able to figure out their language, however. The closest we have come to translating is their “Araf” signs painted on the roads which means “slow” but the rest is so riddled with consonants that it is next to impossible to even attempt to figure out. We generally just end up sounding like a couple of horking fools, tripping over our tongues and left in a fit of laughter at how ridiculous we sound.

We also managed to catch up with MFC (my fav cousin) Stephen, and his wife Amanda, and Alice the Warrior (their teenage daughter) for lunch in Worcester. It certainly has been great being able to reconnect with my family and say, hey want to meet up for lunch at such and such and catch up where we left off the last time we visited?

The summer party, as I mentioned, that I planned for the recruitment staff at EY was a huge success and apart from the grief that the boating company’s accounts payable clerk gave me over our bill, let’s just call her Barracuda Betty, we drank, ate and were merry as we plugged along the Thames. I spent so much time with my head out the window taking photos of this and that along the way, that I suddenly understood why dogs do this in a car. The wind in my hair and the smell of the murky water turned me into a slobbering wide-eyed puppy. It was London from an angle I had never seen before. Needless to say, I got lots of sloppy hugs when I left for the night and was presented with a fabulous bouquet of flowers from the Senior Management team and all around appreciation for arranging the shin dig. It was nice to be appreciated.

My final bit of excitement lately was cashing in on a gift certificate that Rick got me for Valentine’s Day. I had my hair and makeup done at a studio in London and had a one hour photo shoot session with a professional photographer. It is hard not to feel self conscious about some part of your body and or face once you reach 45, and I really didn’t want to end up looking like “mutton dressed up as lamb” either so when it was all said and done and we were viewing the photos the next day, I was really happy (and surprised) with the outcome. These were photos I could be proud of and not embarrassed to show my kids. I also tried to soak up every aspect of my night at the studio because I thought when will I ever get the chance to do something like this again? So my initial apprehension of receiving this gift turned into another great life experience here in the UK.

P.S. Today is our 9th Wedding Anniversary. What an amazing adventure this has been. Love you the most, Ricky xo

Something to Celebrate

2011-05-29T12:11:00.000-04:00

Rick’s final school break is here and we had a rocky start to his holidays. On Thursday night, we attended his Year 11 prom and had a wonderful time with his students and fellow teachers. However, at the event Rick noticed that his stomach was upset and was running off to the toilet that evening. By the time we got home at 11:30pm whatever was not sitting well with him was in a fit to get out of his system and from then until just this morning, he was man down. I ended up calling our doctor’s office as he was doubled over with abdominal pain on Saturday morning and after the doctor-on call spoke to Rick, she figured it was a virus and he would just have to ride it out. The good news is that this morning he had some toast and jam and then lunch and for the most part is looking and feeling much better.

With the week off, we planned to spend some time with my Uncle Keith and Aunt Mally at their new caravan in a holiday park in Herefordshire which is on the Wales’ border. There will be lots of hiking, biking, and perhaps some touring of the area but overall this will be a very relaxing holiday for us. Either way, I do hope to also do some chilling out and reading from my new Kindle (Rick’s gift to me for my birthday). Also not sure how much more we will see of my family as our time here is narrowing quickly.

Our vegetable garden is looking great and although it pales in comparison to the patch at home, it sure is nice to wander out there and pick fresh lettuce and radishes for dinner. We call it our 20 foot diet. It is also something that Rick really enjoys doing and working in the soil is a good way for him to forget about his mountain of school work.

Speaking of which, he put in his resignation on Friday. This feels somewhat unsettling for me as a teaching job with KPR, as we just recently discovered, is not going to be easy for him to secure. I am returning to my former role with the School Board but it is really disconcerting when he has put so much energy and time to return to no employment prospects.

In addition, Rick is a terrific teacher and for him to have been successful in a very challenging job makes me very proud. This was solidified when the students would come over and chat with me at the prom and tell me what they thought of Sir or Mr. T. I could hear it in their voices that they genuinely respected and often “hated” him. One of them even asked me how I could stand being married to him! I told her it wasn’t always easy but I knew that what I learned from Rick has made me a stronger and better person. She actually agreed that through Rick’s tutelage, she was considering career options in the field of Science that she probably never would have thought of before. I did also add that it was his ability to make me laugh every day and that life is never boring with him that keeps me interested. She found that all pretty amusing. I just think it is nice for kids to see another more human side of their teachers too.

I am continuing to enjoy my contract with Ernst and Young and it is so exciting be a part of a team that is dedicated to finding the best and brightest folks to join the company. My job is to coordinate weekly assessment centres and it is very much being an event’s planner. I have to make sure we have the appropriate assessors for the candidates based on their area of specialism in Financial Advisory, the proper rooms for interviews, group presentations, candidate welcoming, and an assessor base for the day. The look and the feel of the day needs to be seamless and smooth and present a professional image to our visiting candidates but also to the assessors who are existing Senior Manager and Partner and Directors of the firm. Sometimes my week can be a mad dash to the finish line to get the catering and refreshment sorts, assessment tools addressed, amongst cancellations and rearrangements but I absolutely love the rush. The best part is when I get to go out into our fabulous front reception with massive wall mounted flat screens flashing EY updates and greet the nervous “would-be’s” and put on a show for the day. I have even had a handful of Canadians come through the doors and I am sure hearing a familiar accent and a meeting a friendly face from home eased their interview jitters.

Despite that we are a hard working bunch of ambitious recruiters, we know how to have fun and love to hit a pub of a Friday night. Now how British is that? So I was pretty happy when I was approached by the Head of Recruiting to organize a boat cruise for them on the River Thames in June to mark the celebration of 4,000 hires. Not 40 or 400 but 4,000!!! I know how crazy these folks are on dry land so what is it going to be like on a cruiser? And for those of you who recall my days of belting out my infamous tune, “Did I Shave my Legs for this?” you will be happy to know that I am also booking karaoke for the party. I can hardly wait to introduce my EY friends into a “Bevie thinks she is a country star” moment. Stay tuned as I am sure I will have lots of photos to share after June 23rd.

