What's Next?

Mission Get Fit

January 15, I was told by my work physician that I was unfit.  Unfit for what, I ask.  Unfit for release into general population?  Unfit to practice?  Unfit to parent?  I would have believed all of those before the truth.... physically unfit.

Let it be known that I feel that a Dutch doctor, with his six feet of ectomorphic physique, has no idea how well I fight my non-ectomorphic Romanian genetics.  Seriously, if he came to one of my family reunions, he would give me a gold star.

Despite my excuses and a fair amount of pouting, a plan had to be made.  The plan revolves around accountability once again.  This time I am trying it with enthusiasm.  Ra-ra.

I have now been using the website livestrong.com for a couple of months to enter foods, exercise, water intake, weight, goals, etc. for the intent purpose of losing some (or all or more) of the weight I have gained since moving to Europe.  Way too easy to screw up.  Love it.

Helpfully, I am on yet another Russian mission where the food is, well, not that difficult to turn down (excepting the pouting and disapproving looks from the Russian kitchen staff).  I also have easy access to an in-house gym (small gathering of non-commercial fitness equipment) and the wine really sucks so it has been easy to cut that out as well.  When I first started this great, life-altering adventure, I was concerned as to whether I would be able to keep up these positive changes once I returned to the world of cheese and good wine.  The answer to that concern?  I could show you the weight “loss” graph but I’m just not willing to share that much at this point; it’s not pretty but I held the newly cast away kilograms at bay though not many more joined them.  Baby steps.  I've come to terms.

Speaking of wine, when I fired up the livestrong.com account I had a huge shock:  there was one recorded day, before my incarceration, that my red wine consumption constituted 50% of my caloric intake for the day.  Soooo not cool.  Please at least act surprised.

My professional dieting recommendation (because I can do that now); if you are going to drink, it is best not to eat anything.  Everything balances out better that way, trust me.

Also, speaking of wine, I do occasionally take these opportunities, while away from home, to prove to myself (and my father) that I am not an alcoholic and, I am happy to report, I am not!  Last mission I was without wine or any other alcohol for 23 days; long past the Delirium Tremors window.  Good to go.  I did, however, have a problem weaning myself off the green tea and carbonated water but that’s another issue.

Back from my digression....

I am all about the gadgets and accountability.  After a kick-ass start at the Russian sponsored Fat Farm / Rehab Clinic (also known as my work assigned accommodation), it was important to find a way to keep on the positive side of the graph once I was home.  Purchases:  one digital scale, one heart monitor, one supercool gadget that made my heart monitor talk to my iPhone and one million iPhone apps that would record, graph, play inspirational music of my choosing and email to me everything I did to gain or burn a calorie.  I am truly a puppet.

But, I am a successful puppet thus far.  How do I measure success, you ask?

Most days, the scale is no longer the enemy.  Knowing that the third floor window is dangerously close, the scale still quivers some days before giving a readout.  Those days are becoming fewer.

I have given away a few items of clothing that are too big.  Well, three to be exact but I am also fitting into things that I have had to brush dust off of.

I crave the morning work-out.  That is seriously surreal.  The trick is to make sure that the appropriate attire is closely standing by.  I am a half hour into my morning jaunt before I realize that I am out of bed; perfect.  If I had to look for a shirt, I would stay under the cozy duvet.  Knowing my limitations is key.

Hail to the cheerleaders!  I am so fortunate to have the support of my Hubbybaby and the rest of my family.  The Amazing Man tells me that I look great, sexy and all that (though, suspiciously, he didn’t tell me that I wasn’t all those things in December)... but, now I’m more so.  Yay!  Liam-the-sixteen-year-old boy has congratulated me on my 5 km time being a mere four times what his is and, my daughter quickly and quietly whisked away my slightly over-sized clothes before I could change my mind.

What are the numbers?  Better than yesterday.

Lunch with the Kids. Better than Dinner Theatre.

1.  Conversation with a sixteen-year-old boy:

Him, “Did you see that lady in the jean jacket?”

Me, “Sure.  I think she’s a little off.”

Him,  “Honestly, Mom, crazy people really freak me out.  You never know what they are going to do.  They could, like, rip their eyeball out and throw it at you.  Or, worse, they could drill their thumbs into your eyeballs, which would hurt even more.”

That conversation happened less than three minutes following a discussion on university programs.

2.  Conversation with the sixteen-year-old boy and his twenty-year-old sister, over lunch:

Her, “I will be getting an A for my forensic psychology final.  One of the questions was referring to a difficult circumstance surrounding an interview with a recovered Child Soldier.”

