I'm handing you no blarney...

It’s the most wonderful time of the year for me. I love pre-Christmas excitement. My past few Christmases have been quite different from the norm, however I have tried to maintain as many traditions as possible even though I’m afloat. I thought what a better way than this to share some of my favourite things about the Yuletide season, hoping to inspire others to jot down some of theirs as well.

Starting November 12th, after observing Remembrance Day, I begin my decorating. At my parents house this had to be done in shifts and over several days with the growing number of indoor and outdoor decorations each year. All of the everyday fireplace trinkets are replaced one by one with Christmas mice, poinsettia candles and craft angels my Mom & I made together one year. I wind garland around any surface I can, and then accent that with lights. Each year my Dad abandons his professionalism when I begin decorating. I am blessed to have an electrician for a Dad, and look forward to his face each year when I ask him for yet another extension chord, or question why I can only manage to put 6 plugs into one socket. We laugh our way through putting the outside lights up, and traditionally my Dad pretends he can’t find a lawn ornament to try and alleviate the escalating hydro bill and my brother smashes at least 3 bulbs while reaching to replace faded colours.

The tree is the next great feat in our family. We always, ALWAYS have a real tree. Just last year we added a second artificial tree to the house but our main, feature tree if you will is always a live one. We hang the 30-something year old ornaments, including my Mom placing the heart of the tree (a Ziggy ornament from years past) and then my brother Mike & I toss "Avis' Bells" over our shoulder. They are two quaint hand knit bells from a neighbour who has since passed away, and the rule is where they land, they hang. It's quite an adventure.

Both of my brothers & I will at some point witness the following movies either together, or separately, and then quote them, ad-nauseoum, for the following weeks leading up to Christmas. A Christmas Story, with the famous “leg lamp” scene, and National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. Yet another essential to make sure the holiday will bring all we hope for. The sound of A Sesame Street Christmas, and Bing Crosby’s Christmas will play on a loop for weeks through the kitchen and living room, and if my Mom is lucky we’ll play a few tunes by Josh Groban.

The best smell, bar none is the kitchen on the morning of the 24th. My Mom makes, from scratch, the most amazing and delicious seafood chowder I have ever come across. That smell means it’s Christmas. I have tried to duplicate this whilst on ships, but Campbell’s doesn’t even come close. There is an assortment of approximately twelve different homemade cookies in the middle of the table as well. Around 4:30pm the family comes together to enjoy a very European dinner of the chowder to start, then fish & mashed potatoes with a vegetable, salad, and coffee. Since my niece Émilie arrived, we leave the table a tad earlier around 6:30 or 7pm, and embark on a quest to “find Rudolph”, while my Mom stays behind to “do the dishes”. Depending on the frigidness that year, the family usually walks around the block with our dog Jenny in tow, and can only return to the house when the Christmas lights are back on, indicating Santa has made his visit.

The rest of the details vary, but we follow these traditions each year. With my family’s European background, it’s different to the norm, but it’s ours. The 25th is a day of relaxing, eating leftovers and visiting friends and family that woke early to open their gifts and enjoy their family traditions. Adam and I have started some traditions of our own, incorporating each family’s ideas into our celebration.

There is no other day in the year like the 24th at our house. It is my Mom’s time to shine. Her gold medal of the holidays, and she tops herself every year without trying. Now that Emilie has joined the family, it’s even better to watch it all again through her almost four year old eyes.

So whatever your family traditions are, no matter how silly or normal or annoying to other family members, they are yours to treasure and pass on through the years. It is a time of giving, loving, laughing and rejoicing… and getting the last bowl of chowder.

I Am Canadian…but I almost wasn’t

Today is the 20th anniversary of the fall of communism in the former Czechoslovakia, now known as the Czech Republic, or the second best beer producer in the world. (Love me some Pilsner, but still prefer my Sleemans Cream Ale.)

