If I Were Not Upon The Sea

A working singer me.  Happy all day long.  And this would be my song...

If you don't recognize the doctored lyrics, then you haven't worked on a cruise ship.  If you haven't worked on a cruise ship and do recognize the lyrics...shame on you.  You've obviously attended a crew show circa 1974 as the "If I Were Not Upon the Sea" skit has been in existence since then, and some old school cruise directors like to bring it back.

Anyway, the point here is that when you work on a cruise ship (a job many people dream of) you are caught thinking about your dream land life.  The one that you get to make food, pay bills, sleep in a human size bed and use a toilet that doesn't try to suck you into a vortex of nothingness when it flushes.  It's the simple things you miss like driving, consistent internet and 24 hour phone service.  Yes, there are perks to the cruise life.  You get to meet people that before they even get to their stateroom, are already requesting upgrades and making demands that aren't even offered on the trip.  

"No Ma'am, we cannot change our itinerary because you've never swam with dolphins.  We're in Alaska, so enjoy the glacier tour."

I wish I was kidding.

Regardless, once on land you begin to doubt your choices.  Was ship life really that bad?  Can I eat another bowl of mystery meat soup and wilted lettuce so I can enjoy the sun and sand of Jamaica?  The answer is yes, it really was that bad.  It wasn't when you were actually there, and that was our livelihood, but since Adam has journeyed back to the Coral Princess for a one month replacement, he's come to realize that our real life, the one we have made on land is really where we are meant to be right now.  The magic of the crew mess and the mayhem of the crew bar have lost their lustre.  Don't get me wrong, we cherish the memories we've had on those ships the past 7 years.  Memories including our best man from our wedding providing First Aid at 3:30 in the morning to a fellow crew member, and the times we would lay on the crew deck for hours with Jamie and Paul watching for dolphins and sea turtles, and of course amazing countless performances with our friends that made us truly lucky to be getting paid to do what we loved to do...sleep and eat.  I sang sometimes too.  

I'll always be a singer, sometimes disguised as a lululemon employee, an Arbonne Consultant, or a poutine eater.  Yup.  I'm a triple threat.

The point is, we did what we did, loved it, and are happy to now be home and doing what we're doing now.  

Whatever that is. 

Write or Wrong?

Call me crazy, but I have few personal possesions that are actually worth real money.  My engagement ring, my Barbie collection that is safely tucked away in my Mom's damp basement closet, my cat (he's priceless) and my Volkswagen Jetta, or Yetta as we call her after Adam mispronounced the name when he first read it.  2001, GLS Automatic Turbo.  Navy blue.  Leather heated seats and sunroof.  She's a sweet ride, and for 160 thousand + kms she rides like a cloud.  I don't know what it actually feels like to ride a cloud, as when I go through them in an airplane you don't bounce around like a Snuggle bear, you just go right through them.  So, it's more like riding on a bin of marshmallows.  Soft, squishy and sweet.  Whatever, she runs real good.

So for those of you who don't know, Yetta had a rough September and October.  We all have our down days, but Yetta went through three mishaps in a very short period of time, and so now she is sick.  Very sick.  I won't bore any of you with the details, but this afternoon when I received a phone call from my insurance company within 30 seconds of the conversation I heard the words WRITE and OFF very clearly.  I froze, and went into this state of "okay okay, this doesn't mean what I think it does, she's talking crazy and at any moment Ashton Kutcher will jump out from behind my 2nd hand couch and yell YOU JUST GOT PUNK'D! and then Matt Damon will bring my Jetta up the elevator and park her right here in my living room, safe and sound".  That was my fantasy, but my reality made me face the fact that the first car I ever bought, the car that has taken me back and forth to the Toronto Airport countless times to pick up or drop off, it took me on my first trip to Chicago with my brother, took Adam to our wedding, and drove Émilie and I around while dancing to Lady Gaga.  I love that car.  I love that I paid for it, it's ours, and she's the envy of everyone elses cars in my underground garage.  (In my opinion.)  So when little Miss Doesn't-give-a-crap all but told me my car was going to be crushed into a cube, I didn't react well.  Surely there was something she could do.  My memories were about to be scrap metal, and all because of a minor (major) fender bender (totally destroyed front end) it was all going up in a horribly underestimated ball of smoke.  

After much persistence, a firm voice (thanks to all that vocal training) and a customer service lecture, my dear Yetta will be repaired, all for the low price of a deductible and a rate hike.  I don't care.  My Yetta is my lifeline to concerts, family events and date nights with hubby, and for that, I would have paid the entire cost.  

