Category: The Non-Writing Life

Memories are Made of This

My great-nephew turned one on Saturday, and Eldest Son turns 23 today. E.S. also moved (partway) out of the house on Friday. I say partway because the moving occurred all weekend, and he’s left a lot of his stuff here. He’s moving in with two other people while he finishes his teaching certification and B.Ed. and gets on with life. He’s lived on his own before, two years away at university, one of those in Residence and the other in a basement suite with (at first) strangers of multiple nationalities. But this is his first time living entirely on his own dime.

Attending my great-nephew’s first birthday so close to E.S.’s birthday, compiled with E.S. moving out, brought back a ton of memories. I’m in memory-mode, anyway, as one year ago yesterday, my husband and I began our trip to Peru. Every day for the next three weeks, I’ll be reliving that trip, thinking about what we were doing on such-and-such day.

Plus, thirty years ago (the same age my niece, the great-nephew’s mommy, is turning tomorrow), my husband and I had just returned from backpacking through Europe. We weren’t married then. We were traveling in sin.

But, today, my “baby” is 23. We’re having a family dinner and a Dairy Queen ice-cream cake.

The thing I love most about babies turning one is the face-plant they usually do in their cakes. My great-nephew had a huge party and received tons of presents. When E.S. was a baby, my husband and I were living a 3-hour drive away from our hometown. So E.S. had only one friend at his party, a baby girl named Meghan. It was a low-key affair, to be sure, but he didn’t suffer cake-wise. A week later we traveled back to our hometown and had another celebration—and another cake!

Happy birthday, E.S.!

Everyone say, “Awwwwwww.”

 

I Kissed a Dolphin and I Liked It

…The taste of her rubber-bat nose.

Way back in February, My Liege and I went to Mexico for two weeks. I intended to blog about our holiday, I really did, but I didn’t click “Save Draft” within WordPress, you see—and my beautiful prose disappeared when I stupidly clicked a key I shouldn’t have.

I was so bummed out I couldn’t continue.

But now weeks—nay, months—have passed. Surely, I can try again.

This, my friends, is the tale of two cheapskates.

You see, when we went to Mexico, I had three “must-do’s” on my plate: (1) I must rent dune buggies and put my back out of alignment bouncing all over the desert; (2) I must prove I have vanquished my fear of heights (or fear of falling, as Youngest Son would put it) by going ziplining; (3) I must swim with dolphins!

Number one went South faster than a Canuck in November. We tried, oh, we TRIED, to rent dune buggies, but the dune buggy place in the area of Cabo we were visiting had gone belly-up, we discovered. We learned this while trying to rent dune buggies long-distance for a weekend jaunt to Cabo San Lucas. But the fellow at the kiosk in the monster-sized grocery store was much more interested in getting us to a Time Share presentation that would save us big bucks riding the dune buggies than he was in actually booking the excursion that we decided the whole thing was too much of a PITA. If we really want to ride dune buggies, we can go to Oregon. Right?

Number 2 was the ziplining. I did not care how much it cost, I was going! My father (with whom we were staying) said, “Very well, I shall taxi you to the ziplining place.” (It sounded more like, “Pass me a Corona,” but I was translating.) Well. Not only was the ziplining absurdly expensive, but it consisted of acrobating over a dry, dusty canyon with monster rocks on which to crack my skull. Terror overcame me. If I’m going to die ziplining, I’d rather it be over a green jungle canopy, thank you very much (I vow to go ziplining in Ecuador next year—you heard it here first). (I’m trusting that when the time comes, you won’t remember).

Sigh. Two adventures that didn’t materialize.

But I would, I vowed, I WOULD swim with dolphins while we were in Cabo San Lucas.

Then I visited the website. What? It was ultra expensive. So I knocked it off my list, too.

I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. We had a free place to stay—what was our problem?