Age is a Royal State of Mind

2011-04-25T14:53:00.000-04:00

Funny, but I have never really thought of myself as being older even though I am approaching 45 this May and Keaton will be 20 in July. They say that age is a state of mind and perhaps this is why I still find myself stuck in a time warp between the boys hanging out in the park behind the house on Milford drive, having an Easter egg hunt at the farm, and being an empty nester of sorts and touring the English countryside. I struggle sometimes with doing the right thing for everyone and what feels right for me. Having children presents a natural obstacle in life. Not that that is a bad thing. It is what it is. I love my kids; all four of them. I miss being a family too. But being here in the UK has certainly been a very freeing experience. No mounds of snow to deal with each winter, stacking wood, and freezing my bum off in the middle of February. I especially don’t miss dealing with my ex and his crap (aka his lovely girlfriend) and I am sure anyone who has an ex out there will confess that they too wished that they lived at least an ocean away from them. So back to the age thing. Do you remember when you were say 18 or 22 and you never really gave the actually length of your life any thought? I know that it didn’t really hit me until my mother-in-law announced that she was selling her place and moving into a retirement residence. It happens to all of us. If we are lucky. How could I be so ignorant to believe that life would go on and on with no ending? How arrogant of me. And some of you may say, hey, I would trade you for 45 but when I stopped to think of how close that is to 50, I feel a little freaked out, I must say. But I have no regrets, to be honest. I have raised my kids to be pretty descent citizens, I have their love and respect, I have a spouse that is by no means perfect (and who wants perfect anyway) but is the right partner for me. And now I’ve had the chance to experience life from a whole different angle. I wonder what it will feel like when I get back home.

We are enjoying our last fews months here and recently did an overnighter just outside of Bath in a lovely B&B in Bradford on Avon. Totally feel in love with this village and especially enjoying the train ride though the valley into the city of Bath. Very picturesque. Then this weekend we camped (yes my Canadian friends, camped) in north Essex at a a place called Gosfield Park with a terrific lake and a church that rang the bells on Easter morning while I scrubbed our breakfast dishes. We had a couple of days checking out Suffolk county and absolutely loved the thatched roofs, the narrow and winding roads and hey a beer and wine festival along the way. Sweet deal. And during Rick's last term break we did a four night stay in Benidorm, Spain, and that in itself is a story I am very much looking forward to sharing when we get back home.

So this weekend coming up is the Royal Wedding and Rick and I are at odds about this one. I know he thinks it is a waste of time and it is only two people getting married but I just can't help feeling special for being here while this historical event takes places. I wonder what William's mom would say about her boy tying the knot? Would she approve of his bride-to-be, Kate? And speaking of age, would Diana say, my goodness where did my little man go and for heaven's sake I could be a grandmother soon? But she can't and he will never know. And somehow this makes me even more thankful. Because I may be an ocean away but my kids still make my heart sing and even if I am moving onto the closer side of 50, who the hell cares? Is is not about what the good Lord has given you and making the most of it all? Bloody right, it is.

So for all of you fence sitters out there that have always wanted to do something in particular with your life, what on earth are you waiting for? You will never have enough money, it will never be the perfect time, it will never be easy, it will never involve no sacrifices, it will never make everyone happy, but it will be the one thing that when you get to the end of your life you will never regret.

So on 29th of April when Wills and Kate have the Royal kiss and wave to the public, I will most likely be a sappy fool. It is mostly about being a mom and realizing that at 20 my boy is really not that far off either and more about being here to witness it just like I did when his mom married old "what's his name". And that my friends whether you care about the whole scene or not is just another page in "The Adventures of My Canadian Ass".

I can see me reading this part over again while I am relaxing amongst the roses and wisteria in the gardens of my English retirement home.

Genie in a Bottle

2011-03-02T16:03:00.000-05:00

Rick had the most unbelievable and unexpected belated birthday surprise today and I wanted to share the email he sent to our good friend, Stan, to tell him about it.

Here it is:

OK, it's Wednesday night, and as usual, my next few hours will be filled with marking and lesson planning. Team teaching demands that you have full lesson plans for almost every lesson, and "coursework" (taking the place of tests AND exams) means that you also have endless marking. The students are allowed to hand in an assignment as many times as necessary before it passes. Each unit has about 15-20 pieces of coursework, there are two units in a year, there are 60 students in a class, and they hand in every assignment an average of 3 times... well, you do the math.

As a bonus, our science team was "observed" the other day. Observations are very stressful, and you're marked from one to four, one being the highest. You only need to do a few things wrong to get a four, and after that, it doesn't matter if your students are setting each other on fire, or they've decided to string you up... you still get a four. As our team teaching is quite tight, we got a two, which is almost unheard of in our school. Getting a good observation rating has been very difficult since the new principal, Jane, came to our college. She's very structured, lives by OFSTED (the government school rating body) rules, and has little time for teachers who she considers to be inadequate. Between her expectations and my workload, I ended up spending the week off in February simply working on catching up and developing new lesson plans. Not that we could have gone anywhere... Bev has been out of work for 3 months and things tend to be pretty tight around here. Given that it was my birthday in the middle of the week off, however, didn't add to the enjoyment. In fact, it really only added to the stress.

To help forget the endless cycle, I thought that I'd really treat myself. There's an island off the west coast of Scotland that has one road, one pub and one distillery. They make four different kinds of scotch, and the 3 that I've tasted have all been excellent. However, as a fan of the smoky peat flavour which is a characteristic of that area's scotches, I really wanted to pick up a bottle of their top of the line. The island (and distillery, and scotch) is Jura, and the scotch is called "Prophecy". It clearly announces on the box that it is "profoundly peated". It was to be my birthday treat.

There was only one place that I knew I could get it. Go through the Dartford tunnel, battle the traffic to get to "Lakeside" shopping center and find the specialty scotch shop. Did they have it? Absolutely. Did I buy it? The fifty plus pounds for a bottle of scotch, no matter how wonderful, was impossible to justify when that would buy groceries for a week and a half. Maybe another day, I thought, when Bev was working...And so, it was left to my imagination.

