I'm just me...

This week has been a long week, in terms of work especially.  I suppose I'm finding it difficult if for no other reason that I'm back to working five days a week when for the last six weeks or so I've only been working 3-4 days out of the five.  It could also be due to the fact that I have one week of work left until Andy and I go on our first holiday together in over a year.

I’ve fallen off the wagon again in terms of my healthy eating which fills me with frustration especially when I haven’t been to the gym since Sunday and I’m not likely to get back until this coming Sunday. I get frustrated because one week finds me doing so well gym-wise, and then the next I slack off. It wouldn’t bother me so much if I’d not eaten so much fattening food. There’s nothing stopping me from getting my lazy arse out of bed tomorrow morning before we head to Nottingham to celebrate Alex’s 18th birthday so I will see what the morning brings.

Speaking of fattening food, here’s a little something that might make you smile: Andy and I went out for supper last night where I made a silly mistake and called our server (who knows us from our frequent visits and happens to be Andy’s boss’s daughter) over to take a look at the hardness of my puff pastry. I demonstrated for her that that my fork wouldn’t go all the way through the raised sides. She giggled and said it was probably because of the dish beneath it; it was a deep dish and I stupidly didn’t realize it. My face was probably ten shades of red yet I laughed and asked her not to tell her dad what a moron Andy was married to. I could have sworn the last time I’d eaten this particular dish it had come on a flat plate. Oops. Nicky kindly said that it was the first time she’d smiled during her hectic shift and thanked me for the laugh. Like Andy says, it’s a good thing I have the ability to laugh at myself.

Now here is something that made me smile this week, despite the fact that it has also made me a little sad (here is why):

A few months ago I was out on the field with Molly and was surprised to see a Blue Merle Sheltie running around. Polar, our family dog back home was a Blue Merle and died last year. When the little sheltie got closer I was thrilled to see he had one blue eye, and one brown eye, just like Polar. It actually brought tears to my eyes, as Blue Merle’s are uncommon as it is, and to see one who so closely resembled our Polar was quite nostalgic. His owner and I started chatting and she seemed really interested when I told her about Polar. She was pleased with the fact I’d even known what kind of dog Flynn was. He was two years old, and a rescue dog and although he and Molly didn’t pay much attention to each other his owner and I would sometimes walk together. I kept saying I wanted to take his photo to show my sister and mom, yet never quite got round to it.

Last evening there was a knock on the door and it was Flynn’s mom. She had sought me out to inform me that whilst they were away on holiday, Flynn escaped from her step-daughter’s house and ran away. He was sadly found 3.5 hours later, dead on the train tracks. Both of our eyes welled up with tears as she was telling me this. I was amazed that this lady, whose name I didn’t even know until last night had taken the time to find out where the ‘Canadian lady who owns Molly lived’, just so she could tell me about the loss of her dog. Some people might find this strange but not me. I had been wondering where they were and when I was telling Beryl about it later on, Beryl said that I just have that kind of effect on people, that I touch their lives in a good way and that is why this woman wanted to seek me out. She knew I would care, as I most certainly did. It was a sweet thing for Beryl to say, and it made me feel proud.

If I don’t get recognized for anything else in this life, I will be grateful that people considered me a kind and caring person. Fame and fortune would be great, or even incredible intelligence however I’m more than satisfied to be thought of as someone people genuinely wanted to be around for no other reason than I am me.

Thanks for the laughter, Sophia Petrillo

Today is the day that my grandmother would have turned 100.   Although she isn't with us anymore I know that all of her girls and son will be thinking of their mom today.  I'm remembering Nan by thinking of the fun times we had together.  I only had her in my life until I was 23, but she played a very big role in my life.

Nanny had beautiful white hair and sparkly grey-blue eyes; she never left the house without a hat on and never once, in all of her 86 years wore a pair of trousers, ever.  She adored the Queen Mother and all things royal.  Nanny was a genuine lady.  But here is the funny part - Nan only had one tooth in the whole of her mouth.  It was her right 'canine' tooth.  The rest of the family could never figure out why a lady who was so concerned with looking proper in public didn't mind the fact that she didn't have a set of teeth. Some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved!

I would presume that it was because of her oral situation that Nan had a serious stomach problem.  She would often say  to me that she was all bound up.  I used to say 'No wonder Nan, you eat pork chops without any teeth!'.  I remember a few conversations where she was telling me that her tummy was bugging her because she hadn't had a BM in days and that she needed to express gas.  I once suggested with a smile that she should drink a beer, it was bound (no pun intended) to make her go.  Her response?  She cackled with laughter and said 'Oh Jody... what are you like?'  No way was this lady ever going to drink a beer.  Eat without teeth, yes but drink lager - not a chance.  You can't help but love a woman who sticks to her guns. 

I think the favourite memories I have of Nanny are when she was laughing.   She laughed whole-heartedly, and never more so on those Saturday nights when I baby-sat my cousins and she & I sat together on the couch and watched the Golden Girls.  Sophia used to make her howl with laughter and how I loved that sound.  I will carry those memories in my heart and smile to myself when I think back on those Saturday nights with Clara.

The Friday Song

This weekend has passed much too quickly, however it always does.

When Friday finally rolls around I could almost start singing a corny song that they used to sing on one of the lame radio stations during my drive to work when I lived in Nova Scotia, a song that bleated on about not wanting to work but bang on a drum all day.  I wonder if they still sing that stupid song?  I would think so; the station is just that lame.  But its a lameness I love to hate because its so Nova Scotia.  Now I'm sure I've bored you to tears numerous times in the past with talk of  Nova Scotia, so I shall refrain, just for today; but only because I care that much about you giving yourself a headache due to numerous eye-rolls.  But I am singing that song in my head. Sorry - I can't help it.

Fridays are my favourite day of the week because they signify the beginning of the weekend.  Yes I have to work, however Fridays have a different feeling.  I have two full days ahead of me in which to fill my time  however I want, be that walking on the beach with Molly, staying in bed all day, getting drunk in the afternoon in my housecoat, or just counting how many hours I have left in the weekend (not really, but either way its my weekend to do with what I want).   

I went home last Friday and the first only item on my list was to ring this beautiful girl:

My sister Tawny, and wish her a Happy 35th Birthday. 