About two years ago, I had the pleasure of being taken to William’s Coffee house by my Dad where we sat for over an hour together. After years of asking my Mom questions and her not knowing answers, I got to hear a good chunk of my Dad’s escape from communism as he ventured to his unknown future via Austria in 1967. I won’t even begin to tell this story as a blog page does it no justice, but I wanted to not only thank my Dad for that afternoon at the coffee house, as I know him telling his story is difficult, (that’s why he doesn’t tell it often), but I wanted to thank him for taking that risk and choosing the Canadian embassy as his final choice. He could have gone anywhere. Literally anywhere in the world, and he chose Canada. Lucky Canada.

I imagine my Dad standing in the middle of a circle of circus tents, all marked with a different countries name. He checks out the booths at the Australia tent and realizes that a Christmas without snow is not a Christmas, and that the American tent is too overwhelming, and that the tent for Mexico doesn’t have the food specials he likes, and the British tent while lovely, my Dad realizes he doesn’t own a monocle. (Remember, this is MY version of his story!) Then, there it is, that one tent of red and white stripes that humbly sits waiting for people to come and check it out. No flashy sign, no tricks, just a desk with some papers and a sign that says, “Come and check out Canada, the States quiet cousin to the north!”

Both my Grandfather and my Dad had to make a choice like this. Where to start their lives over again after leaving friends and family behind? They both said that they weren’t sure why, but Canada was the answer to this new life. Shortly after arriving in Canada, more specifically London, Ontario, my Dad met my Mom and as they say, the rest is history.

I hope to one day really write down my Dad’s journey from Usti Nad Labem to London, Ontario as it is such a fascinating story. One suitcase, a stolen passport and a very forgiving security officer are just the beginning. However, until then, on this day of celebration, I want to thank my Dad for choosing the best place on the planet to start over again. I am so proud to be Canadian, and I know he is as well.

Besides, neither of us looks good wearing a monocle.

I Do, I Don't

I Do, I Don’t

It is my six-month wedding anniversary today. Well, it’s our six-month anniversary today. I have to give Adam some credit because if he didn’t show up we wouldn’t be celebrating anything today. I am sitting in my cabin thinking back 6 months ago going through my wedding day step by step thinking “at this time I was getting my hair done” or, “at this time I was regretting not getting shoe insoles” or, “at this time I was wishing the day wouldn’t come to an end” and so forth. Our wedding day was truly the most amazing day of my life, witnessing all of my friends and family together in one place at one time to celebrate our love and commitment to each other.

What we didn’t commit to was spending more than half of our first six months as a married couple apart from each other. There have been some unforeseen events that have made this happen, but I cannot stress to anyone how difficult this time has been for both of us. A few days ago was Adam’s 31st birthday, which I spent over an hour trying to get a satellite line out to wish him a happy day. A $10 phone card lasts one hour and six minutes. It sucks. There is a delay, and a big chance you won’t even get a connection when you want one. Internet is even less dependable, so I wait for ports that provide wireless hot spots so I can sit on ichat or Skype and enjoy lunch with Adam via the blurry computer screen. Not the way I imagined our first month’s together, but at least we have that.

Being away from Adam is, to say the least, painful. When we exchanged rings 6 months and 2 hours ago, we became a team, one force that became stronger than we ever were as individuals. And for the past few months, my partner has not been with me. I speak to several of my married friends about the power of wedding rings. It’s not a He-man She-ra kind of power, but some emotional power your feel. When we first got engaged, I wouldn’t do anything with my ring on my hand. I didn’t want to scratch it or ruin it. I would take it off to wash my hands, shower, or swim. Now, if I remove it even to clean it, something is not right. I cannot even sleep without it on. It is a symbol of love and fidelity, but it’s also a reminder of how strong we are, together or apart. Yesterday, I decided to clean my wedding band after several rounds of sun tan lotion and hand cream, and after taking all precautions to avoid a catastrophe, my engagement ring slipped out of my hand, and went down my sink drain.
If you ask my lovely room steward Alfredo, I ran out of my room in tears screaming something like “I ring my drain down please Adam kill me no!” I am happy to report that Alfredo retrieved my ring within minutes from the drain, and I told him he never has to clean my room again.