We all get a little dinged up along the road of life, but hopefully we aren't written off too soon.  Hopefully we are all given a second, or third chance at life and just because we have a few scrapes and bruises on the outside doesn't mean we aren't strong and ready for life on the inside.  With each turn of the key there is a new adventure, new memories, and new risks, but in the end we enjoy the ride with each twist and turn...and crash.  Hopefully through it all, someone fights for us, like I fought today.

Das is Auto.  Das is mine Auto.  Me love Auto.  Me love Jetta.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2B1uIkQUZ4

The Fork of Destiny

Decisions are tough, and I don't think anyone likes making tough ones.  Decisions can completely turn your destiny upside down, which isn't always a bad thing.  The path that is in front of you is meant to twist, bend, stop, be bright and dark and surprise you.  A fork in the road is a time to pause and reflect on what is important, and what will bring you true happiness and ultimate glee.  (Sidenote: Season 3 of Glee is really killing it.  I love it.)  Anyway, back on track.

I am at a crossroads, and for the sake of excitement, I'm going to leave out all details.  But, I sometimes take a step back in the moment and realize that while my brain is consumed with "which path do I take", the main thing is, and I can't believe that what I saw on Modern Family last night is coming back to me, that no matter what path I decide to take, I will be alive at the end of it all.  I will survive.  I will make the best of the path I walk on and be content in my decision, knowing that even if it's just for now, it was the right path to take. 

If I've learned anything from this particular quick blog, it's that you grow stronger from the challenge of choosing your path, and it may take you places you never thought were possible.  I've also learned that I am a fan of prime time television once again.

It just hasn't been the same since Frasier went off the air.

Paws for Reflection

Pets are something else.  I was raised with pets, be they animals that were brought into our home willingly, or some that found their way into the Dlouhy household by accident (which was really fate) I have always had parents who gave the gift of furry friends to us since day one.  My first loyal friend was Blackie, our black (go figure) cat who was actually 2 years older than me, and passed away when I was in grade 12.  He was by my side through my back surgery, slept in my crib when I was an infant, and was an amazing mouser up until his final days.

We then had Ben come into our lives, a rambunctious pup who caught our eye one day and came home with us.  He was part Beagle, part trouble, but sadly left the family only 3 years into his life after complications with flea medication and a denied trip to taco bell for me...it's a long story, but I still can't watch Crocodile Dundee 2 to this day.  (Who would want to anyway?!)  Ben was hilarious, and for our first dog, really proved how much personality a dog can take on in such a short amount of time.  

The longest hiatus between pets in our house was approximately 6 days, after Ben was put to sleep. Enter Oliver.  Oliver is my gorgeous boy, my now ten year old hunk of orange fur that loves to be cuddled (on his terms) and can somehow take up an entire double bed without much thought for those occupying it.  He was rescued from a snow drift in a local Tim Horton's parking lot and we adopted him from our local vet at about 8 weeks old.  He is another excellent mouser, and can be found strolling around our neighbourhood with skunks or various other street creatures, and he also LOVES Jenny.

Jenny, or "Bliss" as she was named before we took her in, was rescued shortly after Oliver came onto the scene.  My Mom found her online, and we knew little about her condition, other than she had obviously suffered abuse in the form of kicking, and had probably been subject to being a puppy-mill mother.  She was extremely frightened of men, and when my Dad would wear work boots, she would hide, a clear sign of a profile of her past abusers.  Over the years, my family gained her trust, and those who came to know her realized the simple action of kneeling down to her to greet her would ease her stress, and allow her to befriend you.  A slab of beef jerky never hurt either.  After my incident with Ben, Jenny truly was the perfect dog to bring into my life.  I not only had to gain her trust, but in turn I had to learn to trust dogs again, realizing that their instincts are valid, and that no matter what they are an animal, but have so much love to give if you are willing to give them a chance to express it. She is a gentle, warm, and kind dog with a ton of personality, and her doe eyes will make you surrender the most succulent pieces of chicken in a heartbeat.  She really knows how to lay on the drama.  I taught her well.

As the time ticks by, Jenny is now around 12 or 13, and she is not well.  She isn't eating, and is having extreme difficulties walking.  It is so heartbreaking to see a pet look at you expressing sadness, and really not being able to ease their pain other than to offer a stroke on the head, and reassuring words.  I know she "gets it".  She knows we love her, and even more, I truly believe she realizes that she has done her job within our family.  She was Oliver's best friend, my Mom's late night companion, and my Dad's leftover-eater for the past ten years, and what more can you ask for?  The loyalty, love and companionship she has shown us, from being gentle with Émilie & Liam as infants, to respecting my uneasiness with her at first and helping me learn to trust dogs again, she has been a wonderful friend and guardian.  