I told her I would be bringing her present to her when we travel to her next month, but really no present I bring will compare to this little gift she wakes up to every morning:

What a smile :) Something tells me her Aunty Jojo won't be able to deny this girl anything. 

I actually did have a few other items on my agenda for this weekend. One was to work out at least twice, the second was to continue to ensure I kept up my healthy eating, which included refraining from drinking wine (ack!) The gym part was easy:  I went both Friday and Saturday.  Friday found me back at body pump class and I didn't do as badly as I thought considering it had been over a month since my last class.  I'm still not sure its a good thing or a bad thing when the instructor repeatedly makes reference to the fact that she's happy you are back. 

As for healthy eating: I haven't snacked on anything that would be considered unhealthy save for one piece of bread last evening, which I will not beat myself up for. It was my first piece of bread all week.  I didn't drink wine either evening which wasn't too bad.  I did however find standing in the wine isle yesterday afternoon at Lidl a bit  hard.  I actually found myself beginning to drool at the thought of a nice cold class of Italian Pinot Grigio; which should have me worried but doesn't.   I did however indulge in one glass of a beautiful red with Beryl this afternoon while we watched 'Its Comlicated'.  Its just too hard to say no to my mate when she is so happily cheered when I partake in an afternoon tipple with her.  Life is short after all and I'm sure it won't hamper the deflating of my spare tire that much... one glass is much better than one bottle. 

And now its Sunday night and I'm going to go soak in a hot tub, without a glass of wine;  I will take my water and a good book and think slimming thoughts as I don't  eat a bar of chocolate. 

Clara's Girls

Aunt Nita, Mom, Aunt Marg (standing), Aunt Beth, Aunt Jerita (standing) and Aunt Shirley

(The girls pictured all  fall in the middle of an eldest brother, Nelson (deceased) and a youngest brother, Jimmy)

This picture was taken two weekends ago, on a rare night out for my mom.  Her sister Anita had come to visit from Newfoundland to spend some time with mom prior to the beginning of her radiation treatments and she convinced mom to join the rest of her sisters at the Newfie Club, a local that two or three of my aunts frequent most Saturday nights.

I must say I think my mom looks fantastic;  However despite looking so wonderful I know that she has spent most of the summer feeling nauseous and tired.  Despite this she continues to go to the gym as much as she can, which is usually four or five days a week. 

A double bonus for my mom was having my sister Tawny visit with her daughter Clara (named for our grandmother).  Mom was so excited to see them both and had looked forward to it all summer.  She never complained that Tawny was unable to stay at the house with her and although it was the week she started radiation mom jumped in the car every day and went to visit her 'girls'.  Although she was tired from her treatment, she wasn't missing out on the joy of her granddaughter. 

As I've mentioned in previous posts, in just over four weeks Andy and I are going out to Ontario to meet Clara and spend time with friends and family.  Tawny and I have been texting each other to make plans and yesterday, something so small as a text asking me did I mind if she switched her dentist appointment around so that she could leave the baby with us had me smiling all day.  I have a nephew here who I am never asked to look after, as my sister-in-law has so much family of her own.   Tawny lives away from the rest of the family so none of us get to help out with Clara and when the opportunity presents itself, of course we will :)  That's what family is all about.  I believe that Tawny also wishes we could have the convenience of being nearer.

My sister-in-law Alison is finally sustaining a pregnancy after a long 18 months.  I couldn't be more thrilled for her and her partner, two of the best people in my life.  What's even better is that despite the fact that they live a 1.5 hour drive away, I think that I will see plenty of this baby.  They have already told me they want me on standby.  I laugh and say of course I will always be there to look after their child, however they might not be as readily able give him/her up as they think;  not at first anyway.  Either way it will be good to have a baby come to stay for weekends, with or without the parents.  Besides, Andy owes them for all the times they have spent weekends with his children over the years :)

I just wish, as I often do that we could all live closer together. That our boys could see Clara grow up and although they are so much older I know they would take an interest in her as they love little ones.  Time spent with my cousin's twin boys in Nova Scotia are always fun to watch, the way they all interact together.  Alex has a lot of patience and time for small children which is rare in a 17 year old lad.

I spent a lot of time in the homes of my Aunties, especially my Aunt Shirley's and Jerita's.  Shirley's because I was close to both her children; with Aunt Jerita, it was more that my Nan lived with her and I spent a lot of time with my Nan, as well as the fact that I babysat Jerita's girls Tracy and Nancy, often for the whole of the summer and nearly every Saturday night.  I therefore have grown to be friends with these cousins.  I'm especially close with Wayne, Shirley's son.  Aunt Anita, although she lived farther away in St. John's, was seen on a yearly basis and although we didn't see her children as much, we had a few great holidays together and as we've grown into adults, her daughter Heather and I have become very close.   Aunt Beth used to love to have me come spend the night with her, and always over indulged me, especially as she had no children of her own.  Aunt Marg, well she has always been a constant in our house, coming to see us regularly and continuing to do so whenever me and my sister get back to Nova Scotia.  Both Marg and  Shirley get tearful when its time to say goodbye.  

I'm so happy that mom has her sisters near whilst she is going through all this;  I'm so thankful that I was raised in a big, extended family, not just our own immediate one (which you can read about here), with Aunts, Uncles and cousin's nearby.  Sure, my mom's own family of siblings have their fair share of disagreements and strife.. I can remember some huge rows between a few of these sisters, one or two nights in particular, with three of them arguing whilst two were in tears over the row and mom being horrified whilst trying to be peacekeeper, as usual (hmmm I wonder who I get that from?).   However despite all this, despite the fact that two of them aren't what you would call friends, they come together whenever any of them are in need.  I remember the night Beth lost her husband Art;  Wayne and I were out clubbing when we heard the news.  We drove into Beth's house straightaway and at two o'clock in the morning found my Aunt Beth surrounded by her sisters.  All of them, with the exception of Aunt Anita who lived too far away to be there, but would have if she could. 

We might not be able to pick our families, like we can choose our friends. However if given a choice, I wouldn't have chosen any differently.  It's taken me awhile but I've learned that no family is perfect and most have some level of dysfunction: a few odd balls, the over-acheivers and under acheivers; and always the prerequisite stubborn one (or two) that march to a completely different beat. Our big, extended family can tick all these boxes, some even twice ;) Its a family that doesn't always like each other, one that certainly doesn't understand each other (some don't even try), yet I've come to the decision that this is ok.   We do what we are each personally capable of and let me tell you, this group of women are strong women, capable of almost anything.  They have survived so much, both within their individual lives and together as a family.   And still they continue to laugh and remember that there have been more good times than bad. I'm so proud to have come from these women and treasure all that I have learned along the way and will hopefully continue to learn. 