Me, “Excellent!”

Him, “We should get a cat.”

Her, “I love your A.D.D.”

Him, “Not A.D.D.  I thought about how the Child Soldiers were drugged to get them to cooperate and then I remembered how we drugged our cats, funny, and then I thought that we should get a cat again.”

Her, “It was cat nip."

Him,  "Not like we had her wrapping her lips around a hookah.”

Her, “Cats don’t have lips.... right?”

3.  Mid-meal revelation by the boy:

Him, “Did you know that you can get fart-blocking underwear??”

Us, “.....”

Him, “They have charcoal built into them for filtration.”

Me, “That would block the smell, not the sound.”

Him, “Of course.  Some guy invented them because his wife farted too much.”

Other memorable conversations included the future of hairlines, the fact that my eyes look Asian when I smile (observation from the boy), which countries give sucky haircuts and the amazing Spanx.

Always worth the price of admission.

Family Work Day.

Today is the day that we had to vacate the Shur-Guard Storage Unit.  The last day, of course.  We have known about this for a month, or so.  We rented the storage unit soon after moving here a couple of years ago; about ten minutes after realizing that the basic needs brought from a Canadian household was, well, just too much crap.  I brought my snowshoes, to The Netherlands.  Who does that?

The Most-Amazing-Man (now known as Hubbybaby, thanks to a young Serbian man) has taken ill with what I suspect is the debilitating corona virus, or the plague, finally caught from Patient Zero and Patient Zero-point-One; the offspring.  It was inevitable, I say.  He had a sick day yesterday and a most-certainly-dying day today.  Today; the one day that we had planned a massive reorganization of three storage sheds located in two different towns.

Fortunately, and quite coincidentally, I had baited the 20-year-old daughter to bring her boyfriend, Jan, home this morning to exchange late Christmas gifts.  Perfect set-up.  After giving him his Christmas present and feeding him and the children incredibly hard to obtain bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches, I only felt a tad guilty when I stood over them and said, “So, here’s the plan....”

Jan-the-Boyfriend organized boxes on the shipping end, loaded the car numerous times and disposed of recyclables.  Liam-the-Sixteen-Year-Old packed up Christmas (yes, I know the date), organized two ginormous yard sheds, unloaded the car on the receiving end and found places for things that I didn’t know we owned.  Taryn-the-Daughter, who felt that she had done plenty by merely attracting an appropriate suitor, chatted, requested that we (the workers) stop everything and play Clue, did her best Hepburn impression and warmed up some food from the fridge (aka made a meal).  Overall a very successful day in the beehive.

Werner (Hubbybaby) and I checked out the sheds this evening after all the dust had settled.  I do not know why I am continually astounded by Liam’s organizational abilities.  Though he is completely capable of only moving to prevent bedsores, he also possesses a focus that has driven him to painstakingly produce artistic, symmetrical patterns on his wall with individually hung gum wrappers, playing cards and train tickets.  Savant.

It was a good day.  I am no longer paying 227 euros per month for a storage unit in another town, Liam revealed interest in future professional avenues that don’t include jumping cars off buildings, Taryn stuck around for the day, Jan thoroughly impressed me with his work ethic, Werner has returned to the world of the living (better late than never) and I, once again, really appreciate what I have.

Hugs??? Not Important!??

Funny thing is... I have always been one of those people who has had personal space issues and has really preferred to not be touched.  Still am.  However, I have also always understood the need for human contact; albeit, by my belief, more by others than myself.

I am sure that, during your baby rearing years, you remember the comments from the previous generations; maybe your own parents, that have sounded quite a bit like, "Don't pick him up everytime he cries.  You will spoil him." or "He will be a stronger person if you just let him cry himself to sleep."

Do you really have the right to deny anyone his or her need for human contact any more than his need for air, food, shelter or clothing?

Living in a somewhat free Western society, I will say No.

My "children" are now 16 and 19 years old and, as much as I know that I have never aspired to receive the "Parent of the Year" Award, I am proud that I can say that I never let them cry themselves to sleep nor did I ever deny them that essential human contact.  No matter what the challenge, if a hug was requested, a hug would be rendered and this still holds true to this day.  It's not like I had to give up a limb or something.  The easiest resolve to any turmoil is to melt into the arms of someone who loves you.

If one is to look up the definition of a hug, he will find that, after the obvious physical attributes, the terms that are linked to that action (hug) are words like cherish, affection, delight, comfort....

By that definition, is a hug something that one would ever want to withold or deny someone who they really have a strong affinity towards?