Today, I went down to the main lobby to wait for the students. We were going on a field trip to the seaside to do population studies of organisms in the littoral zone. As I waited, the ladies at the front desk told me, "Mr Teather - there's a package here that was delivered for you". I occasionally order necessities like science ties or hard to find lightbulbs online, but had not ordered anything lately. Needless to say, my interest was piqued. The box was a good size and a hefty weight. I had no idea what was inside. As I opened it, a large box wrapped in bubble wrap fell into my hands. Unwrapping it, I almost dropped the entire thing on the floor. In my hands was a factory sealed, original packaging bottle of Jura Prophecy. I was (and you can imagine how hard this would be for me) speechless. Underneath the box was a card with my name on it. Opening it, I found this: Dear Rick. Wishing you a very happy birthday (sorry it is a bit late). We hope you enjoy. A little gift to give you a little smile :)

It was signed "Jane and Megan", my principal and vice principal. I had mentioned my birthday story in passing to Megan last week, but never thought she really took notice. Clearly, it had more impact than I had envisioned, and now, I'm sitting here typing this with a small glass of one of the most wonderful scotches I've ever had. What an unbelievable surprise. I should probably be happier about the 2 in our lesson observation, but this memory will far outlast that one.

A Date Worth Remembering

2011-02-21T16:12:00.000-05:00

I can honestly say that I will be glad to see the back side of February. The weather has been mostly bleak and damp and when the sun has crept out from behind those stubborn clouds, I rush to our bedroom window to try and catch some rays on my face. I really believe that we need to have sunshine in our eyes and on our faces otherwise we, or at least I know I would, stay in bed and each carbohydrates until I was bursting.

The good news is that with the overcast skies comes the mild temperatures and the flowers are popping up like crazy right now. Our little flower beds are pickled with the beginnings of tulips and daffodils. And just last week, Rick cut our lawn and we had barbequed hamburgers for his birthday dinner on the 17th. Rick commented on how often his birthday parties as a child were spoiled because of a winter storm and there we were munching on burgers and fries. Still it was an odd birthday for Rick this year. He turned 58. It is hard to believe that such a youthful and vibrant guy is almost 60 and I can’t help but think how short our lives on this earth really are.

Okay, I won’t get too introspective now, but I look at Rick and I still see that spunky guy that met me in the Martini bar 11 years ago on a date I thought would go as all of my other dates before him had gone….badly. But to my surprise, he was not only funny, really funny, but he asked me questions no other man had asked me on a date before. I know what you naughty minded folks are thinking and no they weren’t about that. Anyhoo, he asked me what was my idea of a perfect date, how many pairs of shoes did I own, and what I thought of roller coasters. It was more like a job interview, to be honest, instead of a date. Despite his interrogation, we proceeded from the martini bar to dinner, even though we had only just originally agreed to drinks.

The restaurant happened to be void of any customers and Rick’s line after we ordered our meal of “you can’t imagine how much it cost me to empty this place for you” has been a source of debate over the years. I say it was coincidence and he claims it was arranged. Either way, it led us to his car, after we enjoyed a meal together in the quiet restaurant. We bolted there actually. No, we weren’t trying to nip out without paying our tab; a sudden storm meant we had to dash into his car before saying goodnight and thanks for a lovely evening and all that junk.

We sat listening to the rain hitting the roof and pouring down the windows and he kissed me. He placed one hand on the small of my back and drew me in for what will always be a magical moment for me. I was sure that lightening had hit his car and funnelled through our seats, spun up my spine and zapped my lips. In fact I said out loud, “What was that?” and he replied, “Electricity” confirming my suspicions, that I had been struck. Gosh, I know this all sounds so corny, but honestly when I recall our first date, our first meal, and then our first kiss, I still get the tingles.

Because ultimately my friends our lives spread out in front of us like a fan (another one of Rick’s lines) and it was that kiss that allows me to watch the flowers sprouting up and smell the fresh cut grass in February. And it was Rick turning 58 that made us reflect on how interesting our lives have been together so far and, more importantly, what on earth are we going to do with what the good Lord will continue to provide to us?

I have included some photos taken during our recent trip to Rochester which is known for its connection with Charles Dickens.

Sir, Sir but I don't understand Sir...

2011-02-03T09:11:00.000-05:00

Today has to be the most beautiful sunny and mild day we have had in weeks. The sky is a brilliant blue, there are big white fluffy clouds in the sky and the grass is a thick green blanket in our back garden. I wonder how the folks at home are managing this winter and I hear that there has been a big storm in Peterborough and that there was a snow day this week. Funny but Channing put something on his Facebook page the other day about it being -25 and he said he had forgotten how cold it was back home. I wrote back that I was content in my forgetfulness.

The last time I wrote in my blog I asked you folks to let me know what you wanted to know about our lives here in the UK. Our friend Darcy (or Fooch as Ricky calls him – which makes me wonder how on earth he got a nickname like that. I recall a "McGootch" added to the end of Fooch but I am still no further ahead with resolving this puzzle) asked about Rick’s life at school. I thought that was a great suggestion and I would ask Rick to write a blurb but honestly folks he would not have time to do this. So let me begin by giving you some idea of how I see his life as a teacher here in the UK.

Rick’s days are long. He walks to school with this massive pack on his back. It is amazing that he doesn’t throw his back out with the weight of the bloody thing. He leaves our place at 7:50 am and it is only a 10 minute walk to the Leigh. I see this as a good thing because at least he is getting 20 minutes of exercise per day instead of driving to work and getting none. He generally gets home again between 6:00 pm and 7:00 pm as he stays at the school for detentions (and believe me there are no shortage of those), helping students with their course work, to attend staff meetings, call parents, that kind of thing. When he gets home the first thing he does is make himself a scotch and then another one. The number consumed is in direct correlation to the degree of grief he has had from the little darlings that day. After supper, he has to make more phone calls to parents to explain why their little Johnny won’t get his GCSE (don’t even try and get me to explain this for your Canadian people but I think it is like our credits in secondary school) because he uses his time in class to check out Utube videos or keeps talking in class. Then he has marking to do and he literally has a mountain of this. This is no exaggeration, my friends. Each of his classes has 60 students, yes 60, mind you they do team teach with 2 other teachers but I won’t get into that right now. And they do what is known as course work instead of occasional assignments at home and then the final exams. So course work means that there is constant marking for him. It is not unusual for him to be up early on a weekend marking and preparing lessons plans. Our weekends revolve around how much he has to complete for school and we do try and squeeze in some fun time so that he gets a bit of a break.