This post comes with a scratch warning...

The Saturday prior to the departure of Heather & Garry, we had Andy’s family around for a BBQ. It was our third weekend of non-stop action in a row, however when I have my family come to stay I always like to have a little joining of the clans. As well as I fit in with Andy’s family, it’s always that much nicer when I have one or two of my family in the mix; something that never happens but for once or twice a year.

My cousin Wayne always has both families around him as he and his wife are close to both their families, all of whom get on with each other (which is rare). I'm sure that most of the time, its a good thing and I often find myself wishing we all lived closer together, because both mine and Andy’s family tolerate like each other. Sure my dad and mother-in-law have been known to ‘lock horns’ a few times, but we find it amusing; well, everyone except for my dad that is but you can’t win ‘em all. There aren’t many in my own family that challenge my father and when I come across people in our extended family who will, such as my cousin Collette, and now my mother-in-law, I can’t help but laugh a little.  So on second though, maybe it wouldn’t work so well if we were in closer quarters, but I don't buy into that, we would all do just fine. Most of the Allenby clan are (self-professed) know-it-alls and love a good banter. Compared to the in-laws that came before me, with the 1st wife, our family runs like a classic episode of the Brady Bunch. Ok, maybe that’s pushing it a bit (besides, do we really want to be that lame?) we are probably more like the characters out of The Jeffersons. But we work; amidst all the dysfunction our families blend well together.  We can bring both branches of the family together and it is always a laugh.  Which is the most important item on the agenda here in the McAllenby household.

It was an added bonus on Saturday to have my cousin in the kitchen with me, helping me get everything sorted while I heard Andy’s family laughing and carrying on.  It was also a big help to have her pouring me another large glass of wine in the midst of what happened that evening:

It happened shortly after everyone had eaten and Heather and I were clearing up; all joking aside, it was good to have so many people around to keep me calm, calmer than I would have been if we'd been on our own  that evening.   What I'm about to tell you also made me realize (I doubt any of you will be surprised by this proclamation) that I am way too attached to my dog. Seriously – to the point where I will need a psychiatrist should anything happen to her. Even that sentence proves how much denial I am in. Something will happen to her eventually because she is a dog and people generally outlive their dogs. They aren’t children. BUT... to those of us who don’t have kids of their very own, they tend to be our substitute babies; especially when our step-children are nearly grown and don’t need us so much anymore (unless they want food in their bellies and money in their hand ;)

I'm digressing.  Back to the story:

As I was saying, we were clearing up after dinner when Connor came in the kitchen and asked me to have a look at some lumps Molly had. Almost instantly my heart started skipping beats as it slowly begin to dawn on me what I was looking at and calmly hysterically called Wendy into the kitchen.  It would appear that during our visit to the Lake District the previous weekend, Molly picked up ticks; three ugly blood sucking little mites. (I'm itching just typing this.) I was so appalled and upset, horrified that these disgusting creatures were attached to my dog and I hadn’t known. Heather fetched me another glass of wine (that I couldn't drink) while Connor stayed close to my side, calmly repeating that Molly was going to be just fine. I felt foolish for having tears in my eyes, of course she was going to be OK I kept repeating; more for my sake or Connor's I do not know. Dave was sent home for the surgical spirits (my mother in law is the Dog-Mother after all) and after about an hour of scrubbing the little buggers, we had them all out. Molly was so good throughout it all and didn’t fight it one bit. I hate the look of the ugly scabs they have left on her chest, but they are out now, and I’m going to make sure I take the necessary steps to ensure this doesn’t happen again.

Around a year ago a similar situation happened to my friend’s little girl and I remember reading her post about her experience and how upsetting it was for her. Molly is only my dog and I was in major distress, guilty over the fact that I didn’t notice straight away, when logic tells me that it’s easy not to notice these little bastards on a dog until they’ve been there awhile. The dog wasn't even that bothered.  I think my mind would have got up and left the building if it had been my child.  But no, we have to remain calm for the children, I'm sure I would have coped; It's not like it they were leeches.   Anybody who knows me will tell you that dog, child or senior citizen, I honestly cannot cope with leeches - my mind really does check out when they come on the scene, to the point where I might have even used the kids as stepping stones to get out of the water on a past occasion.

You try and say balaclava after a bottle of wine...

Last Friday we woke up to sunshine and Heather, Gaz, Dawn and I headed out to one of my very favourite cities:  Lincoln.  (If I'd ever had a son, this would have been one of his names). 

The sun always shines when we go to Lincoln, which makes it a much more enjoyable way to shop the cobblestone streets of this ancient city built on a hill. After stopping for tea (cake and diet cokes) we made our way back home with the idea of a few drinks around the fire pit after supper. 

However, when I got home Andy informed me that my brother-in-law had dropped off a load of fresh mussels and mackerel.  My first response was to ring Dawn and tell her to head on over with her boys for supper with us, as I know Robert adores mussels and we had a load of mackerel to throw on the bbq. We foil wrapped the mackerel with lemon and parsley, I put together a Greek salad to go with the left-over jacket's from the night before while Garry made a garlic and wine sauce for the mussels.

And the feast was on:

 

The boys digging into the mussels

We were lucky enough to have Connor with us for the weekend, and our youngest boy loves nothing more than a good time around the fire-pit.  He decided he would be the comedian for the evening and made his appearance wearing this:

The Brits call it a Balaclava, most Canucks just say 'ski mask'

At first, I think  he was making fun of how cold Dawn was, as she was in a borrowed sweater that I knew would keep her warm as its made for a much colder climate, like Banff (thanks Stace).  Then he started having fun and calling himself Nacho Libre. Which soon got changed to Nacho Cheese by the adults.  We eventually all agreed on 'Spicy Nacho'

It was hard to get a photograph that evening without Spicy Nacho making an appearance:

Spicy Nacho and Cameron snuck back to Cam's (what must the neighbours have thought?) to grab the acoustic and surprise Gaz, as he hadn't played his guitar since he arrived in England. It didn't take him long to get strumming; and for us to start singing. Or something like that...

