Do you remember that Madonna song – Ray of Light? You know, from the 90s?
It had the lyrics:
Faster than the speeding light she’s flying
Trying to remember where it all began –
Now, normally I’m not one to go around quoting the Big M, but this – this pretty much sums up my life at the moment.
(Except I’m pretty sure the girl she’s singing about is happy about her ride, whereas I am blinkin’ excited to get the heck get off mine.)
I’m feeling overwhelmed and exhausted and completely creatively zonked.
I am also pretty sure that I am now part human, part almond butter, because that stuff has become my life force extraordinaire over the past few weeks. I’ve been eating it like a eating thing.
(And yet somehow I’m still as white as I ever was. What a raw deal!)
Yeesh.
Add in the fact that M and I are still trying to complete our compulsory Tough Mudder training, and I’m basically a walking zombie that has been shot with insane amounts of adrenaline and caffeine to keep her momentum going.
Thank goodness for all my amazing co-workers – J, L, A and S – seriously, these ladies are pretty much the coolest dudettes a girl could ever ask for.
(If it wasn’t for them I would probably have taken off for the wilds of the BC forests long, long ago.)
And there are lights at the end of this bleak-sauce tunnel! Like I said, after this week I will be down one major project (and only have to deal with the tail end of another.)
In other thank-goodness-this-alone-is-keeping-me-semi-sane news, M and I are putting the finishing touches on our travel plans for the end of June. We will be heading down the Oregon Coast for some sweet, sweet anniversary camping times, and going to see Henry V at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland.
This will be my state of mind once I am on vacation.
We are more than a little excited.
We are the most excited.
(It seems as though I cannot write too much more on the subject because when I get this excited I waste much of my precious energy resources on being excited, and not, you know, on other more pressing – but nowhere nearly as brilliant – ventures.)
So what’s shaking in your neck of the woods friends? And how do you deal with insane work commitments? Your tips and tricks are always appreciated around these parts.
p.s. I’m sorry I’ve been such a crap blogger-gal, not visiting your rad spaces and responding to comments. I’ll be much better in the next couple of weeks once I am human again.
One of M's biggest projects was the ski jump for the 2010 Winter Olympics.
When I asked him to sum up his fascination with the man, he responded:
“BECAUSE HE MAKES IT RIGHT! COME ON!”
Erm.
Awesome.
As a journeyman carpenter, he also enjoys the practical aspect of Mr. Holmes’ show.
“I never really got to see the construction of a house from beginning to end. I like how much I learn watching him, and I like seeing how Mike has grown as a contractor, how much he’s learned over the run of his show. He’s obviously committed to helping people, but also encouraging others to perform the best possible work – not only among the people he works with, but within the industry in general. They just do really good work.
“It also gives me lots of great ideas of what I would like to do with our house.”
Um.
REALLY awesome.
I too like Mike. Not necessarily for the same reasons that M does, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t pretty darn affecting to see how grateful people are for the help they receive from Mr. Holmes and his crew.
(I may or may not cry regularly during the last ten minutes of the show.)
For reality programming, it’s certainly not your run-of-the mill “how desperately can one person embarrass themselves over the course of fifty-two minutes?”
(Aka it’s one of those exceedingly rare “positive” breeds of reality tv.)
I mean, other than highlighting all the shoddy work being down by crap, pass-the-buck companies, episodes are enough to make the hardest heart grow three sizes (plus Mike probably has a tool for that.)
And at the very least hopefully viewers be extra careful when considering having work done on their house.
Remember: References people, REFERENCES!
…
This weekend we trekked up to the Sunshine Coast for a mini getaway.
We were gone only two days, but the weather during this time was all over the map.
(This is, depending on your taste, one of the best or worst qualities of life on the west coast of British Columbia. For my part, I like the variety.)
At the ferry terminal, I espied these two birdies, hanging out, having a chin-wag together:
"So I says to Mabel I says..."
These two feathered friends stirred something in me. The morning of M’s and my wedding, he sent me a beautiful bracelet to wear with my dress. This was the card that accompanied the gift:
Love birds!
YES.
…
Whist on the ferry we encountered some insane fog. I went out to take some photos and the gentleman standing to my right turned to face me as I snapped away.