From my point of view, I think the most challenging thing for Rick would have to be the kids that are unmotivated, lazy, and really don’t see how lucky they are to have the access to good education like they do. In addition, the Leigh is an exceptionally well equipped school, state of the art modern building and when Channing was a student there he was blown away by how amazing the facilities really were. Brand new Mac computers, lovely bright open classrooms, extensive football/rugby pitches, and there are many dedicated and terrific teachers on staff. Funny, but there are a high number of Canadian teachers working at the school, so when Channing was there he was taught by mostly Canadian staff. Not that that should be an issue, I just found it ironic that we come to England for him to be taught by Canadians.

Now I get that there are lazy and unmotivated kids at home too, but what I see here that I don’t think is so rampant at home is the attitude that someone else will take care of me. I see it when people leave garbage on the sidewalks, on the platform, in the trains, on the buses, in the parks. The Brits seem to be of the mindset (and I am sorry to generalize as I do have some great British people in my life and they are not like this) that they don’t need to get an education and work because the government will look after them. And believe me, there is a lot of assistance here for unemployed people. Housing benefits, child care benefits, council tax benefits, and the list goes on. Gee, why would anyone want to put an effort in learning something as stupid and irrelevant as Science, or Math, or English, when they can leave school at 16 and have their flat paid for and get job seekers allowance? And the babies! Gosh, I don’t think I have ever seen so many woman (maybe I should say girls because most are teenagers to be honest) pregnant. There are no problems with declining enrolment here, folks. They are breeders and I am not just saying one or two and generally they are mixed races. Now please don’t misunderstand me I am not against interracial relationships or marriages, it is just kind of odd to see a young woman pushing a buggy down the street with one White child, one Black, and another Indian (don’t worry, it’s okay to say Indian here). There are big families living in tiny houses and I think it would do my head in if I had a life like that. Which makes me wonder if they leave their garbage on the floor and hope that gosh I don’t know who, hey maybe they could pick it up? Now that is silly talk now isn’t it?

Okay, so you are probably all wondering where the good bit in all of this is and I often struggle with how Rick does this every day. Firstly, as most of you who know him well will agree that he is a never surrender type of guy. But to be truthful, although the job is exceedingly more difficult than it is at home, he is challenged. He calls teaching at the Leigh “boot camp” and he truly believes that anything after this will be a breeze (or maybe we are just naive) and his next teaching assignment he will be a whiz with classroom management (mind you I think he is already) and having a class with less than 60 students at a time, will be a piece of cake. I also see that Rick genuinely wants to make a difference for these kids even if they can be difficult. He loves his subject and really wants the kids to feel the same way too. Why just last weekend we were shopping downtown and this young lad about 16 or so came up to us and said “Hey, Sir, I am revising for Biology” and he pulled out his text book from his pack. It was Saturday and the boy was studying Biology, I thought? He was one of Rick’s post 16 students and he was telling us that he had an interview at a university next week to gain entrance to become a teacher. Rick joked with him in his usual goofy way that I see makes the kids gravitate towards him and it actually made me really happy to see them talking like that. It was a special moment for me. My guess is that it was even more so for Rick.

So I guess with teaching here it is like casting out a massive net and most times you haul it back in and there's nothing. But sometimes you cast it and a couple fish get stuck. And the marvelous part is that when you finally catch them and reel them in you realize how grateful you are for not turning your boat around and sailing for home all the other times it came back empty.

Something to Look Forward to

2011-01-16T14:28:00.001-05:00

It is January, isn't it? The birds are chirping here, flowers are popping up in our front flower boxes, and when we are out shopping in the market we go without hats, mitts and boots. I honestly don't miss the winters at home. I can't say that I exactly relish days of rain and overcast skies either, but it beats freezing my Canadian, well you know what off, hands down. It is so freeing not having to plaster on the layers before heading outdoors.

I’ve been out of work now since early December and I have been trying to keep myself as entertained as possible while Rick is at school. I have been posting writing challenges on Facebook to keep me motivated and on track. Not easy when I am not involved in classes, writing group, or have a deadline to meet. And yet so easy to avoid it, forget it, and put it aside to do something else. The FB challenges were my way of reaching out to my friends to get the nudge I often need to remind me why I should be writing and what a shame it would be if I didn’t bother. And that is why I have also decided to keep this blog going after all. And thanks to all of you who expressed your disappointment in my blog’s disappearance. I didn’t realize that it was so popular.

Along with my daily writing, I have been job hunting for another temporary or fix term contract position. Looking for work can be a very humbling experience. I have had to develop a thick skin when it comes to rejection of my CV, or following an interview. But each time one of the doors closes, I keep reminding myself of the one that will open. And that door will lead to another and I will be grateful that others have closed behind me. The process of looking for work has also helped me to define what I want in a job, even when it is short term, and what I deserve as a result of my skills and education.

Along with writing and job hunting, the house is so neat and tidy. Crazy the things you will take the time to clean when you are bored silly. But the good thing is along with a clean house; Rick is enjoying freshly made muffins in his lunch and a nice dinner when he comes home from school. But since I haven’t been making any money, I figured I better earn my keep.

It is amazing, however, how we have managed to live on just Rick’s income for the last few weeks. And now that Hoover boy is gone, we certainly don’t make as many visits to the grocery store. Boy, the kid ate a lot, which makes me suddenly think of him and how I miss the big lug. I’ve booked his flights for a visit for two weeks in March and I can hardly wait for him to wrap his arms around me and scoop me up off the floor, like he used to do when he was here last year. It makes me feel like a girl. I am so tiny next to him and it makes me think of the time when I would give him piggy back rides up to bed. What the heck happened?

Channing will be bringing a friend with him from Peterborough, and I am sure they will have a blast hanging out with his old pals from the Leigh Academy. We have already booked the ferry from Dover to France for a day trip so we can take them along the coast. And we can stock up on that cheap French wine, of course. And there will be trips to London, perhaps a castle or two, maybe Stonehenge, and goodness knows where else as there is simply so much to do, but I honestly don’t care because I will get to see my boy again. And we are also hoping to get Keaton and Molly over when they are finished their first year of College and Uni sometime in May. It is nice to have these things to look forward to.