(A little Eagles anyone?)

We had a few dodgy moments when hot stones started flying out of the fire pit (wtf???), however as I was the only one to take a hit before Andy rectified the situation, it was all good.

The girls

Spicy Nacho and Robert having a wrestle:

(Robert even remembered to put down his wine glass for the big event)

Group shot of the 'adults'

Connor making a rare appearance with Cameron:

Keeping it cozy:

When Madonna started pumping through the speakers, it wasn't long before we were up and dancing.  Spicy Nacho was keeping us in stitches with his running commentary during 'She's Not Me' as he moved around his dancer Quesadilla (me);  Dawn was busy dancing with the pole in between stints of napping.

All in all, yet another very successful night in the secret garden;  I think Heather and Gaz loved the way we like to relax and have fun on a crisp Friday evening at the end of summer.

Short but Sweet

The last two days have been sunny and warm;  a welcome relief as its been mostly grey and dull here in the northern counties of England.  (Anyone who is friends with me on Facebook is aware of the fact that I'm in complete envy over the heatwave occurring in Nova Scotia, humidity be damned; you all have gorgeous beaches and lakes you could be accessing at some point.)

Dull and grey does not assist my mental state of health.  Of course I'm sure increased humidity with next to no reprieve wouldn't be beneficial either, however heading to the lake for an evening swim would soon rectify any negative emotion I was currently experiencing.  That or sitting naked in front of a fan with a glass of wine in hand.

However my original point was to say this: at the moment it's beautiful outside and my husband rang me a short while ago to ask if I'd like him to pick up some lunch for us.  I took him up on the offer and had a rare moment out in the sun with him in the middle of the work day.  We had to sit on the cement behind the building, but who cares?  No bench - so what? Let's live on the wildside for 20 minutes.  I was rejoicing in the fact that the sun was full on my face and my husband was beside me - a welcome distraction to what was going on inside the building (in other words - work).  It was a brief break, but it was one of those moments in life when you just pause and say thanks for the little things in life.

Lunch break is over now and I must leave you to get back to (ack) work... or at least of going through the motions.

There & Back

We made a round trip to Heathrow yesterday in order for Gary and Heather to catch their flight home.  It was a beautiful sunny day and as it was a bank holiday here in the UK, traffic was fairly light and we made great time.  It was an uneventful journey, save for the fact that we hit two birds less than an  hour into it.  One didn't move out of the road in time; the 2nd  (about 15 mins later) pinged off our roof in its quest to take off.  Gary said it kept flying although how I don't know, and I'm not sure if I believe him.  I hated it it, but it is a hazard of driving at that time of the morning; birds are everywhere due to all the roadkill during the night.

Last night the house seemed really quiet and Andy and I just took it easy.  I had a long bath and enjoyed a glass (or two) of wine.  I really miss my family when they go.  Yes, its nice to get back into the regular routine of everyday life, however I adore having family stay and to me its not like I have guests.  Its my family after all, someone from my part of the world and it just feels so great to have them here.  I never have a problem sharing my kitchen, and aside from running the hoover and wiping down kitchen and bathroom surfaces, I don't get upset that I have less time to worry about housework.

We had a really great weekend together that I'm going to post about another day.

Today, I'm feeling a little low.  Last night I had a little meltdown of sorts, most likely brought on by over-tiredness and the fact that I'm always a little sad when I get back from dropping loved ones off at Heathrow.  Also, the thing that brings me down occasionally knocked on my door last night and punched me in the face when I opened it.

And I look like I've had a night from hell, which always makes one feel better eh?

I won't go into the reasons for why this happened last night (there are many), though one reason is that I  sometimes find it hard to always put on a bright face and be excited for Everyone Else.  I am happy for Everyone Else, I truly am;  I try to remain positive and think about all the blessings in my life whilst keeping my true feelings buried - and I do a good job of it, most of the time.  I know I fool most people but I can't fool the one person I wish I could. 

Anyway, I'm just feeling tired and head-achy which I know will pass. The sun is shining today and this week I will get back to the much neglected gym.

I can't wait to upload the pictures from Friday; we had an unexpected, last minute night out by the fire pit and as usual the food was great, the music was pumping, the wine and laughter was flowing and naturally there was loads of dancing.  Of course I captured it all on camera.

Hopefully I will be back tomorrow with the photos :)

The Lakes

I can't believe we are almost at the end of Heather and Gaz's second week here.  It has been a whirlwind of a time and we have truly loved their company.  Its obvious that they are comfortable here and this, more than anything is what makes my heart sing. I love opening up our home to our Canadian contingent and the fact that everyone always seems to feel so at home is the best reward. 

At the moment they are both in the kitchen, cooking dinner for me and my boys. It is smelling wonderful; I thought I'd take the extra down time (since I don't have to cook) to upload a few pictures from our weekend in the Lakes.

Of course Molly had to go for a swim as soon as we reached the B&B and I was delighted that Sharon, the owner had gotten a dog since my last visit.  Molly and Roger hit it off straight away. He decided to join us on our walk.  (It was hard not to bring this little guy home with us).

On the grounds surrounding the farmhouse :)

The farmhouse - Waterside House

Gary and Roger taking a rest after the walk :)

On Saturday morning we got up to go canoeing and kayaking on Lake Windermere.  It was very choppy and the lake was busy with much bigger boats, however Heather did great considering it was her first time.  Molly, as per the first time she was in a canoe, was a disgrace and had to go wait in the truck under the shade (after a swim). Therefore we cut our lake time short, however as it was so rough on the water, we didn't mind.

We tested our endurance that afternoon and took a hike up one of the many surrounding peaks.  It was hard going in places, but thoroughly worth the hike.  The weather was gorgeous, Molly was in her element and the scenery was stunning. 

At the summit

(everyone chuckles at my hiking outfit, however they admitted they'd all want to be near me if we got lost ;)

We saw some really interesting and quirky structures along the way:

Pathetically, needless to say we were all ready to call it a night by 9:30 that evening.

The next morning we woke up to rain, but still managed to squeeze in a little hike up to a waterfall before we headed back home.

I don't really have any other good shots to post from the waterfalls hike as the photos are spotted with rainwater.

Tomorrow we are off to Lincoln to do some shopping and take in the sights. 

Have I mentioned that I love having my family to visit?