Is that a valuable punishiment?  Are the dishes that important?  Are you too busy?  Are you worthy of such a decision that someone in your life is not deserving of three seconds of your time?

What's the damage?  To both of you?

Fuck the whole, "smell the roses" campaign.  Value the time that you have with those who are important to you.  Tick Tock.

 

 

Basketballs: Toy or Dangerous Lure

Driving through Andorra on one of our non-skiing days, we happened upon so many beautiful sites including abandoned churches, working farms that had buildings built from stones dragged straight out of the fields, archways, fountains and this small, unassuming foot bridge.

Things like this totally amaze me.  Incredible; the thought, planning and sweat that had to go into building something that will stand forever and, apparently... lead nowhere.  See that mountain on the left?  That's all we saw once we crossed it, too.  No trails, no continued road no little stone house.  I kept expecting some inconspicuous bush to blow aside in the wind to reveal a secret doorway to another world.  Didn't happen.

Taryn-the-nineteen-year-old-girl billygoated up the mountain a little ways for a better vantage and the Boys saw a basketball.  As they wistfully watched the basketball, their unicorn, bouncing in an eddy, all Werner-the-amazing-man had to say to Liam-the-fifteen-year-old-boy was, "Too bad we can't have that, hey?"

Three seconds later:

As it turns out, that large rock that Liam was hanging onto in this picture was not as well-earthed as it appears. I stopped breathing while I watched that rock and a truckload of dirt and debris come down on him and only started breathing when I heard him laughing; little shit.  Boys are a pain in the ass.

I had some really great pictures but subsequently lost my camera so, these photos are from Werner's camera.  They are good pictures but he obviously didn't want any photographic evidence of the ensuing disaster; destruction of wildlife, trespassing, breaking my son's leg because of a dare, so many things.

Anyway, no worse for wear.

Success!

Andorra; A True Utopia

Having moved my family from a small Canadian alpine ski community to Flatlands, Europe, it has been a challenge and a responsibility to find an appropriate mountain retreat for the clan.  It had to be some place that had enough variety to challenge the new twin-tipped-donning-Kamikaze-boy, provide a nice view for the more relaxed skiers in the family and have adequate bars, green slopes, instructors and medical facilities to satisfy the needs of our newest clan member, the ski-virgin from South Africa.  And, then there's the budget.  No easy task.

After many hours of feeding search engines with things like "Europe ski hills beginner advanced x-ray beer inexpensive" and "green to black ski runs not in Switzerland" and "cheap flights, good skiing" and coming up with nothing, I saw Andorra sneaking into the ranks.

Now, I had heard the name Andorra before but I thought it was some made up place for a movie or something like Bregna or Dinotopia or Narnia or the name of the Agnes Moorehead character on Bewitched.  No.  Real location; a country, no less.  It can be easily found on Google Maps if you just type in the name and then zoom and zoom and zoom in some more.

To save energy; it is a very small country in the Pyrenees wedged between France and Spain.

Proof:

Really exists.

Fantastic place!  Tax-free, friendly people, good food and wine, mild weather, ski instructors who will respond on a moment's notice and friendly doctors with X-ray machines right at the ski hill.

We stayed at a bed and breakfast in the ski town of Pas de la Casa called Hotel Les Truites; an amazing little family run place where the owner cooks fresh cut bacon and bread over the open fireplace in the lobby's corner for breakfast each morning.  He also let us keep our car parked in their loading zone for days which kept us from parking where this guy did:

We will stay there again.

Prior to the ski adventure, the Offspring both taunted the Amazing Man with ski horror stories; death, dismemberment, insanity, the usual, but they also reassured him that they both went on to great skiing/snowboarding adventures despite the fact that they were each taken out by ski patrol in their early days.  Just not nice and most certainly the main reason that he insisted on skiing out like a war hero holding onto his subluxed shoulder.  Nothing a huge bandage, sling, Advil and red wine couldn't deal with.

Special thanks to the great Dr. Escoda from the Centre Medic Pas de la Casa.  Good guy.

In other great adventures in Andorra:  THE TOBOTRONC!!  Imagine riding on a go-cart seat attached to rollercoaster rails flying down La Rabassa mountain side for over 5km having total control over your own destiny with a single levered hand-brake.  Taryn went last of the four of us and I was becoming a bit concerned when she seemed to be taking a little longer than I expected.  Her only comment to us on her arrival was that the signs at the sharper corners that said to apply brakes were NOT meant as a mere suggestion.

Me, "They were in some language that I didn't understand, obviously."

Her, "Pictures?"

Well...