And finally, we went to Morocco over the Christmas break and had an absolutely amazing holiday. The resort was spotless, the staff terrific, and the souks (markets) in Marrakech a once in a lifetime experience. Let’s just say that I didn’t know what was more bizarre, the monkeys on chains, the snake charmers, the motorcycles whizzing by and suddenly donkeys pulling carts, or the dentist that extracted teeth on the spot (without any drugs or hygiene precautions, of course)!

Shutting this baby down

2010-12-02T04:59:00.000-05:00

Hello all,

I will be updating all of my friends via email and Facebook going forward. My gmail account allows me to include more photos with my stories. I have enjoyed running my blog but from a practical stand point, using Facebook and updating by email is a more efficient way to communicate with my friends and family.

So if you would like to be included in my mail outs or check out my daily happenings, send me your email or a friend request through Facebook.

I look forward to keeping in touch with all of you.

bevrobbinsteather@gmail.com

Hold the Bhaji, please!

2010-10-02T12:18:00.000-04:00

Well, this past week was a weird one. Just after Rick recovered from the stomach flu, he managed to come down with a nasty cold and was quite ill for 3 days. He is still coughing and not 100% but at least he has his annoying sense of humour back, so that is a good sign (I guess). Although I managed to avoid catching the stomach bug, I am assuming through my attention to frequent hand washing, changing the towels, and being freakishly clean around the house, by Tuesday I had a funny tickle in my throat and an itchy nose of all things. At first I thought it was allergies but by 4:30 pm I was excusing myself from work and heading home on the train with a fever and an uneasiness in my gut.

Backing up to Tuesday morning, though, I got this really weird feeling when I came into work, apart from the throat and nose thing. I had this crazy thought that kept repeating as I rode the train and walked the couple of blocks that it takes to get to KPMG. No, it wasn’t hey why don’t you split this popsicle stand and run away with David Tennent seeing as he is now unemployed and probably desperate for a new companion. This was serious. I tried to dismiss my thinking as silly or crazy and how could I possibly think such things. But as I was getting organized at my desk, the office was unusually quiet, and people seemed anxious. Then they would scoot into a meeting room and return with very grim faces. What was happening? Was someone fired? Is someone ill? And of course, I couldn’t help shake the thoughts I had earlier that oddly enough were about someone taking their life.

So it wasn’t long after that that a gal I work with took me into a meeting room too and finally explained why things were not copacetic today. One of my co-workers, just a young guy with two toddlers, was found dead in his flat by another co-worker. It was Charlie, and Jo was broken up as she told me. Charlie was a soft spoken gentle kind of guy that loved to ride his motorcycle to work and was so excited about having me around to help with their recruiting efforts as I had worked for their competition for 9 months. He was very kind to me, which was comforting being new to the organization, and when he introduced me, he was very complimentary and quick to point out how skilled and experienced I was to others in the department. He even put me on the task of organizing the new grad recruiting effort for the 4 and 5th of October and said he would bet one month’s wages that all 200 new joiners could not possibly get into the building without a hitch on the Monday but if anyone could sort this mess out, Bev could. Thanks, Charlie!

Now I have to give you some background on my experiences with dreaming about something and it coming true. And I am sure you will think it is all a little wacky but I have predicted a pregnancy, an affair, an illness, for example, and even saved a litter of kittens from being mashed in Rick’s car engine, all from premonitions.
So as I sat at my desk and read the announcement that went out to the system after Jo so kindly broke the news to me before hand, I felt chilly. The premonition that I had was actually about the chap that found him but how could I even come to such a conclusion about either of them?

No funeral arrangements have been announced and the bigger the silence becomes the more I feel like I am narrowing it down to what I must have dreamt on Monday night.

And no I didn’t have curry for dinner.

How Many Limeys in a Margarita?

2010-09-20T16:58:00.000-04:00

With the boy back home, Rick and I have comfortably slipped into an empty nester’s mode. We spend our weekends socializing with friends (and I have a new Irish friend that I affectionately call Barney), touring the English countryside and seaside villages, and discovering new places to shop. Our new favourite drink is a margarita and we love to sip on a couple of these on a Sunday afternoon and watch an episode or two of "The Inbetweeners". More on that show and the outcome of too many margarita's another time.

Rick still has loads of lesson plans and a ridiculous amount of marking to do, so I take care of the household duties, but I am surprised how natural this all feels for us given that our entire relationship so far has revolved around house, kids, work, house, kids, work. So now that we are kidless, we have been able to also think about getting involved in things that we personally enjoy and with that Rick has also joined a band with a group of teachers from the Leigh, playing the keyboard. They have a gig booked in November for an open mic session at a local pub. I am sure they will draw a good crowd from all of his teacher friends the day that they perform.

Last week, he had a violent case of the stomach flu and was off work, for the first time since I have known him. He was unable to keep anything down for two days his skin was grey, and at one point, I was concerned about him becoming dehydrated. True to Rick’s style, after day three when he managed to keep his breakfast cereal down, he announced that he was going to work. I thought he was nuts as I knew that the moment he walked through the school doors, he would be full on the entire day. He showered, shaved and drove to school instead of walking like he usually does, and managed to pull it off. He was pretty wiped at the end of the day, but his “never surrender” attitude served him well in this case. A couple of early nights to bed after that and by the weekend he was right as rain again. In fact, this has encouraged Rick to focus on losing some weight. He figured his recent purge was a good kick start to a diet.

I am getting into a groove with my new temp role at KPMG. The folks here are very kind and friendly and I feel quite at home in their offices. I already have a good routine running at lunch at least 3 times a week. They have excellent on-site shower and change rooms, and there is an abundance of places to run around Canary Wharf. I find that it is much more pleasant running here, compared to when I worked at EY. Not only is the air less congested with bus and car fumes, smokers puffing on the sidewalks, but more importantly, there is a distinct lack of distracted tourists as well. I can’t tell you the number of times I would be out for a run around London and Tower Bridges and a tourist would plow into me because they were not looking where they were going. It was not uncommon for me to have bruises on my arms from the collisions.