How do you like your cider?

On Sunday morning my cousin Heather and her partner Gary (us English contingent prefer to call him Gaz) arrived from St. John's to spend two weeks with us.  As their flight arrived at 6:22 am, Andy and I drove down to London on the Saturday to have a night on our own in the Big Smoke. 

We've been having a great time so far and after practically running the streets of London for 2.5 days (my husband walks very quickly), my hips & knees are just now starting to feel ok. I won't talk about the blisters across most of my toes; and yes, I had comfortable shoes on.  Well, with the exception of Saturday night that is.  I had to rock the new shoes I'd bought, they looked classic with the 1940's style dress I was wearing.  I'm sorry but it is London after all and a gal gets tired of looking like a slap-happy tourist all the time.  

Thank goodness the hotel we stayed in on Sunday night was nothing short of fabulous and I was able to take a long, hot soak in the glorious bathtub on Sunday afternoon whilst the jet-lagged tourists took a few hours to re-fuel.  With London hotels, sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you don't.  We struck gold this time and at £85 a night and a glass of Cava upon arrival, one can't complain.  The freebies in the bathroom rivaled that of any first-class flight.

(This picture is only a small corner and does not do the room justice)

I've been trying to make sensible food choices this week, however Heather and Gaz are in love with cider: pear/apple/strawberry, it doesn't matter what flavour, they adore it.  I think they've already been through three bottles of Jacques.  Magner's Pear is their favourite by far (rightly so) and they cannot believe you can buy it by the case at the local grocery store for less than £10.  (They are going to have multiple orgasms when we take them to Brandy Wharf, a local pub that specialises in a huge selection of ciders). I haven't been indulging as much as I could, since I still have to work three days each week as well as be mindful of the calorie intake and lack of gym going. 

However this weekend will be different, as I'm off tomorrow for a four day weekend and before I take the two newfies to Lincoln to do some sight seeing and shopping, I'm getting up early to hit the gym.  On Saturday we leave for the Lake District to kayak and hike.  I can't wait to get up there, because alongside of Mersey River it is my most favourite place to be.  

I promise to post some photos soon.  

Not only words

Sometimes, when I have time on my hands, I like to go back and read through previous posts from years past to see what was going on or reflect over fond memories i.e. our wedding/trips abroad.  One of the very best bits of perusing these old posts has always been the comments my readers left.  I love knowing you stopped by for a visit and enjoyed what you read.  I'd offer you a cuppa for the duration of your stay if I could :)  There have been a few posts over the years that have generated a number of comments that I always cherished, some funny, some inspiring and some downright surprising, like a comment not so long ago from an author, Ann Weisgarber, who wrote The Personal History of Rachel Dupree, a book I thoroughly enjoyed. The post wasn't about the book but was either about the birth of my niece or my mom being sick (I hate how the two coincide; such a joyous occasion mixed with a such a scary one), however Anne dropped me a comment to say thanks for the four stars I gave her book and wished my family well.  It meant a lot.  All of my comments do, even if they aren't in agreement to what I'm writing about on any given day.
In 2005 I posted a photo of my braless self in a see-through top in support of a blogging campaign my sister had done re breast cancer and it generated more comments than almost any other post I've published (I wonder why??)  I've received so many great comments in relation to my travel posts, or when I've been bluntfully honest about the hard moments throughout this journey of mine, especially mom's cancer and I have always loved re-reading those.

And now they are all gone. 

This week I was reading through a few of the older posts and it made me sad that I have lost every single comment prior to June of this year, when I re-vamped this site. It was a complete mistake on my part and I should have known better; I've only been blogging for seven years.  It hit me hard when I made this major faux pas, however I didn't realize just how much I had lost until I went back over these posts and the realization hit me of exactly what was lost to me.  Forever; and it stings.   But what can you do? 

Well what I've decided to do is revisit a few of my favourites from years gone past.  For many of you, it will be repetitive, however I hope you don't find it too terribly monotonous.  (I won't do it often, just from time to time, as  reflection of times gone by).

Because it was five years ago at the end of July, I thought I'd re-publish this photo. (The post wasn't a favourite of mine, however the comments were.)  There was definitely an angel in the car with us on that rainy Thursday night, considering we walked away with only minor injuries:

I'm not going to publish the whole post, as its quite lengthy. If you do want to read it, you will find the whole story here.

Andy and I received so many words of love and support after I posted about this horrendous event in our life and although I've lost those words forever, I haven't forgotten how many of you showed you cared.  Although many of us may be far apart in geographical terms, this blogging world brings us all a bit closer together.

Got milk?

This weekend Andy and I were out on the field with Molly and as usual, Andy was hitting tennis balls with a racket for Molly to run after.  We've had to take it easy with this game as Molly's back leg has been giving her some pain in recent weeks due to a slight touch of arthritis.  One of her favourite games is when Andy hits the ball high, and it comes down at quite an arch.  She never takes her eye off it and has herself strategically placed to jump for it when it lands.  Its a beautiful sight to see, her lithe body jumping through the air to catch the ball when it bounces.  I swear, sometimes she gets four feet off the ground.  Sadly, we have to refrain from doing this as it's just too hard on her joints.  As the vet said, labs weren't made for jumping.  Chewing through your kitchen table and eating like a starved vagabond yes, but not jumping.   However sometimes its hard to resist and Saturday was one of these days.  Andy couldn't help himself and fired up to send one high.  I had reminded him not to do it and as the ball bounced up from the ground after his second shot, I reached out my hand to retrieve it.  It was just at a moment when Andy pulled back and swung for one more go; we heard the crunch as that racket hit my hand.  I think I was in slight shock and had to think about what had just happened; I didn't have long to ponder as the pain hit fast and hard; kind of like the racket.  Fuck me (yes I swore), that sucker hurt.  I grabbed my fingers and held them to stop the burning pain and was walking away toward home as I tried to fight back the tears. 

Andy was behind me asking me to stop and come back so he could look.  I finally got myself together and went back.  I think he was afraid my fingers were broken and that he was going to end up with a racket up his ass.  But luckily enough my fingers weren't broken, just badly bruised and it wasn't any body's fault that I was stupid enough to put my hand out for that ball. 