“It’s like we’re heading into Narnia,” he said laughing.
I nodded. “Either that or the Gray Havens. Being on a ship and I all.” I answered.
“Of course the Gray Havens!” He exclaimed, almost as if he was sad that his brief lapse in nerd knowledge was intensely disappointing to him.
“We’re not exactly crossing walking into a wardrobe here,” he muttered.
Love it.
This was taken facing Horshoebay:
Sail away, sail away, sail away...
This was heading towards Port Melllon:
FOOL OF A TOOK!
Driving past Sechelt, up towards the cabin, we encountered a lot of fog.
I'm picking up a fog bank on my radar...
The route all of a sudden became a little bit more mysterious, and a little bit more exciting. While the mist gave our travel time more character and a decidedly more somber moo (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing), needless to say that the views were not what you normally get when heading up that way.
And my rear view mirror.
Not that I’m complaining.
…
As soon as we arrived, I took some photos of the dock, before warming myself in front of the wood burning stove.
Baby it's cold outside...
Winter.
But not in here!
Heaven.
Later that evening, I froze my feet taking photos of the how spooky the water looked, lit-up amid the night boat lights and fog.
Linda? Is that you?
That is some exorcist stuff, if I ever saw it. EEP.
For the rest of the weekend we ran, cooked, watched Eli Manning and his compatriots (no double entendre intended) run over New England’s defence, and played more rounds of Trivial Pursuit Genius Edition (released in 1981!) than we could count.
I was seriously on the verge of peeing my pants at some points, I was laughing so hard.
Every time one of us drew a history card, and it happened to be something like, “Who was Truman’s vice-presidential running mate?” we’d lose it, before guessing some random “American” sounding name.
“Ummm, Harold Williams?”
A good set up. The best, really.
Classic.
Although, my favourite of the night was:
Who lived at Puddleby-on-the-Marsh, with his pet duck named Dab Dab?
Good grief, I was crying with laughter as I attempted to choke this question out for M. For serious, I now know my life will never be complete until I acquire a duck and name it Dab Dab.
Holy quack.
…
This morning the water was completely frozen over (and again I froze my little feets when I ventured out to take these photos at 7:30am. The clouds looked like milk, frothed, and spotted pink in places, making candy-coloured striations fly across the length of the sky.
Beauty, beauty, Beauty.
As I ran my favourite ten kilometre route (in the whole wide world) my breath hung close, suspended in the frigid air. Couples out walking their dogs nodded to me, and I smiled and waved back, concentrating on my breathing, and stride length.
At one end of the loop, the fog clung to the tall firs, and spindly pines, the air smelled like fresh sod and salt cod, my cheeks stung cold, and my hands burned hot.
My feet, legs, hips, arms – back and forth, one and two, sprinting to my finish line, where freshly strewn pine needles, and the contented call of water fowl mark my place in my self-timed race.
I am writing to you from balmy and beautiful Palm Desert. Here the sun dances across the sky, all day everyday, the lemons taste like candy, and the cacti will jump up and bite you (if you don’t take care to treat them nicely.)
Palm trees at night, Ethel's delight!
It’s been a pretty excellent experience so far, and since we’ve only been here for a day, I am apt to believe that the trip is just going to keep getting better and better.
This morning we hiked the three-mile “Randall Hendersen Trail”, marvelling at all the different vegetation that was on display (so very different from that of our temperate West Coast rainforests) and giggling at all the little critters that would scurry about, looking for a rest stop, or perhaps shelter, from the strong, relentless sun.
The sky here is so blue, it is difficult to describe. It has an almost thickness to it – a blue that shouldn’t actually exist, save for in crayon packages, or on Caribbean beach fronts.
After our hike, M and I walked to the pool, where we swan the early afternoon away, alternating between the tepid waters of the pool and the searing warmth of the hot tub. Then we stretched out on the deck chairs and read our books until our skin began to blush pink and our eyelids grew heavy.
Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
Walking back to the house I picked some oranges off of one of the many fruit trees that populate the golf course. It was a pretty surreal experience. I don’t think that I have ever imagined a day when I would just reach up and grab an orange right off a branch, simply at my own pleasure.
I will need to see, but I think I can wager a guess that there might not be anything quite like looking out your window, only to see grapefruits hanging low off of a tree so close, you could probably reach and out touch it if you really tried.