So as she now rests in the living room, comfortable and at peace, we get to say our goodbyes and remind her that while we may have rescued her 10 years ago, it was her who over time, rescued us.

Sleep well, Jenny.   Good girl.

Out of the closet...an apology of sorts.

I'm sorry to say it, but I was inspired by the big O today.  Yes, Oprah Winfrey, while off the air, continues to creep her way into my life via Facebook and random Huffington Post articles.  I was reading her article "Making Your Ideas A Reality" and felt beyond inspired to run out and yell "Hey Everyone!  I'm an Arbonne Independent Consultant!"  Her first point was this-

1. Go Public

When Grand Plans linger in the daydream stage, there's always a risk that they'll die there. Going on the record is one way to keep them alive. "If you tell everybody you're running a marathon, you don't want to quit," says Laura Skladzinski, who at 24 briefly held the record as the youngest woman ever to have run marathons in all 50 states. Months before she started her record-breaking quest, Skladzinski launched her blog, 50by25.com, to force herself to press onward. "When you put your goals in front of others, there's accountability," she says—and serious motivation in not wanting to lose face or let yourself down.

So, the secret is out.  I work independently for Arbonne, and I also sell stretchy pants when I'm not working on Arbonne.  The two go hand in hand more than I intended, which is a wonderful surprise.  Lulu's unwavering commitment to promoting community, health, wellness and overall happiness is mirrored in Arbonne's hope that entire families use products that are pure, safe & beneficial improving one's overall quality of life.

The challenge of telling people what I do with Arbonne is still daunting for me in some aspects of my life.  I keep pretty hush hush about it at work to avoid a conflict of interest, but when anyone outside of work talks to me about it, I can't help but spill out excitement and information.  It's pretty great to be in charge of my own fate, finally.

So, I guess this blog is in part an apology, but not much of one.  I'm sorry I'm going to be honest, and let you know that Arbonne is a big part of my life, and I'm proud of the work I do with it.  I'm sorry I'll be sending emails and invites to my Arbonne events, exposing you to absolutely amazing products and an overall fun time with friends and family, and I'm sorry that I'll achieve success and happiness in whatever I do, because by going public, I'm holding myself accountable... with your support of course.

Now then...who's ready to book a party?

http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Making-Your-Ideas-a-Reality-Whats-Holding-You-Back

My lemonade stand

So we all know that I like to switch it up now again, so recently along side my Arbonne business I decided to add a full time job into the mix and I'm now officialy a lemon.  lululemon that is.  What an amazing partnership the two companies have in my life!  Their visions and expecations of their employees is so similar, and I love the products from both companies, so why not??   The company is strong and very serious, and I appreciate their patience and care while I try to remember the difference between luon, brushed luon and glyde.  Who knew dance pants could be so technical?? 


It's been quite the month of transition for Adam & I.  We both now have full time jobs, and we have the amazing responsibility of our newest family member, Wynton Elliot Ferrett.  Wynton, after one of Adam's favourite trumpet players Wynton Marsalis, and Elliot, because that's what Émilie wanted to name him and still calls him to this day.  He's a rescued charcoal and white cat from Animal Aide in St. Thomas, and we finally, as of yesterday, are finished furnishing our apartment.

Wynton is amazing.  It's heartbreaking realizing he doesn't like to be picked up for more than a millisecond because he associates it with being put in a cage, but we're working on it.  Wynton came from a home where his former owner was arrested for multiple gun charges and taken to prison, so he's a hood cat.  That's cool.  I respect his authori-tay.  I believe we're a step up from that experience.   It's so heartwarming to have him run to the door when we come home and literally push into us to welcome us home and remind us that we were missed.  We hear him purring from the elevator.  Even if it's only affection to be fed, he makes us feel wanted, and away we run into the kitchen to grant his wish.  He's our spoiled boy, and that's the way we like it.

So for now, that's what we're up to.  We're enjoying land life, enjoying our new surroundings and are taking in life on planet earth.  So long seven seas, we're now land lubbers, and so far we lub every minute of it.

Arbonnize Me!

So, it's official.  I'm now throwing parties to shower my friends and family members, and their friends and family members with amazing products at unbeatable prices.  For those of you not in the "know" of what I'm doing now that I'm snug in our new apartment on land, I am an Arbonne Independent Consultant.  Arbonne is an amazing 31 year old company with a stellar reputation of providing consumers with every day Swiss formulated products that are pure, safe & beneficial.