My fingers were slightly bruised and oddly enough, on Sunday other than some dark colouring, they were almost back to normal.  Technically, they probably should have been broken or sprained, but they weren't.  I suppose I just have strong bones, because when you look back on the following events its I wonder I haven't been in a cast several times over (and these are just a few instances):

When I was approximately eight years old, I was coasting down the hill near our apartment building and swerved to miss something. I was thrown over my handlebards and landed full on my hand.  My fingers bent straight back, yet didn't snap. Lucky girl...

When I was 23 I was in a bar on George Street in St John's Newfoundland; I missed three steps coming of the elevated dance floor and landed hard on my side, twisting my ankle in the process.  It was so swollen I couldn't get my cowboy boot off (yes, I said cowboy boot) for almost 24 hours; I just kept dropping ice down into it until I could get my foot out.  (No, I was not cutting my boot off, I loved those shit kickers.) My ankle was badly sprained, but defintely not broken.

Although I'm a terrible skier, I submitted myself to a few trips with Sandra and Cat.  During one of these trips, I was hurtling down a slope I should not have been on and because I couldn't figure out how to stop, I headed for Sandra, who had stopped to wait for me; I slammed straight into her, went up and over her and landed on my shoulders, just below my neck.  Ski patrol happened to be right there and came running over yelling at me not to move.  They were in disbelief when I sat up and said 'God, am I embarrased' (Lucky I'm used to that feeling). Again, nothing broken but sore and tender for a few days after.

Cat and I were on a night out one evening not long after I'd started dating Andy.  I didn't see a pothole in the sidewalk and of course, stepped straight into it; I fell so hard and awkwardly I not only tore the skin off my knees, but both of my ankles rolled in such a way that I had quarter sized pieces of skin torn off the tops of my feet, right above where shoe laces tie up.  How the hell does that happen???  I couldn't wear my trainers or shoes for a few weeks after due to my swollen ankles and the wounds on the top of my feet.  Good thing it was summer and I like flip flops.

I won't go into the number of times I have fallen and landed on my hands and knees, other than to highlight a few more instances of my un-graceful behaviour: tripping over a step whilst leaving Venus Pizza in downtown Halifax at 2 am; rushing through a train station in Italy and falling over someone's suitcase; stumbling over a root during a walk in the Yorkshire Dales... each and every time the end result was a very painful landing on all fours.  I have incredibly small wrists and the fact that they have withheld the bulk of my body without snapping is astounding. My knees however, have paid the price of this constant abuse and although nothing has ever broken, these pups probably won't see me through to my golden years. 

So... I have to wonder was it all the homoginized milk (gross) I drank while growing up?  Or the grilled cheese sandwiches (yum) mom made us for lunch?  Perhaps its the yoghurt and cheese I continue to consume on a daily basis... Good bone genes? It could be anything.  Oh why couldn't it have been great skin genes?  Yet would I trade these sturdy bones for better skin?  I want to say yes, but not a chance. I can (mostly) cover up my blemishes.  A cast is not something I don't want to wear on a regular basis and if you take away my strong bones and add that to my clumsiness I fear that is exactly what would happen.  I'll take what I have thanks, and prepare myself for my next mishap.

Batter Up!

Many of my readers are aware of the fact that I have bizarre sleep patterns; despite this each night I look forward to crawling into bed with a great book and a glass of water on the nightstand.  Andy has tried unsuccessfully over the years to get me to turn the light out when he is done doing his crossword and is ready to go to sleep. Because I have the touch lamp on the lowest setting (which I must say is very low), I often continue to read for awhile longer and sometimes he complains.  I therefore only read for about 15 minutes when often I could easily read for twice that long.  (Note: occasionally when I'm really tired I only manage a page or two and put my book down before Andy is ready to sleep).  I also am aware that some nights, like last night he has a very early start (5:00 am) the next day and I won't read for very long at all, so you see, I can be understanding and meet him halfway.

My point though is that Andy has always known that I like to read before going to sleep, that on nights when I don't read prior to turning the lights out I am often unsettled, unable to drift off for sometimes hours; and then we both lose sleep.  I've pointed out numerous times that we have two extra bedrooms, with a bed in each that he is more than welcome to. Heck, I'd even sleep in one of the extra beds if it meant he can go to sleep in a room without a lamp on (at its lowest setting)  if it bothers him that much.  But he doesn't want that and nor do I.  As much as I tease him, I don't mind sharing a room (I'm used to it after all) and have actually become much more thoughtful toward my roommate now that I'm no longer a teenager who consistently stays up until 6 am talking on the phone to whomever the flavour of the week is. 

Its also fair to inform you that I've had to adapt to wearing ear plugs at night because believe it or not, my husband isn't a perfect roommate either - he snores.  It was an adjustment but I dealt with it.  (I'd had a bit of practice when I briefly shared a room with my sister Sandra - that girl snored like a freight train coming through the room at 100 mile an hour; it was so obnoxiously loud it was a wonder I didn't smother her.)

But back to my initial ramble.

I actually like knowing Andy is there beside me at night, curled into me (when I'm in the mood for cuddling that is) and ready to calm me down when I wake up with my peculiar night terrors.  I'm beginning to think though that our sleeping arrangement might not last much longer if this strange nocturnal behaviour continues;  it's getting pretty dangerous for my husband to actually share a bed with me.  Up until now its just been shouting out, crying, laughing like a hyena or seeing things that only I can see (in other words, that aren't there). 

However the other morning my actions turned a corner.  I was jolted wide awake by my husband shouting the words 'What the fuck?????' I was startled and I too jumped up. It may be hard to believe but this is not the way we normally get out of bed in the morning;  It turns out I had pressed my face into his back and... are you ready for this people? 

I bit him.  I bit my husband's back while he was peacefully snoring beside me.

Luckily enough he moved fast enough so that I wasn't able to sink my teeth in far enough to break the skin.  He was a little peeved, I was a little shocked.  But not so shocked I didn't roar with laughter.  I mean, seriously - who does that? It was so insane and unbelievable that I could only laugh.  Oddly enough I can vaguely remember what my dream was and it did involve biting something, just not my husband.  Still, I couldn't stop laughing and even after he braved getting back in beside me I was still laughing.  Kudos to him, so was he. 

