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.