It wasn’t that it was a diamond ring, it is the fact that when I look down at my left hand, I realize Adam isn’t really that far away after all. (Cue violin music.) Since we got married, when we say goodbye to each other on ichat we always point to our rings to remind each other we really are together. Alfredo rescued more than just a ring from my drain; it’s my comfort and sanity.

So happy six-month-aversary honey. I miss you, and love you, and cannot wait until you come on board so I can show you how to dismantle the bathroom sink. I’m a pro now. Just ask Alfredo.

Another Openin' Another Snooze

Since signing onto this grand vessel at the beginning of August, we have not stopped rehearsing our production shows. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of viewing or being a part of a cruise ship show, let me explain the process in a few sentences. Typically a ship show is between 45 and 50 minutes long, and it is a revue show that features a theme such as Broadway classics, Disco or Rock & Roll songs that the general public can fall asleep to after a buffet dinner of bacon and pie. On an average show night, we will perform the show twice, and some companies require a tech run the morning of a show. This particular contract we have learned a total of five production shows for our 15 day Panama crowd with an average age of 107.

I am pleased to announce that we opened our fifth and final show, Tribute, last night after 3 months on board. Tribute is a, well, tribute to such artists as the Beatles, the Rat Pack, the Beach Boys and Divas like Whitney Houston and Madonna. It’s a loud, fast paced Rock & Roll show that is meant to get the crowd excited and clapping. The show went well, but I made an observation that I have made at several shows and wanted to address once and for all. A plea to those who may one day be part of a theatre audience on a cruise ship, or even on land.

Please, please do not sit in the front row if you are going to fall asleep.

I think on ships the thrill of seeing a show is lost simply because there is no additional cost involved or ticket in hand. There is something about entering a Broadway theatre and having that ticket torn, realizing you have spent up to $120 to see a show that you have dreamt of seeing for years. Cruise ship audiences follow the daily plan, file in, order their tequila sunrise and realize that instead of Bingo, the stage is corrupted by singing and dancing. Their protest is to fall asleep right in front of us. They are alert for towel folding and vegetable carving classes, but watching professional singers and dancers doesn’t seem to impress some people.

I know this is just the curse of the ship. Some people don’t realize that they are in fact, watching professionals who have stellar resumes and training behind them. The number one question we get asked by the passengers is; “Have you ever considered doing this professionally?” For the record, I get paid to do what I love, and I am lucky to do that. As an added bonus I get to see parts of the world I may never have seen otherwise.

So the next time I look over and see a passenger fast asleep while I’m singing a passionate ballad in a bedazzled gown and oddly coloured wig, Instead of blaming it on ignorance, I’ll blame it on the bacon and pie buffet. I mean honestly, who doesn’t need a nap after that?

I'm not that girl...

Working in the performing industry is hard on everyone image-wise. I went through college surrounded by some of the most beautiful people, inside and out, and that can be very intimidating for both males and females. I came to realize, especially after working on ships that among females, there are two kinds of women. The ones who put in effort every day to look their best, and then there’s me.

I am not saying I don’t put in effort, but anything more than a ponytail and I feel dressed up. I have always found that those who grew up dancing always look cute. I think I could knock on any of my dancer girls doors at 3am and they would come out ready for a photo shoot. How do they do this? What is their secret? I have always considered myself somewhat of a tomboy. My two older brothers helped me out with this, and my Mom and I don’t have one of those girlie mother-daughter relationships that a lot of my friends have. My fellow cast mates show up in sweats, and a sparkly headband, and they make it work. If I tried that, I would look like someone who went dumpster diving and came up short handed.

I do love to dress up. It is no secret I have a love affair with shoes that rivals Carrie Bradshaw, but I just cannot bother to put on eyeliner at 9am. I regret that decision when I look at the girls around me and think, “If they can do it, so can I!” But another day goes by and I am more concerned about what strength of coffee to get then if my eye shadow matches my outfit. Would I like to wear my Manolo Blahniks with my pajamas? Sure, but I think we all know that just isn’t practical. I think the best thing about the girls that have this ability is, to them, it’s just what they do. They are not pretentious; they are wonderful, talented, funny people who I wish could rub off some of their style onto me.