This week has passed with a fair amount of teasing regarding what happened, small references being made about my eating more at night so I don't wake up hungry. And still, Andy is determined that it won't drive him out of our room and for that I'm pleased - I honestly did not do that on purpose, it wasn't a devious plan to get him into another bed.  He is brave to continue to sleep with me and I love him for that even though I don't think I could brave it if was the reverse.  I did speak to a  professional about this behaviour though and my feelings were only re-affirmed:

Not much can be done about this; I'm not prepared to take medication for it as there isn't any guarantee that it will solve the problem.  This sleep issue isn't actually my problem, not really  as its technically Andy who has to sleep with one eye open; just as his snoring isn't his problem, its mine as it doesn't keep him awake at night, just me.

Give and take.  That's what being in a marriage is all about.

However it is an added bonus when both people are able to go to sleep without being kept awake by the dull roar of a helicopter in the bed, or the fear of what might happen to you physically during the night, but even more concerning, the thought that your bedmate might pull a baseball bat out from under the bed in defence of potential biting hazards.

Thank God I left all my baseball bats in Nova Scotia...:)

I'm Smiling

This weekend has been a good one for me, even though we watched a rather heart-wrenching documentary about the Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004.  It rather puts life in perspective...

What has made me smile this weekend:

First of all, was buying three books for £10, one of which is this:

This is by the same author of The Time Travellers Wife, a book I read and thoroughly enjoyed years before the movie was released.  I am already halfway through and although I'm not clear of the direction, I am engrossed.

The second thing that has made me happy:

Shopping with my husband to buy bedding, curtains,  etc for the spare room, better known as Stacy's room.  Although my cousin and her partner will be sharing it for two weeks in August (yay!), and Andy's sister and her partner (Ali and Scott) will sleep here on their visits up from Nottingham, I am decorating  it with the thought of it being my sister's room in a few short months.

The third occurrence that has made me very very happy:

Arriving home to find that my husband has secured a flight to visit Ontario on the 3rd of October for two weeks.  We will get to catch up with old friends and family (both of my sisters and brothers-in-law), celebrate not only our anniversary, but Thanksgiving out there, and best of all meet my niece:  

Clara & Mommy

Daddy & Clara

I cannot wait to get my hands on this little sweetheart.  I honestly can't.

Not ready for the psych ward (yet)

I work with psychologists who tie in very closely with the psychiatric community. The people I work with assure me I’m not nuts. My friend and boss promises me that I don’t have some kind of strange disorder. When I look around,  its quite easy to be in agreement with them.

My husband, well I’m not so sure he believes I don’t need some kind of therapy or at least super strength meds, because ultimately, he is the one that feels the brunt of my ‘strange days’. This past weekend was not the best for me as I had three consecutive sad days; we could call it a short holiday in the Pit of Despair if you prefer. Or I might have this idea that he thinks I’m slightly unhinged because he comes right out and says it, especially when I tell him things like I did this morning. I told him that I woke up twice during the night, my face wet with tears and the feeling of horrible loss upon me. (He is away for work this week.) He says these things while he is smiling (I can tell) but deep down I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t joking.  Either way, I know he loves me just the same.  (Besides, what he's had to contend with in his previous relationship makes  my bizarre sleep patterns and occasional moments of unease seem like a walk in the park.)

We laughed as we discussed all the ways that I act like a person with serious mental health problems. But then we got serious as we talked through the reasons I might be waking myself up with such horrible dreams:

I’m at a stage in my life where I know I won’t ever have my own child and while I’ve been coming to terms with this, I had to confront the fact that my mother is battling a very aggressive form of breast cancer. Yes she is beating it but you never know when these things can sneak back up and bite you in the ass. Plus, she and I were on the phone last night talking about her hospital appointment to be marked for her impending radiation. The radiologist sent her for yet another cat scan, ‘just to be sure’, which is very thorough, yet still sends a little niggle of worry through me even though I know how fantastic her medical treatment has been and continues to be.

Add to the mix that I’m thousands of miles away from her. Yes it helps that we can talk on the phone every single day, sometimes twice a day if we feel like it. Yes I can send her little cards and gifts through the post to let her know how proud I am of her, and that I think of her all the time; but I feel like its not enough. (I’m sorry for mentioning this again, I know I’ve done so in previous posts.)

Andy and I are in the process of planning a trip to Ontario in October, primarily to meet my niece (which is long over due) and spend time with family and friends. We are going to try and make it a great holiday, getting out with friends and doing various activities (we would really like to see the national park) in between spending time with the family. Mom is pretty certain she will fly up to see me when I’m there, which would be fantastic. I would love to see her with the baby whom I know she loves so much (even though my own heart may hurt just a little.)

When I look at it all from this angle, I can assure myself that I’m not crazy, unhinged or a lost cause. I know that when I start to feel low it will pass and I will come out the other side feeling strong and healthy again – because I am. I’m a lucky woman for the blessings I do have in my life and I mustn’t spend time being sad about what can’t be, or might be. I have to be true to the girl I am: easy going and full of love for the people in my life, emotionally led maybe, yet with the ability to forgive - most of the time.

I have to live for today, this moment in time. And that’s exactly what I’m doing.

At least today :)

Carter Barr

Our dear friends Robert and Dawn left for Lake Como in the early hours of this morning. They've been planning this for a year and we couldn't be more happy for them (if not incredibly envious ;).  One evening last week Dawn came over for a glass of wine and raided my closet for a few extra items of clothing to take with her.  We are completely different sizes but I knew I had a few items that would work, like my long black maxi dress.  When she realized my wardrobe was full of only my clothes (Andy has his in the spare room) she exclaimed 'its like Aladdin's Cave in there!  Just when I think you can't have one more item for me to try, you pull something else out!'  My reply was 'You should see my sister's closet if you think this is bad'. 

Clothes aside, we needed to get to the important gear, shoes!  And even better we have the same shoe size.  Again she was slightly taken aback when she saw how many pairs of shoes I actually own.  She was like a kid in a candy shop and her face lit up when I pulled out yet one last small suitcase full of shoes that I adore yet hardly wear because they are only for really girly occasions or when I'm dressed to the nines: my stilettos or what I fondly refer to as Car to Bar shoes.  (I can't wear these very far as my ankles are weak and tend to roll). 