Shampoo?  We've got it.  Protein shakes?  We've got those.  Men's shave gel?  Yup.  Baby care?  Of course!  Animal waste and by-products in the products?  Nope.  Lead?  Heck no.  Formaldehyde?  Gross.

If that doesn't already make you realize that we're a premium company with a high code of ethics and follow Swiss standards that North America could only dream of.  Watch The Story of Cosmetics below, and if you learn anything from me, or that video, it's to be aware of what you're putting on your body every day, and how it affects you.  Read your labels, and the labels of things you're putting on other members of your family.  If I've learned anything from my new job, it's that nothing is what it seems, and safety in cosmetics and personal care products is virtually a free for all.  The business opportunity is amazing, giving me the freedom to set my own hours, and be my own boss.  I always said if there's an idiot boss making decisions, I want to be that idiot.

So, who wants to party with an idiot?

*Animal waste not included.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Andrea-Ferrett-Independent-Consultant-Arbonne-International/155566654514239



www.arbonne.ca

Not Meant To(m) Be

I'll keep this short and sweet for the legal department.  Most of you know the situation, (not the Jersey Shore guy, I mean my current status in life) but I thought I'd just put it in black and white for you if you aren't in the loop.

It wasn't meant to be.

I may never know why I wasn't meant to walk onto the Coral Princess for 3 weeks with my dear friend Tom Delbello and sing my heart out while complaining about the food and itchy sheets, but it wasn't meant to happen.  Some cosmic force (mainly a horrible clerical error and a surprisingly friendly CBP officer) interrupted my day and held me in an office for six hours, and then handed me a stack of papers that represented a metaphoric red flag for my future travels into the United States, wished me well, and back to the Vancouver airport I went without a moment to grasp the circumstances.  I was eating poutine within the hour.

They have found a replacement for me.  Life goes on.  The Coral sails.  I learn from it.  

My voice will be heard elsewhere.  Without limits.  Without people getting in the way that don't have the guts to come out and say "I made a mistake, and I'm sorry."  No, I'm sorry.  Sorry that I am stronger, and more brave, and more ballsy.

Ship happens...and sometimes, it doesn't.  On with the program.

Never Say Never

OK, so I'm the first to always say everything happens for a reason, and never say never, but this is ridiculous.  This cruise ship life never lets go, so for a mere 3 week period I'll be on the Coral Princess serenading my way through Alaska once again.  Sister ship to the Island, with the exact same itinerary, 3 out of 4 shows being the same, and certainly the food up in Horizon Court being the same, which is not a good thing.

I know you're all thinking "Here we go again!  Back to ship life!"  This was an unusual offer where a friend of mine had an exceptional job offer on land and decided to leave 3 weeks before the end of the contract.  Lucky for me, a flight to England is in our near future and 3 weeks at sea will help take care of the travel costs, so off I go.  An added bonus is my long time partner in crime and caramel covered, ham-in-toilet cramming friend Tom Delbello is currently on board the Coral, so this was a no brainer.  Tom and I were kicked out of many a pop class for goofing around, so wreaking havoc on a cruise ship for 3 weeks will be an added bonus to the paycheque. 

So, while I prematurely declared my retirement from ships, July 23rd will be my last day as an employee on a cruise ship.

I swear.

Until next time.

Looks Like We Made It

My Amazing Final Island Princess Cast June 2011

12 months seemed like such a long time 12 months ago, and here I am, back at home looking back and wondering where time went.  I had the absolute pleasure of combining my passion and work on the Island Princess for the past year with my talented husband, and while we are glad it's over, we left with amazing memories and friendships that we hope to continue for years to come.

Ships are tricky, and odd.  You commit to however long your contract is, and settle into a routine of sleep, eat, work, sightseeing and socializing day after day.  It truly is an alternate floating reality that is like no other place in the world.  You meet people from places you've never heard of, and if you're lucky stay in contact with a few from each contract.  You're in your safe bubble for your contract, seeing the same people day after day, almost forgetting people have paid thousands of dollars to experience what you get paid to do, and at times find very taxing and mundane.  Cruising through the Panama Canal becomes laundry day, and the view of Hubbard Glacier gets sealed behind closed portholes.  It's an odd life, but a life I'm glad I lived for seven years, almost five of them together with Adam.

Not many people have the luxury of leaving Music Theatre studies and actually applying those skills for a consistent paycheque, and I have been able to do that, and see places I never thought I would see.  The donkey ride up the steps of Santorini, Greece, the canals of Venice or the ancient ruins in Rome were just a few of the things I got to see over and over again.  This was an added bonus to my already amazing nightly task of walking out on stage in front of over-stuffed, tired passengers, singing and dancing my way through their dream tour.  It wasn't Broadway, but it was performing, and it was fantastic.