To supplement my running workout, along with my 30 minutes walks to and from the train station, I recently got a pay-as-you-go swimming membership at a leisure/community centre only three stops from my office on the DLR (Docklands Light Railway) and this week my plan is to try out the ladies lunch hour swim time. The membership was super cheap at 2 pounds 80 for the year and each time I swim depending on the time of day it costs up to 3 pounds 35. And the other good news is that their ladies’ sessions and all day Friday swimming are absolutely free. I was astounded that I was able to find such a terrific deal, given that it is in London. When I asked around the office about pool memberships, some were paying upwards of 90 pounds a month to go to the gym. That’s crazy, I thought. I can run for free and there is no way that I am going to blow my budget to go for a swim. So when I did some research on the internet and then scoped out the centre during my lunch hour, I was pretty chuffed. Hey, I am starting to talk like a limey. Wait, I am a limey!

I have filled two notebooks with stories I have written and experiences while commuting on the trains. What a bee hive of activity the trains can be and a gold mine for observing human behaviour. There are some pretty odd characters that ride public transportation, I have found. From applying makeup (and I am talking mascara, foundation, powder, eye shadow, lipstick, the works), to having a very personal phone conversation (telling their doctor that they don’t clean their ears), to snoring with a head tilted back and a mouth wide open (can I please drop something in there?), and even curling one’s hair (despite being crammed up against the window in a hub of four occupied seats), I am not sure what I find more fascinating. I don’t think, however, that any of what I have written is worth sharing at this point, but I feel as though, like staying true to my fitness routine, I am exercising my mind and honing my craft daily.

The photos are of my new winter hat. Gotta love that it isn't a toque. My new offices at Canary Wharf and my Irish friend, Collete, who is a Science teacher at Rick's school (Bob is an English teacher there too - he's in the photos between Colette and me). I named her Barney because her surname is McLarney and it made me think of the Blarney stone and for some reason I wanted to call her Colleen, so to cure this mixup and not to offend her heritage, the name Barney was born.

Also, if any of you are on Facebook, I do more regular updates and photos there. Send me a friend request and we can keep in touch that way too.

Second Time's the Charm

2010-08-19T16:44:00.000-04:00

We returned home to Dartford on Wednesday afternoon after a fabulous 10 day tour of Scotland. As I mentioned in my previous blog entry, we found the country to be very similar to Canada, and looking at our video footage and photos makes us want to return again soon.

Camping proved to be a very economical way to travel and when it was all said and done we averaged 60 pounds per day for purchasing souvenirs, food, camping, and gas for the car. Not bad really when you figure that one night’s stay in a hotel could set you back at least that much.

After unloading all of our gear, airing out the tent (we had lots of rain and it was pretty damp when we packed it up last), and pulling something that smelt like really bad cheese out of our cooler (oh look it really is cheese), although I was tired, I realized that it felt good to be home. Hard to believe but it is exactly a year ago that Rick came over to find us a place to live. When we were downtown today getting our produce at the Thursday market, Rick said, “Hey a year ago this time I was wandering the streets of Dartford, looking for a place to stay, and wondering what the hell have I gotten myself into?”

I remember feeling so twisted around in those early weeks. It was as though we had been thrown into the deep end without life jackets. It truly was a sink or swim situation for us. And despite the confusion over how to bank here with all the bloody security measures, buy a ticket at the train station to the right terminal in London, or where to shop to get the best deals, an entire year has passed and we have managed just fine.

Now, Channing has returned safely back to Peterpatch and getting caught up with his pals, hanging with his dad’s side of the family, and hunting for a part-time job. He’ll be returning to TASSS in the fall for Grade 11. It was painful sending him off at the end of July, but I am so incredibly proud of his ability to come and go with such ease. I miss him immensely but this year without him will teach me to reach for things that interest me, like writing and fitness, and focus on Rick and our relationship to a depth that we couldn’t whilst we were raising the four kids in Douro. We have never just been a couple since we met in 2000 and this will be a new and exciting opportunity for us as well.

Rick returns to work next Tuesday and is looking forward to year 2 at the Leigh Academy. When he speaks about his plans for the upcoming school year, he is more at ease and confident. I can tell that the foundation he laid in his challenging first year will help him be even more successful and hopefully enable him to enjoy his job more fully too. Hey, life is too short to not enjoy what you do every day, right?

My contract at EY ended at the beginning of August and I had an awesome send off from the folks I worked with for 9 months. I did alright for myself considering that it was initially a 3 month assignment. They presented me with a lovely bouquet of flowers and a card signed by all of my co-workers wishing me well and thanking me for being the “Super Temp”. I am sure I will maintain the friendships I formed there as I was very fortunate to be working daily with some pretty terrific people.

The good news is that I have another temporary job lined up for September and I am particularly excited about this role. I will be working for KPMG at their brand new offices in Canary Wharf. I will be the Audit Support Staff Assistant Manager, which is a more HR generalist role, instead of entirely focused on recruitment, as I was at EY as a Recruiting Administrator. I will be covering for the tail end of a maternity leave as the incumbent was recently promoted. At this point, I could be there for just a month or two, depending on whether the gal returns as planned, but I am so pleased to be given this opportunity again with another one of the Big 4 international financial companies. I certainly feel that I earned my stripes at EY and as I have discovered, there is no shortage of temporary HR jobs in the nation’s capital when you are skilled, bright, eager, and motivated.

P.S. These are photos before Chan left, at the airport, and a little town just outside of Dartford, that Rick and I fell in love with called, Igtham. The town is so quaint and the pub there serves great antipasto. Oh yes, the beer is good too.

There but for the grace of God go I

2010-08-15T16:18:00.000-04:00

We are enjoying a week and a few days here in Scotland doing some camping and really getting a good look at the country. We are amazed at how similar the country side is here to Canada in terms of the evergreen trees, lakes, and mountains. At times, it is very much like northern Ontario and then Alberta with the foothills and straight into B.C. with majestic misty countered mountains. The air is fresh, the people are super friendly, although we find it hard to follow what they are saying with their thick Scottish accents. Rick keeps saying, "Hey, say Haggis or Sporran" everytime we drive pass an elderly Scottish man. I smack him, of course, and remind him how inappropriate that is. But I laugh out loud afterwards. Tonight we are settled in a lovely caravan park just south of Dumfries in the south western part of the country. Compared to most of the campgrounds we have encountered, this one is immaculate. The grounds are nicely kept and it has modern showers and laundry facilities. I feel more at home in a place like this.