Off we went to Cabo San Lucas. We stayed in a nice hotel in the marina area, had fun whale-watching and visiting Lover’s Arch and Divorce Beach (where a rogue wave tried to kill me, but I am nimble of foot and quickly scampered out of harm’s way). I even did a nice Rambo-roll getting back in the boat for our trip back to the marina. Our glass-bottomed boat captain dropped us off on a Saturday afternoon and we began trotting back to our hotel. When, what should we pass but the Swimming with Dolphins place! “Let’s just pop in and see what it’s about,” I told My Liege.

Turned out we were there in time to watch the last show of the day. So we did. And it looked marvelous! It looked wonderful! Fun and exciting! I bopped M.L. over the head and said, “You’re going deep sea fishing with my dad, so I want to swim with dolphins. I don’t care how much it costs. I’m worth it!” To which he replied, “I’m going, too!”

Hmph.

But we had vanquished our Inner Cheapskates! We booked spots for 10 a.m. the next morning.

And it was wonderful! It was exciting! We were separated into groups of eight, and each group had two dolphins with which to cavort. And cavort we did. They’re beautiful creatures, and it was amazing to be so close to them. To pet and stroke them. To panic as two converged on me at once (they’d swim wherever the trainers tossed the fish). And the swimming portion was great fun. Our dolphins swam on their backs. To swim along, you had to hang onto their “upper arm fins” while resting on their bellies. Cameras clicked the entire time. But they weren’t our cameras, oh, no. You see, cameras weren’t allowed within the pool area. I’d already figured out why. Because the lovely trainers were snapping dozens of photos and surely we would be allowed one each. After paying nearly $170 U.S. each for the pleasure of swimming with the cool dolphins?

Silly me.

After the show was over, we were herded into the Photo area. Smiling, I asked the attendant, “How much are the pictures?” My Liege had our surely-it’s-included-in-the-price piccie all picked out. But they cost—gasp—$25 apiece!! Apiece! Or $100 for 8.

I had stopped listening at this point. “I have my memories,” I sniffed. “And a dislocated elbow from Rambo-rolling into the glass-bottomed boat. I don’t need no effin pictures to remember how wonderful it felt to swim with dolphins.”

And that was that. I swam with dolphins, but I had no proof. At which point it occurred to me that while I had no proof of swimming with dolphins, neither did I have proof of NOT swimming with them. Which meant that maybe I DID go ziplining and dune buggy riding and simply have no proof of that, either. Just because I don’t have pictures doesn’t mean I didn’t do it, right?

Well. You all know me. I can not tell a lie very often. We did not rent dune buggies and we did not go ziplining. We DID swim with dolphins but were too cheap to buy proof.

We flew home knowing we had paid over $300 U.S. to swim with the dolphins and could not fork over another $25 for the photo.

But fate loves us. Fate was on our side. Because a couple of weeks later, whilst (nice word, that) I was Skyping with my parents, they said, “Steve’s in the Gringo Gazette!” (an English newspaper).

All those pictures the dolphin place snapped? They plastered one of my dh all over a half-page ad. Hah! NOW we have proof of our experience! A little grainy, but what can you expect from a pair of cheapskates?

In Flight. Or Not.

Insert heavy sigh.

I was halfway through the most amazing, excellent post about my experience swimming with dolphins in Cabo this winter and…I HIT THE WRONG KEY!! WordPress ate my marvelous prose. And just left me with a lower case b. Not even a capital B.

I am so disheartened that I didn’t think to hit Save Draft halfway into the post that, alas, I find myself unable to conjure up the will to write it again. Sooner or later, you’ll hear my tale. But not today.

Instead, I offer bird pictures. Re-sized for the blog but otherwise unaltered. So if my composition is off, just know it wasn’t accidental. Those birds might fly fast (or the boat might be moving fast), but, darn it, I meant to catch them off-center. And that’s the sort of truth. It’s more interesting that way sometimes, don’t you think?

A soaring...INSERT NAME OF BIRD. Might be a gull. Might be something more interesting. Really, I don't know. I'm not a book-and-binocs bird-watcher. I just like taking pictures of them.
Making a splash. I know this one! Wait a moment...I've nearly identified it...A pelican!
Muy (or is it mucho?) pelicans! On our way to Lover's Arch at Cabo San Lucas.
"Admire me. Damn it. Admire me, I tell you!"