So, now I say goodbye to that chapter of my life and embark on a new journey.  Land life.  Real life.  Bills, gas prices, job interviews and grocery lists now replace my errands of finding eyelashes, choking down mess food and paying $1 for beer in the crew bar. 

Joni Mitchell was right when she said "you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone", and while I'm sure she didn't work on a cruise ship, when all is said and done you only remember the laughter and accomplishments, not the stress and strain.

So it's with great excitement I tell everyone (who may not already know) I've started my own business with Arbonne International, (www.arbonne.com or .ca) and we have just been approved for our first grown-up apartment here in London.  

Your little girl is growing up, and she couldn't be more excited!

Adam & I sail away from Vancouver for the final time.

 

Then There Were Two

Me really stressed at work.

Joy of all joys, it's almost here.  The finish line that was but a tiny speck in June is now a huge beam of freedom and excitement, and a bit of fear.  We are now currently in the Great White Northern town of Whittier Alaska enjoying an amber beer and a lovely pizza courtesy of the Inn At Whittier.  (They slightly burn the bacon, which is perhaps the best thing ever, next to peanut butter & chocolate ice cream.)

Princess Cruise Line has been so great to Adam and I.  Keeping us together for so many contracts, ensuring we are happy together and providing us with income and travel opportunities that no other company helped us out with.  It's truly been lovely, but all good things must come to an end, and 2 weeks from now I will be waiting for my flight home, and the next stage of our lives.

My next stage includes me starting my own business as an Arbonne Independent Consultant (check out www.arbonne.ca for more information, but you'll be hearing it all in person soon enough!) and Adam venturing into the Canadian work force for the first time.  We'll get a place with windows that open and ovens that don't shock you when you use it, and maybe a second bedroom for visitors!  (We're currently taking applications for our first guest...it could be YOU!)  

So the next 14 days will be full of goodbyes, packing a year of our lives into 2 suitcases, and realizing that the paycheques won't be frequent for a while, but we're happy to be taking the next step towards whatever it is that awaits us.

Let's just hope whatever that is includes burnt bacon.  Mmmmm.

It's The Turtle Of Life

Seaweed Jr. ready to go!

A few days ago I had an amazing experience in Acapulco.  Doesn’t seem possible after the recent violence there, but Adam & I indeed found a little something that was better then we could have expected.

Adam has been a fan of turtles since we purchased a cute little turtle puppet for my niece Émilie in Grand Cayman a few years ago.  (Shelly travels with us as Émilie thought it best if we were the “keepers” of Shelly for a while.)  Princess offers an excursion that lets you release a baby sea turtle into the ocean off the beach where they’ve hatched at their protective turtle farm.  We jumped on the opportunity and there we were, being handed our own little baby turtle, only 15 hours old between our thumb and index finger, wriggling around as if already riding the waves of the ocean they were about to venture out into.  Their tiny shells, no bigger than a loonie (or a mini York Peppermint Patty for my friends south of the border) were still soft, but there they are, ready to go into the great unknown.  I really didn’t want to let him go, so scared for him.  How can this tiny little thing, just hatched and still blind, understand the dangers that were out there, almost waiting for him?  Not only did he have to just make it to that first wave, but after that survive the waiting predators, fishing nets and strong currents that loomed in his future.  But, the second I placed him on the beach, he took off like a rocket, literally running to the waves.  Within seconds he was on the edge of the wave that would change his life forever, and in he went, without hesitation, knowing ultimately it’s where he belonged.

I’m currently standing on the edge of a big wave, a life change that has me hesitating at the beach, wondering if I should turn and run back to the safety of the sand, what I’ve known and felt is right for the past seven years.  But something about the unknown, that big open scary world is making me run right into it.  Right into bills, schedules, and a job I know is right for me.  Yes ladies and gentlemen, this turtle will be hanging up her shell from cruise ship life to try out land life and give it a fighting chance.  Not to worry!  I won’t necessarily be depriving the world of my meadowlark-like tones, I just honestly need to give my voice a rest after this year, and give my equilibrium a sense of stability for a few months. 

I have been lucky to have pursued my dream, albeit on a cruise ship, (remember when that job was scoffed at?  No more debt and a nice nest-egg started thanks to that second rate performing gig!) and I am lucky to close it off (for now) with a wonderful group of talented and graceful people…except Jamie.  She’s got issues.  Anyway, some people get to dabble in their dream for only a day as a once in a lifetime, and I got to sing to thousands of people a week for the last seven years, and drag my family and friends along the way to experience this life as best I could.  It hasn’t always been smooth sailing from contract to contract, but without the waves, there would be no stories to tell, no lessons learned, no Manolo Blahnik’s purchased.