Tomorrow we head out of Scotland after being here since a week from Saturday and off to the lake district. What we have found incredibly odd about the trip so far is the number of B & B's that have no vacancy signs. Even the places in the remote parts of the Isle of Skye had no vacancy signs and we just couldn't imagine how all of these places could be full. We imagined that perhaps the owners were away on vacation or they didn't really want guests or they wanted to appear full for tax write off purposes and so on. But as we travelled and encountered so many of these signs we couldn't help but laugh at how odd this seemed.

Secondly, it didn't matter where we were, there would either be a bus stop or a phone booth. Even at the tip of the Isle of Skye, residents could catch a bus or make a call, if they had to. And there were times as we were travelling around the island and it felt like we were the only people on the face of God's earth, that a bus shelter or the famous red phone booth would appear to remind me that no, in fact, civilization did still exist.

Travelling through Scotland has made me realize how small I am and how big God is. I felt like a mere dot as we navigated through the windy roads flanky by massive mountains, the misty clouds surrounding their peeks and the river twisting at their feet. I wanted to say thank you to the Almighty for giving me the eyes to see such amazing things. Sometimes we have to witness his greatness to understand how tiny we are in this world and appreciate that being here, my friends, is not a mere accident but a blessing to be acknowledge every day.

Seaview Holiday Village in Kent

2010-07-21T14:12:00.000-04:00

We camped overnight in Whitstable, which is located on the east coast, for Chan’s last weekend in the UK. He flies home on Sunday the 25th of July. Here’s what we find so amusing about British camping. It is almost always an open field (picture a soccer pitch) and rows and rows of campers with an eclectic array of tents, trailers, wind barriers, and shade shelters. I am assuming that British campers like being crammed up together, since these types of campgrounds, we have found, are almost always packed. It is so different from Canadian outdoor holidays, like in Algonquin Park with miles of bush, lakes and peaceful surroundings. Here, the guy at the next plot brought his full sized gas barbecue, another fired up his generator, and then a radio with lousy reception played 80’s music, kids bolted around on their bikes, and a mother chased her wandering toddler. Hey, it is just like being in a subdivision. Not exactly our idea of a relaxing getaway. Well, I could hear the seagulls, the only challenge was the sea view from Seaview Holiday Village was hidden. Why are the descriptions on the internet so deceiving?

So to try and cheer ourselves up, we headed out to Whitstable for the reason we came here in the first place, the amazing seafood. About a 5 minute drive from the camp grounds, we returned to the town we had stumbled upon about 2 months ago. We enjoyed our day so much back then that we decided we just had to come back. Not to mention that Whitstable has an interesting main drag with a great collection of shops, pubs and cafes. While the boys scoped out the best deals on fresh oysters, I shopped at the charity shops scoring a couple of M & S (that’s Marks and Spencer’s for my Canadian friends not something kinky like some of you would be thinking it meant) polka dot cotton skirt for 2 pound 35 and a lovely lacey cream coloured blouse (original price tag of 35 pounds still attached) for slightly more at 5 pounds. Still I think they were deals given their condition and brand.

With my bags in hand, I met up with the boys and we wandered down to the wharf to check out the food stalls. Rick ordered 10 oysters at 50 p a piece and the boys covered them in hot sauce and slurped them down while I sipped on a Sprite. The last time we visited, I did try and eat raw oysters with them, but I just couldn’t handle the fishy smell and the slimy feel inside of my mouth. It was all I could do not to gag as it slid down my throat. Thank goodness I had English ale to chase it down. I could handle them steamed as we have had them in Florida but eating them raw just wasn’t working for me.

Back at the camp ground, we sat and had a couple of drinks and then prepared our dinner amongst the masses. I felt like we were on display. Our accents also tend to draw attention to us, and I cannot tell you the number of times we get called American here. I did manage to pack my Canadian Roots shirt, so as it cooled down in the evening, I put it on and hoped that our neighbours would notice. “Canada” see people, read it,”Canada” not “Canadia” or “America” say “Canada”. It is nice, however, when someone does recognize the accent as Canadian and they comment on how polite we are. Why thank you, I say. But not this weekend.

So the thing about British camping that I don’t find so amusing is how after 11 pm, people don’t turn down their music, or lower the voices, or stop drinking, or do what most considerate people do and go to bed. Granted I can understand that when you are away from home, you like to relax and enjoy but in such a highly communal situation, you can disturb a lot of people in one go. I tried putting in ear plugs and I drifted in and out as I lay on the air mattress in our tent, but I became increasingly frustrated with the lack of courtesy that I could feel my blood pressure rising. It had to have been 2 am by the time I yelled out of our tent to please be quiet to our laughing, drinking, let’s talk about everything and nothing neighbours with the full sized barbeque, and that settled them down. But then another crew started up around 3 am and I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I stuck on my flip flops and trotted over to the offending campers and said in a polite but very curt tone to please be quiet as it is really late and we can’t sleep. The woman inside said oops sorry, but the guy mocked my accent and I thought I would jump on his tent and throttle him. Then I walked away and said I am NOT American and I don’t appreciate the attitude. And she said, well you could have asked nicely. What? Is she serious? They are keeping us up and I said please and thank you and that wasn’t nice? As I headed back into the tent I yelled, I did ask you nicely and you gave me a smart ass answer, now who is rude?

Honestly, when the morning came, we couldn’t get out of there quick enough. I had made up my mind that when we went to the office to check out, I was going to ask for a refund. The funny thing about customer service is that not all businesses get the concept of good customer service. And the folks behind the counter at the Seaview Holiday Village, didn’t disappoint in the it’s not in company policy to give you a refund even though your stay with us sucked and you would never come back response. But I did tell them that I was looking forward to putting a review on Travel Advisor (don’t expect a glowing recommendation) and that I am a writer. The power of words and the internet are my weapons, dear friends. So do me a favour and post a message on your Facebook page that the Seaview Holiday Village in Kent County UK sucks big time and you‘d rather eat a pack of Marmite covered ants then stay at this god forsaken excuse for a British camp ground.