I will have let you know.
…
One strange thing that I have to say about Palm Desert is that I don’t think that anyone here walks, you know, to a destination, therefore making it an extremely rare, and perhaps perplexing sight, to actually see two individuals who are going somewhere on foot.
M and I decided to stroll (who am I kidding – we don’t stroll anywhere – in fact we motor places. Seriously, we have Barney and Fred feet here.) over to the Westfield’s to try to find him some shoes and maybe a treat or two.
We received a few confused stares along the way.
Luckily, we managed to make it there in one piece and found both treats, shoes, and SO MUCH more.
M scooped up a sweet pair of Steve Madden’s for a great deal, drank some Jamba Juice and I got to eat my fill of Tutti Frutti.
(All I have to say about that is we NEED serve-yourself frozen yogurt in Canada and we NEED IT NOW. SERIOUSLY HARPER, GET ON THAT SHIT.)
After shoes and treats we stumbled upon one of the craziest things I have ever seen. Seriously folks, let me introduce you to the magic that is: Lipo Illusion!
ERM...
Holy frick.
WHO WOULD WEAR THIS!? This is why humanity is in a decline. NO ONE needs this. PERIOD.
Well, if you thought that the 19th century girdle would never make its long-awaited triumphant return, heck, you thought wrong!
I can imagine the advertisement now, voice over and all:
Have you never wanted to be your natural shape and are desperate to try to mold yourself into a new person? Spanx not working? Actual Lipo too expensive? We thought as much! Come to Lipo Illusion where we will outfit you with industrial strength spandex, that will not only make sure all your fat pools in your shoes, but ensure a streamlined, thinner you! Because remember folks, while everyone likes you – they’ll like a thinner you EVEN MORE.
Yeesh.
There is good news however, because after seeing that grim fandango of a display, we encountered a Forever XXI and I learned that
Man, I need to find out where they purchase these mannequins and get a couple for our house. I can only imagine what the neighbors will think once I start to outfit them with my wackiest clothing and display them in rotation from our guest bedroom window.
Instead of a PhD, THIS will be my next project.
Oh, and one more thing.
Do you have a football fanatic in your life? Do they also love blankets, warmth and the word “COMFY”? Are they willing to try anything once? If you have answered yes to all three of these questions (or just have someone you kind of want to screw over in a secret santa), then friends, have I found the buy for you.
Do you have a place that you like to visit, because no matter what may have happened in your life (or may be happening) – as soon as you get there, you suddenly feel better?
You feel healthier? You feel whole?
I have such a place.
This past Friday night, M and I adventured up to the Sunshine Coast where his parent’s have a brilliant little getaway that they very generously let us make use of for the weekend.
I will never tire of this view for as long as I live.
This place is amazing for many reasons.
From the spectacular view of the waterfront, to the epic record collection, to the amazingly comfortable beds, to the new wood burning stove – it really is a piece of heaven.
I feel the earth move...SING IT CAROLE!
I’m not sure how many times M and I have visited this unique and beautiful spot, but I can without hesitation say that each stay has, and forever will, occupy a special place in my heart.
Before I regale you with some of the finer (re: hilarious) moments of our brief, just-passed sojourn, here are three snapshots of past-times spent at this haven of dreams.
1.Sepetember 2003. M and I have been dating for approximately two months and I am completely head-over-heels in love with him. I am in first year at UBC and he is in third, and one day while we’re eating breakfast at my dorm’s cafeteria, he asks me if I would like to go away with him at the end of the month.
Yes, I tell him. Unequivocally, without question, YES.
My heart practically implodes in my chest upon hearing that my father is willing to let me borrow his car for the weekend. My excitement knows no bounds.
We arrive early the Saturday morning because M ends up having to work at the movie theatre that Friday night. I am too restless to fall back asleep once we arrive, so after the inaugural tour we make peanut butter and jam sandwiches with thick slices of French bread and head down to the dock to suntan and “study.”
After lunch, we take the canoe out for a long afternoon paddle. I marvel at how quickly our boat is skimming along – that is, of course, until I take a brief rest and realize we haven’t slowed down at all.
M just laughs at me. I laugh too.