I never say never, but for now, like my Shelly and Seaweed Jr. in Acapulco, I eagerly wait to crash into the next wave of excitement that is our life on land.

Fingers crossed for calm seas.

Day By Day

I get to do a lot of really great things working on a cruise ship, but the best thing is turning another page on the calendar that hangs on my bathroom door.  My in-laws created a lovely personalized calendar for the year 2011 with pictures of family and friends, and turning those pages over one month at a time brings a happiness like no other.  All the sunbathing, mud volcano swimming, turtle watching & zip lining doesn’t compare to the thrill of the countdown.  I appreciate and enjoy the aforementioned events, but as the light at the end of the tunnel gets larger by the day, so does the realization that I’m going home.

To make this event a daily occurrence, I have two day-to-day calendars that I cross off every evening.  One is a cruise long schedule, and one a list of which ports we’re in on what day.  If Adam beats me to it, I am envious.  First of all, he crosses off the days with a messy, uneven line, and doesn’t say my line “one day closer to getting off this tub!” with the same enthusiasm I do.  I cross each day off with a smooth elegance of black Sharpie™ bliss.  I do love my job, but the reality of surprising my niece when I pick her up from school, or enjoying that first bite of Mom-made dinner (I am requesting Shepherds Pie please!) can’t be beat by anything.   I know that six weeks later I’ll be panicked as my bank account depletes with each trip to Shopper’s Drug Mart, but approaching the end of a contract is always exciting and full of anticipation.  Will my suitcases bare the weight of 12 months of purchases?  Will my luggage survive the 4 layovers I’m sure to get flying from the northern most point of Alaska?  Am I ready to go back to land and pay bills, drive a car and find a place to live?

The past seven years, those last few things have never been an issue.  Living contract to contract on ships I’ve been happy to crash in my parents basement or on the couches of generous friends, but this time I’m most excited to settle and enjoy land life for a while.  A long while.  My husband and I spent a total of 5 weeks out of 12 months in our first apartment together, and while cabin 5728 has been great for us, we’re ready for a permanent address that’s less than 8 lines and doesn’t contain a vessel name or “c/o” label. 

I currently have 68 days, or 2 more page turns until I even think about packing or surprising anyone, so I’ll just take it day by day, and stroke my Sharpie™ cleanly across the page and enjoy the days as they come.

But honestly, who’s counting?

This Little Piggy Stayed On Her Lounge Chair

Another day at the office!

So first,  a quick update for all 6 of you.  My Dad just had his second hip replaced and it was once again a success.  He’s having a little trouble lifting and moving his leg, but oddly enough the doctor said this is normal after a surgery like this, and he should be home by Tuesday, maybe Wednesday the latest.  I told him to make it his goal to come to the airport to pick me up in June, so hopefully that’s an incentive to recoup quickly. 

I myself had an “incident” that could have incapacitated me this cruise.  I cannot warn you enough ladies and gentlemen, about the elusive and dangerous Costa Rican iguana.  From a distance they are peaceful and noble creatures, craning their necks towards Ra in the hopes of maintaining their 560 degree body temperature.  His half metre frame was not intimidating from my lounge chair with my mango tango beverage in hand at the Hilton Doubletree.  He was a safe 20 feet away, appearing between subdued and slumber.  I decided to join my cast members in the pool, and after a decent cooling off eyed my french fries and beef wrap. 

Then it hit me, or rather, bit me.

I’m not the type that can girly, horror movie kind of scream, but it just shot out of me.  I had no idea what happened, but I knew something had bit me.  Then, there it was.  The skinny tip of his tail poking out from under my towel on the lounge chair, taunting me.  Adam came up to me and asked what happened, and through panicked tears I said “The iguana BIT MY TOE!”  (The capitals indicate an increase in volume.) 
Adam picked up the chair to frighten him, but it only made him more angry, so he made one more move toward my foot and then ran off, back into his palm frond oasis 20 feet away. 

After visiting the Paramedico and his assuring me, “Is okay your toe.  Please to drink 2 more mango tangos and leave on bandage”  I filled my suggested prescription and headed back to the food hut for another beef wrap and fries.  I’m happy to report that my toe is fine, but I now have a healthy respect for the iguana and his love of fried foods.

Lesson learned, don’t come between an iguana and a beef wrap.  Or, if you are going to risk it, have a mango tango nearby to confuse him, and ease the pain that will follow if he gets the best of you.

He has a taste for blood!

He ain't heavy, he's my brother!