What do you think? Is that one drooling? Or is that water dripping from its beak? Maybe it just ate its enemy. How are you to know? I’m not a reliable narrator, so don’t ask me.

"Two Birds." One pelican, one INSERT NAME OF BIRD.

Last one. A crab this time. They were crawling all over these rocks at what I like to call Isolated Beach.

"Little Brown Crab."

Oh, crap, that’s not a crab! That’s my father! Pretending to read, but he’s really asleep.

Now I’m in trouble.

A Spring in My Step

Spring is finally here! Unfortunately, that means I’ve taken up running with the beagle again. The inexpensive elliptical machine I received for Christmas (I know it was inexpensive because I ordered it, in case I didn’t like it) did its job of preventing me from putting back on the weight I lost in Peru last year. I started with a measly 20 minutes three times a week and worked up to 30 minutes 3 times a week. I thought this was remarkable!

The problem with a cheap, um, inexpensive machine is I never know when the read-outs are giving me correct numbers. I never could find precise directions for how to set up the digital thingie, so when I get on the elliptical, sometimes the calories are burning, burning, burning off! Other times, I hit a different setting and my speed is suddenly slower (even though I swear I’m going the same speed as my last time on the machine) and the calories don’t burn off as quickly. This is quite aggravating. However, I don’t have the time to figure out the instruction manual. All I care is that I’m using Program 2 (so it’s like I’m going up and down hills, which I never do when I run, because in real life it wrecks my back). And the second thing I care about is that my time is increasing. Up to 30 minutes 3 times a week!

That kept me eating chocolate bars while fitting into my new jeans all winter.

Except when I went away for two weeks. Then I had to kind of start over.

As the snow melted after this very long winter, I vowed to myself that I would start running outside again as soon as the street-cleaning machine cleared away all the gravel and the dog park wasn’t so soggy I sank up to my knees while stopping there for Allie McBeagle’s constitutional. I had taken quite a liking to the elliptical, but exercising inside really sucks up my writing time. Because Allie, you see, still needs her exercise. And so, all winter, I was walking the dog for 40 minutes (depending on what other dogs were in the dog park, which would lengthen the time of our stay) and then, upon arriving home, I’d do my 20-30 minutes on the elliptical and then spend another 10-15 minutes stretching, because, you know, I’m old.

Late last week, the street-cleaning machine came along. So I started running with Allie again on Monday. I extended my run two or three telephone poles beyond what we were doing before it began snowing and the roads became unsafe. By the time I reached that last telephone pole, I was exhausted and my thighs were burning. Well, guess what? I’d only run 17 minutes (with a break at the dog park). (The break isn’t factored into the time).

How can 30 minutes on the elliptical without a break not feel as bad as 17 minutes running with the dog?

Well, running with a beagle is kind of like salmon fishing during a marathon. You’re always reeling the dog in. And the running must work different muscles, because my inner thighs hurt!

Plus, I can keep a bottle of water near the ellipitical to grab and gulp. I can’t carry water when I’m running. It puts me off-balance and next I know I’m in the traffic. I’m lucky I can manage the dog!

Apparently, I am not running far enough.

Although, I must admit, at the end of my runs this week it hasn’t taken me as long to stop huffing and puffing. But I have nearly run out of telephone poles before I would have to go uphill. Sorry, sisters, I’m not running uphill! Running in itself keeps me going to massage therapy every other week. Running uphill is torture on my poor, middle-aged lower back.

The plan is to stretch my running time to 30 minutes, even if I have to change my course to do it. One telephone pole at a time, per week. My endurance sucks, and I don’t mind admitting it. Hey, I’m proud that I’m out there at all.

Has your exercise plan changed with the onset of spring? Or do you live somewhere where it’s a balmy 75 Fahrenheit year round?