It's been a long time since I have seen my family get off a ride and run to the back of the line to do it again.  Amazing.

Other great finds in Andorra:  amazing stone architecture, windy roads, very long tunnels and a motorcycle museum cleverly hidden beneath a church parking lot.

What more could you want?

DHL - Just Say No!

I figure that if I mention the company name DHL courier service enough times in this post, it might just get a hit on one of the various search engines when some poor, unassuming, trusting soul is searching for a reliable way to get gifts to his or her family.

DHL should NEVER be used by anyone EVER AGAIN. Recent security, watch lists, federalis, and the sort make stating what I would really like to do to DHL a little risque but I will say that I would love to see them lose a little business. DHL refused, stole or damaged everything that I tried to send for Christmas to my Dad and his family.

I do a lot of traveling with work on the continents to the east of the Atlantic ocean and one of the great perks is my ability to pick up some pretty unique offerings from various countries. My Dad's Christmas box included chocolates from Belgium, fudge from Ireland, a small handmade knife from Finland, a 2010 calendar from the United Nations, a couple of small handmade jewelry boxes from Russia and a really incredible Cyrillic Russian Aviator watch. The box that my Dad received on December 31st (guaranteed pre-Christmas delivery) was not the same box that left my hands on December 18th and now had two opened and broken jewelry boxes, and an EMPTY watch box.... that's all.

I thought that DHL was going to be my saviour when, once again, I had procrastinated myself into a corner. As of Friday, December 18th, they could still guarantee pre-Christmas delivery from The Netherlands to Canada so I followed their online ordering process which included box dimensions, weight and contents. The contents were also clearly listed on two sides of the box when the pick-up dude came to my door to pick up the package a few hours later. For a mere €86, my Dad was going to receive a 10x10x2 inch box that weighed less than 3 pounds; what a deal!

Three days later, I received the first call from Bob of DHL customer service (oxymoron). I was more than a little surprised to find out that the package was still seven kilometres from my house and that they needed a little more information. There was an online invoice form for the contents that they needed. One very patient sigh and I sent it within an hour. Bob said that my parcel was still going to go out and would still make it to my Dad by the 24th but, by the way, "how long is the knife blade." It is a fixed blade less than 3 inches long... Bob said that this was fine.

Hours pass..... Bob called again and said that DHL would not transport the knife as it could be considered a weapon. I had actually read on the DHL website how to properly package a knife for shipping with their couriers and checked Canada Customs for any restrictions; there were none. Bob of DHL had nothing more to add. I said that if he was unable to help me, when could I expect my package to be returned to me so that I could find another way to get my Dad's gifts to him. Bob of DHL customer service fame then told me that I would have to come and retrieve it since there were CONTRABAND items contained within!

I will not attempt to bore with the ensuing conversations but it ended with me requesting the contact information of someone in DHL who was actually concerned about the loss of a little bit of business. Bob's response: "No."

Mine, "Pardon?"

Bob of DHL, may the fleas of a thousand camels thrive in your crotch and may your fingers turn into fishing hooks.

Chapter 2, remediation at the DHL warehouse in Den Haag. When I went to the DHL warehouse to retrieve the parcel, I asked to see a supervisor for an explanation as to why the parcel could not be sent with DHL and why it took them so long to figure it out. Simple requests, one would think. The DHL warehouse guy called down Antoine, a very good person for the customer complaint receiving position as he was soft-spoken and all too agreeable. The package had been opened and resealed, apparently in the presence of the sending customer (that's me). Hmmmmm.... I think I would have remembered that.

I don't know what the DHL Package Annihilators were looking for when they took a box cutter to my Dad's commercially packaged Belgian chocolates or what it is they can find by feel when they squish a box of Irish Fudge but, apparently they were satisfied because the watch, two jewelry boxes and the knife were all still in their Christmas wrap. Antoine found nothing in writing banning the small ornamental knife but said that "Security" said no. He did at that time tell me that he could send the remainder of the items by "DHL's fastest means possible", he would spank the crazy box-cutter wielding chocolate wrecker and my Dad would have the parcel by noon on the 28th; not Christmas but something, I guess.

So, in case you are wondering how a package travels from Den Haag, The Netherlands to Windsor, Ontario, Canada, wonder no more. A pigeon would have taken a more direct route, would have been there in less than thirteen days and would not have stolen my Dad's watch.

Wassenaar to Den Haag to Amsterdam to Brussels to Amsterdam (yes, again) to Leipzig (Germany) to Cincinnati to Hamilton to Windsor to Leamington. This makes it much easier for DHL to conduct a thorough theft investigation, I'm sure. But wait.... DHL can't start that investigation yet because they are closed for four days for New Year's; January 1st (only one day on my calendar, not four).