My eldest brother just reached his 40th birthday, and as some sort of demi-tribute, I decide to share 4 of my greatest stories about him, perhaps one per decade.  (I was going to do 40, but which one of my seven readers would really stick around to read them all?  I don’t think Dennis himself would.)  So here are a few things that have always made me smile about my big brother.

The Western Fair comes through London each September, and every year the family would venture through the gates into a carnie-coated world of rides and taiwanese toys.  I couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9, and the park was quiet.  Dennis wanted one last ride on the pirate ship, so my Mom and I watched as he climbed on, the only person on the whole ship, and I watched it slowly swing back and forth, and then it escalated in speed and height.  I began to panic as Dennis raised his hands in the air (in excitement), and I began to scream and cry, begging them to stop the ride.  My Mom leaned over explaining it was alright, but I just yelled “He’s going to fall out!  STOP IT!  STOP THE SHIP!”  Three minutes later Dennis walked off in tact, and I grabbed his hand with tears streaking down my face.  “SHIPS ARE SCARY!  Don’t do that ever again!”  Little did I know I would spend 7 years of my life on a ship.  I still find them scary.

I was lucky enough to have scoliosis, (I’m an optimist) so post-surgery, there was a brief moment of me being in the hospital that required family assistance for mundane tasks like walking, rolling over and eating.  While both of my brothers spent countless hours by my side as they prepared for University exams, there was one wonderful moment where Dennis decided to aid me in feeding myself.  On the menu?  Jello, a roll, and fetuccini alfredo.  I have enough trouble feeding this to myself, but Dennis insisted on lending a hand to make me more comfortable.  So, as I watched him twirl the worlds longest, sauce coated noodle in North America around the hospital issued fork, I anticipated trouble.  There was sauce everywhere, and I think it was the first time I had a good stitch-busting laugh since the surgery.  The fetuccini was disgusting, but the company and the moment was hilarious.

My brothers & I grew up with a huge backyard, and it functioned as a soccer pitch, wrestling ring, and a baseball diamond among other things.  One balmy afternoon, I typically wanted to get involved in what my brothers were doing, so I offered to pitch to them as they ran around the pear and apple trees that served as bases.  Dennis was up, and I wound up and threw the least girly lob I could muster.  It must have been a perfect pitch, because life went into slow motion, and he drilled it directly back at me and into my chest.  I can still see his face before he ran up to me.  I just fell to the ground trying to catch a breath, and he grabbed onto me and kept saying “You’re okay!  You’re okay!  Just cry and then I’ll know you’re okay!”  I finally caught a breath and looked at him and said “I’m okay.  I’m not going to cry, and you’re out.”

More recently, I’ve been able to witness Dennis in the role of father to my gorgeous niece Émilie, and their new son Liam.  It’s not just one instance, but with Dennis being quite athletic, I’ve always viewed him as a great protector.  (Just be warned, he has his black belt in Karate, and I’m not afraid to use it.)  A few years ago we were participating in the CIBC Walk For The Cure, and Émilie was in her stroller singing and bopping along through the walk.  At one point she leaned forward and out of nowhere Dennis flew in front and scooped her up inches from her hitting the pavement.  I think it’s a parental intuition thing, but he just jumped in and kept on going without skipping a beat.  He has also turned Émilie into a bilingual genius, (with the help of Christi-Anne of course) and watching Dennis teach his high school kids almost exclusively in French is jaw-dropping.  I forget how talented he is when it comes to languages, and being able to see it in action is very cool. 

So I’m lucky that I’ve always thought of him as a very cool brother, but now I get to see him be an amazing Dad.  He still can’t dance very well no matter how much I tried, (ask to see his sideways running man, yeesh!) and his fashion sense, well let’s just say his short sleeved dress shirts are questionable, but the effort he puts into being a good brother, husband and Dad are very apparent, and appreciated.

Happy Birthday, Honem!  Bring on the fetuccini!  XO

Start The Year Off Fine?

I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way…When will January END?!?!  I’m as annoyed with this month as I am with news relating to Charlie Sheen and his antics.  Each year I fall into the post-Christmas, pre-February blahs as do many people crossing the days off this 31 day month.  Who planned this? 
January comes in with fireworks, balls dropping and confetti, signifying change, excitement and new beginnings.  And it’s still here!  Not a lot has changed, the excitement has dwindled, and weeks later I’m still waiting for my new beginning.  January should have been the short month.  Let’s trade a few days with February and get the blahs over with faster.  I’m sure the ancient Roman’s would agree with me.  What would it really harm? 

Caesar: “We were hoping to have the aqueducts finished by the end of January, but it’s already the 23rd and tomorrow is February 1st!  I guess we won’t have running water, but I certainly don’t feel blah!”