I may be polite, people, but I am NOT a Canadian push over.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

2010-06-28T15:45:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was our 8th wedding anniversary. When we got up in the morning and wished each other a happy anniversary, Rick said, “Can you imagine if on our wedding day, I said in our 8th year of marriage I will be teaching at one of England’s top ten academies, you will be working for one of the Big 4 financial organizations, Chan will be living with us in England, and Keaton will have travelled to Europe?” I am sure I would have thought he was out of his mind. However, here we are and all of the above is true. Pretty awesome, I must say.

So you know how each anniversary has a theme like paper, or silver, or wood, or something really obscure, well we decided that this one was Crazy 8’s so anything goes. Well, on the weekend we were watching excerpts from Glastonbury which is a huge outdoor music festival in Somerset, and a set of Jackson Browne came on. Isn’t it funny how a song can pull you back to a time and place? Well, hearing Jackson Browne instantly made me think of our place in Douro. It reminded me of the times that Rick and I would be alone on a date night sharing a nice home cooked meal, all four patio doors open with a lovely breeze pulling through the family room, and waiting for a brilliant sunset to appear from the west side of our property.

Funny, but since we moved here, I haven’t listened to a lot of our music from home. I have tried to find new songs. This is partly because we don’t have a good stereo system, but really, it makes me home sick. For example, Viva Lavida by Coldplay, would send me into a crying jag in the middle of the grocery store because it reminded me of the time that Rick, Channing, Keaton, and I did our sail boating trip on Lake Simcoe. I can picture Keaton sitting on the deck, the sun shining, and the boat falling and rising with the waves. I used to rule the world, the song says, and I think that it won’t be long before my oldest boy will be trying to do just that. He’ll be heading off to Humber to study journalism and eventually specialize in sports broadcasting. But during this sailing trip, we were facing the world together as a team on the boat, and as tough as the trip got because of the weather being rough, we made it back home no problems, because we did it together.

So last night, when Jackson Browne broke into “Waiting here for you”, I couldn’t help but think of our place and the great times we have had there as a family too and yes, I reached for some tissue. I am such a sap. But I try not to focus too much on the past, as my present has been so unbelievable. I am here, I remind myself, in London in the Royal Alex Theatre, within 100 feet of Jackson Browne, now that in itself is super cool. But the part that is sweetest of all is that I get to do this with my husband of 8 years. Is that crazy, or what?!

Here's some more shots from our camping trip on the Isle of Wight.

The Next Chapter

2010-06-20T16:21:00.000-04:00

Gosh, you are probably wondering where we have been lately. So many nights I think that I am going to get to update my blog, and it just hasn’t happened; except for now, of course, as I write this to all of you.

Life is pretty darn good. We received a letter from Chan’s school (and Rick’s too for that matter) that he is going to be presented with an award on Tuesday. Not sure for what subject, but so far he has received one for Science, Music, and English. We are quite excited about this. He also won a few medals at the recent school sports’ day. Guess he rocked at shot put, of all things. Chan has really had an awesome year here and has fit in just swimmingly in the UK.

My temporary contract at EY is finally coming to an end in July and I am looking forward to my next assignment where ever that may be. The agency is looking for something for me and I am hoping to gain some experience in communications or a more generalist HR role. Man, when I get back to KPR, I will be able to run the place. Ha! I have also taken up running again and I have to say that it feels awesome to be strong and healthy again.

Rick has recently picked up a tutoring job of a year 13 girl from the local Grammar School and she is a bright and eager student. She is such a pleasure for Rick to work with and her family are loving and supportive people (Dad’s a doctor and mom’s a pharmacist, so you can understand why Science is important to that family). Anyhow, Rick quite enjoys working with her and he is truly a natural teacher. I just love listening to him use his great sense of humour and passion for the subject with her every Wednesday and Saturday. I find myself listening while I am preparing dinner, doing the laundry, or cleaning house and soaking up the data particularly about human biology. I knew I should have become a nurse! I just love the study of the human body.

Let’s see what else is new with us. Well, we had a week off and went camping on the Isle of Wight and then along the coast of Dorset, Devon and Cornwall. Two places were on my wish list and we managed to make it, not only to Land’s End and Shepton Mallet, (where my mom was born) but to so many other beautiful places along the coast. Land’s end brought me to tears as the last time I was there I was 10 and it had a huge impact on me then as well. Now that we are suited up with all the right gear, we plan on doing some touring of Europe this summer and make the best of this inexpensive form of accommodation.

So I know that all of you are wondering what our plans are for next year and we have had to put a few of you off when you have pressed for answers, and I am sorry about that. Honestly, for weeks we were on a swing set about this and it was so difficult to decide what we should do. The tipping point really was that Rick was guaranteed full time and good paying work here where as back in Ontario the best we could hope for was a long term occasional job or the supply list. Having investing a year in Rick’s education, it wouldn’t seem right to return home to an uncertain future. Additionally, we are quite comfortable here, we can travel, see and do many things, and we felt as though we had just snipped a piece from the corner of the pie. Believe me, it has been hard to be away from our friends, family, and our house, but they will all be there when we come back, God willing.

Chan, however, will be returning home. I really can’t comment too much on this, without feeling as though I will break down. I would be lying if I said I am totally comfortable with this. This is something that will take some time for me to digest and accept. I realize that he is almost 16 years of age and really in two more years, he will be on his way to school or perhaps travelling just like Keaton did. He is already talking about seeing South East Asia. I will miss him like mad and I am so incredibly proud of him and most of all thankful for his willingness to take the leap along with Rick and me. Love you Chan Chan, you’re my rock.

So August will be another chapter in our book. Only this time it will be just the two amigos. It feels strange even writing about it now. Rick and I have never lived alone together and this will enable us to explore things about our relationship that we never could before. Love you too, Ricky Bee!

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers and ask for guidance as we approach this new and exciting phase of our journey in England.