Smoke and Dreams

I’ve been very good about not blogging lately. I hope you all are proud of me. I finished the comprehensive edits on Penny’s single title and will submit it to one or two publishers this week. While I’m in Penny-mode, I decided to revise a first person erotic short story of Penny’s into third person and submit that as well. So I’ll continue to stay away from the blog for the next several days.

Why I’m away from the blog isn’t all good news, though. I’ve talked before about my dh’s small business, Ironhorse Caddybag. The venture is in addition to his full-time job, and he shares the business with a partner. Well, last week, I think it was the day before the Japan earthquake struck (or it might have been the same day, but we heard about the fire first), we woke to the news that our business partner’s workshop, where our ENTIRE INVENTORY was stored, burned to the ground.

A car and motorcycle were both stored in the same shop for the winter (we still have snow on the ground!). You can see the car in the picture below, on a hoist. The fire was extremely toxic, as our inventory was built out of plastic and fabric and metals, bubble wrap and cardboard, not to mention the car and motorcycle and other stuff that is found in a working shop! The shop was maybe two minutes from our local volunteer fire department, but the fire department had no choice but to let everything burn and try to control spreading to neighboring buildings (at which they were successful).

We are in the process of gathering together receipts for our commercial insurance, but we’ve lost our selling season. It’s difficult enough to start a new business and then discover in the midst of ordering your first product run that the United States (target consumer as well as Canadians) has hit a deep recession. Ours was a niche product, so, as you can imagine, it’s been slow going.

Of course we would like to rebuild the business, but that depends on so many things. Until we find out where we stand financially, I’m asking my Facebook friends who haven’t “liked” Ironhorse Caddybag yet on Facebook, to do so. And, if you wish, suggest the page to your own FB friends. This way, once we have replacement stock, we can get the word out quickly.

Any help in this regard is appreciated!

People have asked me why the fire hasn’t impacted me more than it has. I guess I’m trying to let it slide off me, much in the way I have learned to deflect rejections from agents and/or publishing houses over the years. I have suffered two major traumas in my life aside from natural occurrences like grandparents dying: (1) my husband’s brother, a good friend of mine, dying at the age of 25 from an asthma attack; and (2) our family experiencing a 5-car accident when our youngest was 11 months old that took three years of battling out-of-province insurance agencies to settle and left me with a whiplash injury that lasted 14 years. Somehow, the business inventory burning pales in comparison. Age and wisdom help. Plus, when I consider what residents of New Zealand and Japan have suffered recently, what would I choose? Our entire inventory burning in a fire, of course.

I find it kind of ironic that our homepage says, “while quantities lasts.” In a way, that’s pretty funny. The quantities didn’t last very long, however, not in the way we’d anticipated. Honestly, Universe, we were aiming for sales.

Where In The World Is Cindiego?

On an airplane, that’s where.

Coming home. Back to Canada.

Which means I’ve been somewhere. But where? And for how long? How could that crafty Cindy go away without her trusty blog readers suspecting something?

  • 2 points to anyone who guesses how long I’ve been away.
  • 4 points if you can correctly guess where I went.
  • – 16 points if you knew where I went, because I told you, but you pretend you didn’t know because you WANT THOSE FOUR POINTS!!
  • + 80 points for creativity.
  • – 13,000 points for rudeness.

You need hints? I got hints!

  • I went there last year, for my birthday. This year, I took My Liege along.
  • We stayed with my parents.
  • There was sun.
  • And water.
  • Probably taco sauce.
  • A margarita or two.

By gum, you got it! Alaska! (Not).

*Fine Print. Correctly guessing wins you nothing. Cindy is under no obligation to confirm that your guess is correct or to reward you in any way. In fact, Cindy might be making this whole thing up, because that’s her line of work, and you’ll never know, will you? Can you trust her to eventually tell you the truth? Will she prove her absence by posting pictures? Will you believe she took the pictures? These and other questions may or may not be answered in upcoming episodes of When Cindy’s Gray Matter Churns.