I guess we’ll never know. 

I do know this, that once this month is over, I am anticipating a very fast four months to follow, and before I know it I’ll be back home wondering where the time went and wishing it was January again.  It’s such a vicious cycle.  For now, I will keep crossing off my days and counting down until the blahs dissipate. 

Oh look, Charlie Sheen is in the headlines again.  Blah.

Cream Of The Crop

I've come to realize as I get further into my "dirty thirties" that your age is directly proportional to the number of lotions and potions in your bathroom cupboard.  As a wee one, I never used anything other then the odd dousing of sunscreen slathered on me by my Mom during swim days at my Grandparents.  Oh, those days were epic!  12 hours in a pool with my brothers, only leaving the water to eat a Popsicle or pee in the garden.  Those were the days!  (I don't think my brothers knew about the peeing thing, but this blog is meant to reveal secrets!)  Everything tasted like chlorine and the words "too much sun" weren't anywhere in our vocabulary.

I remember a beautiful bottle of Oil of Olay in our bathroom at our old house that was probably never used, and 14 years old.  I would sit atop the bathroom counter at the ripe old age of 9 staring at myself in the mirror thinking "My Mom uses this to stay beautiful", and would dab it onto my nose and palms, thinking that's what beautiful women must do.  My grandma also had a great stash of stuff that mostly involved elderly oinments, but I would apply them to my face and arms pretending they were glamour creams like a mini Zsa Zsa Gabor.

Anyway, my point here is that now my daily regime consists of moisturizers, exfoliates, anti-serums, complexes and tinted stuff.  I've always been, and think most females are slightly obsessed with bathroom products.  Adam makes fun of my collection, but he's not doing too badly himself.  (His Art Of Shaving collection rivals the actual store!)  I get a serious rush out of opening a new body wash or toothpaste.  My Mom & I have made many a midnight journey to Shoppers Drug Mart with no real goal in mind, yet come back laden with new creams and potions to try on various body parts.  My real vice is shampoo or any hair product, but I don't limit myself.  I just find it odd that while I realize I'm lucky to not really look my age, the need to prevent dryness or the odd line or crease has become a presence in my life.  What would happen if we all didn't have to depend on Oil Of Olay and just let our bodies do what they were meant to...

Nope.  Not happening.  And besides, the stuff I just got from Arbonne (www.arbonne.com) thanks to the recommendation and help of Rhoslynne Bugay smells amazing.  So for that alone I'll keep self indulging my face and hoping that 50 years from now, it will all pay off.

Now, for a quick pee and back into the pool! 

Another Year, Another Argument

I’m not sure what a cruise actually costs as I am an employee of this cruise line, however I find it really hard to understand why so many people pay upwards of, oh, I don’t know, $4000 to come onboard the Island Princess to scream at each other.  Can’t you do that for free at home?  (I should know, my family did enough ‘free vacationing’ for years!)  Not a day goes by that I don’t share an elevator with a couple bickering over which side of the ship is port, or just how much bacon is too much.  (Answer: Never too much)
I also get to witness passengers taking out their frustrations on unsuspecting Malaysian crew members whose job is to rip the paper off of the straws before they go into the overpriced daiquiris.  Pinjar doesn’t know why you didn’t receive a complementary toothpick in your bathroom, nor does he care.  But, he smiles and politely says “Do you want a straw Ma’am?” and goes on with his day.  We are the consummate host, and we will go to any length to pass you on to the next person who isn’t sure how to fix your minute problem in the fastest possible time.

I’m not trying to mock our crew.  It is almost embarrassing listening to passengers complain about things that at home, would most certainly come as a luxury, but while at sea somehow become necessity.  Even in Canada the summer heat reaches lethal temperatures, but I don’t expect a cool cloth waiting for me on a silver plater when I reach my front door, but somehow people just can’t climb the six steps up the gangway in Jamaica without that.  When special extras start to become demands by some, they just aren’t that special anymore.

This rant is primarily brought on by the turn of the calendar year.  As I wrote last year (and my devoted 4 readers will remember) each December 31st I make a list titled “What Was Good in…” followed by the current year.  I list happy memories, loved ones names and moments from the past 12 months to remind me of what is important, and to remind me that it’s the little things that truly make me happy. 
It’s easy to get caught up in what isn’t happening, or what you could be doing, but it’s so important to appreciate the little things, and not them get in the way of the big picture.  That being said, I have five more months to go on the contract and I already asked Adam if it was too early to pack. 

Happy New Year everyone.  Go over your list, and make sure that the little things aren’t left off of it.