The weather is so hot I want to take off my clothes and dive right into the water. Instead, I dip my fingers into blue-green depths one at a time, and let the droplets run down my forearms and drip off of my elbows.
That night, against our better judgement, we light a fire and roast ourselves silly as we eat our dinner and grow tipsy off of red wine and Cat Stevens.
I remember thinking how I never wanted our dance to end.
…
2. New Years, 2006. M and I invite eight of our closest friends up to the Coast for a New Years raclette feast. We eat (what seems like) pounds of the delicious Swiss cheese, drink good wine, and laugh ourselves crazy playing charades, dancing to Boney M, and lighting sparklers and banging on all the pots and pans we can find when the hour strikes twelve.
HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU CRAZY LOONS!
The next day we set out for a brisk, first-day-of-the-new-year-hike, letting the gale-force winds blow right through us – it sends the last year packing, and makes sure we are fresh and clean for all that awaits us in the coming months.
As we round the corner at the end of the trail, the winds are so strong that my ear muffs are blown from my head, and the only thing that saves them from an ocean swim is the lone, bare-faced tree, clinging for dear life on the cliff edge, twenty meters on my right.
M gallantly saves them, but in the process, almost gives up his place on earth in exchange.
Next time, I tell him, just let them go.
When we arrive back at the house, the power goes out. We spend the rest of the evening cooking chilli and garlic bread on the wood burning stove, and playing balderdash by candlelight.
I know I still have abdominal muscles from laughing so hard that night – believe me, they’re in there somewhere, I just need to find them.
3. August 2010. Having defended my master’s thesis in May of that year, for the first time in (what seems like) my entire life, I am not stressing over, or thinking about school.
Mother Nature’s summer-stat has been set on full blast, and every day looks like a photo-still from a Richard Attenborough documentary. Everything looks as though it has been kissed by magic.
My swimming hole.
Each morning I wake up and run a 10km loop that winds from the house to the local provincial park and back. Each morning upon my return I race down to the dock where I strip down to my underwear before jumping into the drink for a refreshing post-run swim.
I am sure the neighbours think I’m bloody bonkers, but I don’t care.
I feel light. I feel fabulous.
I feel love.
…
When we arrived at the house on Friday night, the place was pretty darn freezing. No word of a lie, I am fairly sure that I lost the feeling in the bottoms of my feet within the first fifteen minutes of our arrival.
PJs + sweats + winter coat + tea + fire = defrosted me
Thank goodness I am married to a mountain man who managed to quickly get a roaring fire going – but for a little lass such as I, with very poor circulation, I was hard pressed to get out of my winter coat until the place reached sauna status.
After that though, I was fine. After that I was on fire!
Over the weekend, in preparation for Christmas, M and I decided that we would whip ourselves up in a baking tizzy. Initially it was pretty difficult deciding on what we wanted to accomplish, but eventually we managed to cull the original list of must-dos down to three choice items: cheese sticks, sugar cookies (reprised from my culinary adventure from the other night) and cinnamon stars.
Cheeeeeeeeezzzzeeee sticks! So good!
The cheese sticks and the sugar cookies were by far the more successful undertakings. I not sure how many of those cheesy delights I’ve scarfed down since M removed them from the oven – but it’s safe to say that we will definitely be making a few more trays of those before the holiday season is over.
Also, I think I will just become a sugar cookie making machine, in so far as they are super easy to make and way fun to decorate.
At first M and I were all, “ERM..?” because he inadvertently purchased the neon food colouring, but we’ve come to understand that if psychedelic Santa doesn’t say HO HO HO, that we don’t know what does.
(Don’t tell us.)
All the colours that you had on your snowsuit in the 80s!
The cinnamon stars weren’t so much a failure as they were a reinterpretation of the definition of star. (I mean, cupcakes aren’t too far off, right?)
Yes. I am drinking prosecco out of a Swiss anniversary brandy snifter. There’s no shame here!
…
We topped off the night with a sunset down at the dock, stellar homemade pasta, and a crisp prosecco that danced on our tongues, although our feet did the actually jigging as we boogied down to Rod Stewart, Neil Diamond and the Rolling Stones.
Seriously, guys, if you start us up – if you start us up, we’ll never stop.
Rant and Roll 