It’s amazing what a headband can do, but I’m just not one of those girls.

Cliche Horray

I've never totally understood the phrase "Hurry up and wait". I mean, I get it, but I think it's stupid. So now here we are, I understand it but think it's dumb. There, now the truth has come out.

I bring up this point because recent events involving my husband signing onto the cruise ship I work on are creeping up and causing us to wait for answers. After careful evaluation I have decided this is truly the curse of the cruise industry. For those who read this (and I currently only have 3 followers so thank you devoted fans) when you work on-board a ship and ask head office a question, you can bet "dollars to donuts" (another phrase I don't like) you will wait for an obscene amount of time for an answer. This is especially true if the question will not truly benefit that person or the company in the long run. You must twist your words to make them think if the answer doesn't arrive, the ship may sink, or worse, they may take a pay cut.

On one contract, my fellow singer and good friend had a medical concern that required immediate attention, and it wasn't until I mentioned the big "c" word... (contract obligations? No, cancer) that they stepped back and re-read my previous 12 emails and finally made an effort to help. Thankfully, it was not cancer, but almost 2 years later he is only just finishing up with the office regarding the issue, and he hasn't worked for the company in that time. It's sad, frustrating, and unnecessary.

The convenience factor when you work on ships is absent. If you have a concern at your 9-5 job on land, you can go to the human resource office or the nurses office, or you can go home and sleep it off until tomorrow. You can walk into your bosses office and sort out issues and questions that may come up and move on to tackle the next project. My boss works in California, and I work in the Panama Canal, or Mexico, or Aruba, or Greece, or Alaska. Adams boss works with my boss, but to get them to talk is also "like pulling teeth". (I can appreciate this phrase, but believe me, sometimes pulling teeth is quite easy.) The chain of command on a ship is frustrating too, as sometimes you can't go to your boss directly, but instead must play a telephone like game of passing along information.

I love ship life, I really do. I especially enjoy it when my husband and I get to float around together. However, the next time you're frustrated at work with a problem, just remember you can pick up the phone and dial an extension or email your co-worker and get it sorted out. I have to walk down to the crew bar, buy a phone card or email card and hope the satellite connection works so I can talk through a broken line to whomever is concerned, and that they are hopefully at work depending on the time zone. I guess "the grass is always greener" applies here.

So for now, while Adam and I await the fate of his contract, we will "stop and smell the roses" and hope for the best. I don't want to "count my chickens before they hatch", but I have a good feeling about all of this. I have to be positive. Anything less just won't "cut the mustard".

What does it all mean?

Distance:
noun
1. an amount of space between two things or people.

There is too much distance between me and a lot of things right now. At this point in time my husband comes to mind. He is currently boarding a plane that will take him home after visiting me for 2 weeks here on the ship.


My niece also comes to mind. My sister-in-law frequents my inbox with pictures of my little angel every few days, and recent shots have shocked me with the realization of how quickly she is growing up. I’ve only been gone a few weeks, and I can already see her turning from a toddler into child mode. It’s mainly frightening because in a few years she will not only be taller than me, but much smarter.

Growing:
verb

1. (of a living thing) undergo natural development by increasing in size and changing physically; progress to maturity

My partner in crime, otherwise known as my best friend Mark comes to mind as well. Mark & I have been friends since time allowed it, and the thing that I appreciate most about his friendship is that he doesn’t hold my absence against me. My job doesn’t allow me to communicate as often as I would want to, but sometimes after months without a phone call or email, we will pick up right where we left off. A true friend is there no matter what, and he is always there, whether I need him or not. (Just to be clear, I need him every time.)