In the little suitcase was a pair of four inch, pink, open toed shoes that are worthy of Carrie Bradshaw.  I adore them, my sisters covet them and I've probably only worn them twice.  Dawn instantly had them on her feet and we talked about how great they would look with a little black dress or better yet, nothing else.  (Well they are going on a romantic getaway to Lake Como, Italy)

The other evening when I was over at Robert and Dawn's having a glass of wine in the garden, Robert mentioned the pink shoes.  He said (with a grin) that when Dawn initially pulled them out to show him, she told him what I called the shoes. Robert's reply? 'I've never heard of him'.  Dawn had just looked confused.  What did Robert mean he'd never heard of him?  Robert said, 'I've never heard of Carter Barr... I've heard of Jimmy Choo but not Carter Barr.'

Men eh ?

44 Years

He came into my life when the last thing I was looking for was another relationship.

He hates to say he's sorry and never did until he met me

(or so his mother says).

He's given me the greatest gift I've ever been given:

He gives the best hugs. 

He adores all things sweet and nothing will ever change that.

He refuses to let circumstances drag him down and remains optimistic even when I have long since given up - he will always fight the good fight especially if its something he believes in.

He is one the kindest men I have ever known.

He has given me more headaches then a girl should be subjected to (including two teenage boys :), however has proved that true love is worth fighting for.

Resourceful could be his middle name.

He handles the moments when I come undone exceedingly well, ready to give me whatever I need especially more wine ;)

Because of him I've seen some of the most amazing places this world has to offer and I can't wait to see more.

He appreciates my mother and loves her like his own - he also respects and admires the relationship I have with her.

In his arms is where I feel safest.

and lastly, (stop reading now if you are of a delicate nature):

he is hung like a horse -what more could a girl want in her guy?

Happy 44th Mr.A

 

Let's get our party on tonight :)

Cruise Control

Today has been an odd day for me. It started off well enough until I decided I’d treat myself to a McDonald’s bagel and coffee for breakfast. What’s up with that? I never do that anymore. And then I wonder why my weight isn’t shifting? For a start, I can’t remember the last time I worked out (not like me at all) and how can one possibly lose weight if they aren’t going to the gym or mind what they eat. Bah.

So I ate the bagel and drank my coffee and ended up feeling slightly sick. It was so not worth it.

And then:

I watched a man enter the building (I happen to have a room with a view) who looked rather pleasant and surprise, surprise he made his way to my area. His meeting had been scheduled for over a month, however I wasn’t expecting such a handsome, cheerful psychiatrist to turn up. I temporarily forgot about feeling queasy. (Sorry Andy, but even my boss David commented).

The radio was playing some great tunes and I was getting on with quite a bit of work as I thought of the coming weekend.

But then:

I started to think about what today is. Today is the day our 17 year old lad gets a car. A car of his very own, one that he will actually drive, all by himself. Not just sit in and pretend to cruise through the streets as Oasis belts out of his sound-system. I’m not going to go into how incredibly hard he worked to get his license, or bleat on about how extremely lucky he is to have his dad and I help him purchase said car (he needs it to get to his apprenticeship training in just over a few weeks and will pay us back over the coming year). Because I’m so very proud of him and all he has accomplished; he is such a mature young man. Yet this doesn’t change the fact that he is going to be on the road soon without an experienced adult in the car, driving around at the exposure of all the other crazy drivers out there. And I’m feeling just a lot sick to my stomach over the fact that I can’t keep him safe and that we have to let him do this.

I just have to remember to breath. I felt the same way when I proudly taught my sister to drive and she went out on her own. It’s just a fact of life, a rite of passage, a big old lottery of luck with a bit of skill thrown in.

So.

I’m going to go home and show my excitement (and bury my fear) when I see the little black Corsa on our drive and ask my boy if he’d like to take his daft (step)mom for a ride (providing his insurance came through).

More than treading water...

My mom can’t swim; she never has been able to. This is commonplace for many Newfoundlanders of her age group, despite the fact they grew up on an island, next to the sea. Her dad was a fisherman, and he couldn’t swim either. I honestly don’t think any of her sisters and brothers can swim. Because of mom’s fear of water, she made sure, 100% sure, that none of her children would grow up with the same fear. We were all enrolled in swimming lessons early on, and I remember helping my brother and youngest sister learn to brave the deeper water in the pool of our next-door neighbours. Because of mom’s determination, we can all swim, and we all love the water, especially the beach. She gave that to us.

I remember all the years that mom, a woman who can’t swim, took us kids to a lake or a beach. Just her and five kids amid all the mess that accompanies a trip to the lakeside: blankets, towels, sun-screen, food and drink. Mom is an avid reader but didn’t read while she sat on a blanket on the sand as she was too pre-occupied watching us children, always keeping us in sight even if a life-guard was on duty. (Shame more parents weren’t as diligent). As I grew older it was part of my job to help Mom and keep my eyes peeled for the others. It wasn’t hard as I was usually in the water with them.

One such day, my sister and I were messing around in the water at a lake that wasn’t familiar to us, as mom had taken us there with her friend Gail. This lake had quite a steep drop off that we were warned about. We must have been fairly young because Tawny wasn’t confident about swimming over her head yet. She was on my back as I walked back and forth along the edge of the drop off. I’m sure you know what’s coming here: I misjudged my step and over we went; and it was deep, incredibly deep, over my head by at least four feet. I could see the wall of the drop off as I was pushed down. You see, my sister was trying to climb from my back onto my shoulders in her quest to keep her head above water. It was terrifying, I think more so for Tawn, even if I had to remember not to breath in. I knew that I was going to have to try and get my sister off my shoulders if I was to get my head back above water. Eventually, I did. I grabbed my sister and pulled us back to firm footing. I then looked for my mom on shore, hoping she hadn’t seen us but she had. The look of horror on her face was plain. When we walked over to her on the shore it was obvious she had been crying. As she hugged us she exclaimed that she had been crying out for someone to help us, that we were drowning and no one would help. I tried to assure her that it wasn’t that bad, it was only a few minutes, but I can’t imagine her angst that day on the beach thinking that her children were going to drown and no-one was going to help (there wasn’t a life-guard on duty). But we were ok… it was ok. Because she had made sure we weren’t afraid of water, and had learned to swim, because I was always built like a line-backer while my sister was the size of a coat-hanger, it was ok. I saved us. I will always try to save us, no matter how we are flailing about – because that is what we do for each other. Mom taught us that.

Mom sees her oncologist today (whom she finds very attractive by the way) and is getting marked for her radiation. Thursday, she begins her third round of chemo.