It seriously makes me ill to think of how my Dad must have felt to have finally received his Christmas gift, seen the beautiful wooden box and opened it to find only the manual and warranty card and no watch.

To the DHL employee who stole my Dad's watch; my greatest wish is for you to see each movement of the hand as one minute closer to Karmic retribution. You are the first person upon which I have sincerely wished a disastrous finale.

"Wow, 25 years, you haven't changed a bit...."

And, this is why I could not attend my high school reunion.  The utter bullshit of it all.

Well, also because I had to work and I have moved more than three kilometres since I graduated from high school.

My 25 Year High School Reunion came and went last month in my absence.  Fortunately, before, during and after, many attendees have added me as a Friend on Facebook.  I therefore have the rather unfair advantage of being able to see their labelled pictures without being busted for tilting my head while I try to envision the 18 year old within.  One lady (who does actually still look fabulous) put it quite diplomatically in an email when she wrote, "Body types and hairlines seem to have changed quite a bit but I could still recognize most of them."

I really don't know that I could have.

I'll show up for the 50th!  All vanity should be dispelled by then.

Winter Break

Well, once I have been ragged on by more than two people, it is time to start writing again (visualize me cracking my knuckles and looking really inspired).  Obviously you people have no understanding of the hell that defines my life right now.

I am currently sitting in an airport pub in Portland, Oregon watching my final flight home delay even more while sipping a glass of merlot.  The merlot is the pub's by-the-glass house wine and it is not totally offensive except for the dry, floating cork pieces in the glass.  I didn't even ask what it was if that is any indication of how my week has been.

I have just spent the past week in Orlando, Florida doing the Disney thing with my Mom, the two offspring and the boyfriend of the older offspring (now Ex-boyfriend, I guess... thank you, Facebook, for that update).  As much as I love to do the whole "family get-together" thing, we seriously need to go somewhere else from now on.  Unless, of course, the goal here is to drive me totally insane... hold on, I just felt a twitch.

You see, I hate crowds.  I strongly dislike people pushing me through line-ups to get on to mindless amusement park rides that I have paid hundreds of dollars to go on.  Wait, there must be more.  Let's not overlook the overt commercialism, poorly trained children (generally not mine), flight delays, rude "customer service" representatives (Sony and American Airlines; expect my letters) and crazy drivers (yes, okay when I do it because I am a trained professional).

Normally, I am able to tolerate all of this in the spirit of the holidays and family and Mickey Mouse and all of that shit but, this year the Gods of Insanity have thrown in an extra bowling pin; I accepted a job offer on another continent on December 9th to start on January 12th.  Do the math; seemingly impossible.

Of the four weeks that I had available to change my entire life, I spent two weeks of it working and a week of it at Disney World.  When I do eventually get home tonight (hopefully), I will have exactly two days to prepare for the movers, one day to clean the house and get a haircut before I leave the country in just enough time to suffer jet lag on the first day of my new life.  I challenge any of you to beat that planning.

I admit that I am, historically, a procrastinator.  I had no idea that this seemingly subtle part of my personality was, well, not so subtle until The Boy told me that I would have accomplished no more than I have, even if I had been given six months notice.  Don't you have an X Box game to play instead of analyzing my personality disorder, Ass?  This time would have been different!  I would have carefully planned my move around timely renovations and orderly life-changing-like manoeuvres.

But, I enjoyed myself; here's proof:

That big round thing on my waist is a button that the kids made me wear saying that it was my birthday.  The Disney staff are apparently mandated to wish one a Happy Birthday if you are wearing the official button.  I did the full body startle every time I heard some stranger emphatically wish me, personally, a Happy Birthday!

But, there is always good news..... I was just asked to produce ID for my glass of wine.  That just never gets old!

The laptop battery is showing an exclamation mark and I should likely stumble on down to my gate in case there is an airplane there, so.... more to follow.

Creativity.... Own It

To all my crafty, artsy friends out there:

Look, I can do it, too.

I know, this isn't me but, I was there and helping.  So, now I am qualified to give this tutorial on How to Silk Screen a T-Shirt.

1. After someone else (Taryn, for example) has made a funky design and made it into a thing in a wooden frame to push paint through (probably called a silk screen, not sure) and has mixed the paint that she brought home from school and has washed and dried the t-shirts and has laid them out and has put paint on the screen and has the squeegee in position....  pull the squeegee to the other side of the box.
2. Yay, Me!

This is what I made.