Best:
adjective

1. of the most excellent, effective, or desirable type or quality

Finally I think of my Grandfather, whom I haven’t had the chance to speak with since I left in June. About a year ago he moved into a long term care facility, and my previous job allowed me to walk down the street and spend my lunch hours with him. Catching up with him in person is a challenge as not only is his hearing less than 100%, he unfortunately lost most of his sight as well, so visual cues are of no help when trying to tell a story or get a point across. Phone calls aren’t very successful either, but as often as I can I contact him just to remind him that I am thinking of him, and that the Toronto Maple Leafs could quite possibly make it past the first round of playoffs this year.

Challenge:
noun

1. a task or situation that tests someone's abilities

When I began typing this, I came up with the idea to look into key words, or just words that stuck out for me in each paragraph. The particular words were chosen partly because it truly represents something about the person I am writing about, and partly because they are such common words that we throw around in every day language but may not truly appreciate their meaning. I have also realized that these words link together, and then arrive at a similar finale.

Distance, growing up and being the best are true challenges.

We are always distant from loved ones, we distance ourselves from issues or possibly the truth, and that is painful and challenging. We never stop growing up, maturing, developing no matter where we find ourselves in life. I will never be finished learning as a performer, which is something I love about my profession. I will be 98 and still learning about my craft, which is exciting, and a challenge. Within our growth we challenge ourselves to be the best. The best parent, the best student, the best runner, the best cook, just simply the best. It is exhausting trying it over and over and coming up short, because we have challenged ourselves to do something that is virtually impossible.

Every once and a while, we achieve it. Whatever it is, it’s ours for the moment, and we jump, possibly into the arms of the husband who was far away, we jump rope with the niece who when we saw her last couldn’t run without stumbling, we jump back to the conversation we were having three months ago without skipping a beat, or we jump at the chance to see someone, even if just for a few minutes.

Inky, Blinky & Then some...

I have taken to playing some old school arcade games to pass some time recently thanks to my Playstation 2, and a delightful game my brother bought me a few years ago for my birthday. Games from a simpler time when it was one joystick and an orange button, and with those two tools you and your triangle spaceship could own the galaxy, or a little mouse could trampoline his way to victory, or perhaps your 2 pixel racecar could cross the finish line before the clock ran out.

By playing these games, I have decided that I am a Ms. Pacman. Well technically now I’m a Mrs. Ferrett after getting married a few months ago, but that isn’t a video game that I know of. I could be a Pacman, but I have decided I do look cute in a festive pink bow. Some computer generated music introduces her mission, and off she goes, determined to swallow each little yellow dot, minding her own business. But look, there are her nemeses, those four ghouls trying to stop her from accomplishing her simple task. She fakes right or left, bobs and weaves and even sneaks through time warping secret tunnels to escape them. Occasionally, they get the best of her, and she spins in despair and then folds up, three sounds sending her to her afterlife. She has two more chances, but alas, unless she grabs a golden orb, making her unstoppable, the ghosts prevent her from achieving her mission; a high score. Three initials forever to penetrate the winner’s list.

Every day I go after my yellow dots. Be it learning a new song, getting my steps right or just trying to go about my day doing what I love and coming out happy on the other side of it all. Just going up to the lunch buffet is a Ms. Pacman game in itself. I reach for the salad tongs, and someone grabs them before me, crossing to the hot food station with them, cross contaminating my hopes and dreams of a healthy meal. I have a watered down coffee, reach for the cream- empty. I put ranch dressing on my plate only to find out when I take a forkful on my cauliflower that it’s actually blue cheese dressing. Foiled again by my Inky of the food label department.

On and off stage there are many ghosts trying to spoil my fun, but my golden orb that makes me impenetrable is my performing. When that spotlight hits me I am untouchable, and most of all, happy.

We all have our golden orbs of power, that moment in time where nothing can touch us and we believe that anything can happen. We must always remember that the ghosts are around to get the better of us, but with a little perseverance, and perhaps a cute bow in our hair, we can beat them, and win.

TV Themes & Memories Past

All Aboard the Channel Surf

Many people have memories come to them in various ways. A sound, a song, or a colour. Scent is a big memory maker; a cologne, a cleaning product, apple pie etc. I must admit that when I smell a certain type of furniture polish I am whisked back in time to the end of year clean up in grade school when we would clean our violins to prepare them for summer storage. However, as I travel around the Alaskan wilderness once again aboard this luxury liner, it is not the smell of sea air or the sound of crashing waves that jogs my memory bank, it is the sound of a television theme song that makes me think of friends I have met along the way.

It is two strong beats on some sort of metallic instrument that not only signifies another episode of Law & Order is about to begin on TNT, but I am quickly taken back to my first contract in Alaska when my friend Scott & I would spend far too much time glued to the screen awaiting the outcome of another fictional trial. That intro makes me hungry for a tuna pita, because that is what we would eat while watching back to back to back episodes of the Dick Wolf series, cheering on Jerry Orbach as he caught yet another punk thief on the streets of New York.

The music box like cascade of notes and Patrick Dempsey’s smile takes me back to the bottom bunk of 2821, my cabin that I shared with Amy. We sat holding a Corona and a bag of Doritos amazed at the complex and hilarious lives of interns trying to make it through another day. I have never bonded with another girl like I did with Amy, not to mention Meredith and Izzie. Short of a stethoscope, we were one with that group.

Most importantly, while it doesn’t happen often, an operatic chorus will echo through the crew mess as ESPN is turned on. I can’t make out any of the words the choir melodically shouts except the final two… “The Champions”. I am then sitting beside my darling husband, cheering on the Red Devils on any one of the various ships we have sailed on together. I, cheering on Giggs, the only player I really know, and he, holding some sort of beer in one hand and hope in his eyes that his team will once again soar to victory. While I admit I don’t know a lot about the sport, knowing that a few times a month I can share in celebrating a win or console a loss (however infrequently that happens!) with my husband makes that particular theme special to me.

So for those of us who smell the autumn leaves and remember our first days of school, or see an ocean so blue it reminds us of our loved ones eyes, I cherish the moments that satellite television bring me a few reminders of some people in my life that without them, it wouldn’t be the same.

A Ferrett's Mistake

I have done a few stupid things in my life, and the first one that comes to mind is standing in line at Islands of Adventure for the Incredible Hulk roller coaster. I hate roller coasters, and there I stood for over half an hour near tears anticipating my imminent death on this metal contraption. As I advanced to the platform where they post many signs describing the ways the ride can kill you, I decided to weigh my options. What if I stepped through the exit or "bail out" door and had a few fries and a hot dog while I waited for my friends to enjoy the ride instead? What would happen if I didn't take the ride of death? Would I be less of a person for bailing out? Would I always wonder what if? Would I play it safe and enjoy the rides less likely to make my heart stop or take a risk and climb into the green harness of fear? I paid my $97 US dollars for my fast pass so I should make it count right?

I loved that 47 seconds that I was on that ride, but I would not do it again. My life hasn't changed since going on it, but at least I can say I did it.

I went to theatre school. Scary, bumpy, expensive and risky...but it's no Hulk coaster. The difference is, I would do it all over again, and then some. The highs and lows, the drops and climbs, the tears and laughter, the debt and despair, because it shaped me. It made me who I am today, and I am proud of that. I glanced at the bail out door several times at Sheridan, but never walked through it. That is what makes me as strong as the Hulk every day, and right about now, I need that strength, because this has been the hardest 3 weeks I've ever had to face.

A Ferrett Begins

Welcome!

I have no idea where this will go, or what adventures we will enjoy together, but I needed a forum of communication for my thoughts and feelings as I embark on my next adventure. I will be setting sail on a cruise ship for seven months and figured I would chronicle my bumps and successes along the way. It may fizzle out or it may bloom into a journal beyond my wildest expectations. Either way, let's not set our hopes too high yet.

So for now, I leave you until something excruciatingly exciting happens. In that case, you may not hear from me for a while.

Cheers!