Every Cloud...

Every less than stellar experience always has a silver lining. Because of this journey, I:
1. Strengthened my quads and my biceps. Getting on and off a big sailboat is no easy feat for this Grandma. Depending on the tide, the boat would be much higher than the steps on the dock beside it. This would necessitate heaving the backpack and other assorted odds and ends onto the deck, then the usual wonderment of how the hell I was going to get on, usually followed by an amazed I never knew my knee could touch my chin. Followed by a plea for help, as in,  how do I get out of this position? Since I was usually the first one back to the boat, there were usually enough f-sharps and grunts and groans that would put the stockyards to shame. But I never fell in the water. Some days the boat would adjust itself away from the dock, making getting on or off impossible. Generally, there would be a nimble tall young skinny volunteer just waiting to help me. In that case, they would get off the boat in mountain goat-like like fashion by jumping onto the dock, or sometimes in their best Flying Wallenda fashion, by walking the rope that secured the boat to the dock at the back. Yeah, I could just see myself doing that. Not. then they would haul on the rope and move that sucker ever so slowly closer to the dock, so that Grandma here could make a bathroom run. Even in the pouring rain. While the mission might have been a bust for me, I must say that the young volunteers looked after me well. But so it came to pass that I had to get off the boat in the middle of the night, and also had to get on by myself because there was no one to whine at. And so to get off, I crouched down on the crunchy knees and hauled on that rope to get her closer to the dock. However, I learned, I had to be absolutely ready to fly off, because if I wasn't, the boat would float back out of reach for these legs in a few seconds. So pull and jump. It took me a few tries. Getting back on was easier, unless I had to fold me knee to my chin. But hey, I did it.

My bed, and my foot, for perspective. I had to climb here too.

Then of course, there was going up and down to the bedrooms, which were kind of like miniature coffins. The stairs are made for graceful gazelles, complete with the lovely long legs and spring in their steps. Not for lumbering hippos who just seem to crash through everything. Each step was about 2 feet tall, okay, so I am exaggerating, but they were steep. As the boat was in the state of (constant) refurbishment, there were no rails or grips, so I would just pop out on deck like a jack in the box, using my arms to support the rest of me on the deck floor to haul me arse up the stairs. And yes it did get easier with time.
2. Learned to play Mexican Train Dominoes. While sitting in my usual spot at the marina, cerveza in hand, one of the local boat women asked me to join them in the usual Sunday round of Mexican Train Dominoes. I politely declined, having learned to play whatever style of dominoes I knew at the hands of some Brazilians and Panamanians. With them, you are the hero if you make the right move, but woe to you if you make the wrong move. Brought out the fiery temper in my various playing partners. I was then told I was going to play. I said maybe I would watch. "No, you are playing." And so I did, and had a great time No slapping of tiles. No yelling in Spanish or Portuguese. And I am hooked.
3. Saw the kindness and honesty, however it was purloined, of strangers. See previous post where I got my backpack back.

Happy milker, happy goat.

4. Milked a goat. When I bailed, I headed to Costa Rica. I was flying home through there anyway, just rearranged the dates so I could spend a few nights. One of my impromptu excursions took me to the farm of the owner of the tour company whose driver I employed. He asked me if I wanted to milk a goat. Now there's a thing you do on vacation. Everyone wants to zip line in Costa Rica. but milking a goat, well that is an original, and certainly a first for me. And since I am afraid of heights, milking a goat just seemed to be the right thing to do. And I was highly amused, especially when the goat jumped off the milking ramp and weaved in and out of the barn and fences, dog in hot pursuit, owner in hot pursuit of the dog. The goat was corralled, the dog banished, and I went on to milk the goat without any complaint from the goat. I'm still smiling. I could swear the goat was smiling too.

5. Witnessed faith, yet again. People expressing their faith and hope in the Basilica in Cartago, walking down the main aisle on their knees. Scores. I look back at our secular world, the more we have, the more we curse God for what we don't have. And here was this beautiful, humble expression of faith, on a Sunday afternoon with no particular importance attached to it. And I was humbled again.
6. Learned I can now run. I had planned the flight home well, three hours in between flights at Miami, I could get my bags, throw them under the line, go through security, and have a nice leisurely dinner at a nice restaurant. Oh come on now, only in my dreams. My flight was 1 hour late leaving Costa Rica. Then the boarding gate malfunctioned in Miami, so we had to be reassigned, and then taxied to, a new gate. Bueno. That took almost another hour. While we were told we were waiting for the reassignment, the noise emanating from below the plane indicated that the removal of luggage was well under way. That was what we were waiting for. It was the gate that was the farthest away from Passport Control. Multiple signs pointing up into the clouds for the SkyTrain. I think I proved to myself that I am capable of running a 5K, because instead of the train, that is what I did, and beat them - the dumb train - to Passport Control. I entered on the American side of things just as the train began spitting out its contents at the visitors' side. I became an honorary American once again, to the amusement of the Immigration Guy. Passed down to get my luggage, which was already on the floor, threw it to some guy who high fived me at my show of heaving strength, sprinted over to security at Terminal E, where I was told the line up would be shorter, then flew through the terminals with a quick pit stop to pick up a sandwich and key lime pie for the plane. My flight was already boarding, early, I might add, when I arrived there a little breathless. And that is how it all went. Salud!

Head up, eyes in front. This is what was in front :)

News From The South

Only a select few were allowed this close on top of the hill.

It's been awhile. Too much to do between trips. So here I sit in lovely Panama. For those of you who don't know, my last visit here was a little over four years ago, along with the Ex Boy. It was here that I determined the Old Boy was going to be the Ex Boy. What did it? Not what I expected. I liken it to when I zip lined in Peru a few years ago. The guide encouraged me closer and closer to the edge, so that he literally just touched me on my back, and I was flying through air catching flies. Well, with the Ex Boy, I wasn't catching flies.

Haven't a clue what this is.

So this visit brings a bit of the bittersweet with it. Thanks to some wise advice from a guide, I know to always go face up, feet first, and hang on to my paddle. Oddly , I returned home with a little more self confidence, a lot more guts, and a certain joie de vivre that had been absent from my life for so many years. That hopefully will continue on forever.
No airline story to report from this venture, unlike the last three trips flying home in Canada with perfectly good weather. American Airlines, in receivership, delivered me and all of my bags on time. I was given the chance to upgrade on the 1st half of the flight for $125, which I did. They would give me three free bags. Now that is a lark. Okay, so I have at least an observation. American gives us plebes in economy 1 free bag, but they charge double the price for the second, conmpared to everyone else. Three bags in business class? Really? The only 3 bags you'll ever see are in economy, and they happen to be grannies or mother in laws. And in fact, there are plenty more of them back there. Business men may have a carry on and/or a garment bag, and a computer. What, do you think they are moving to Miami or Cleveland? Shake your head, American, allow them one non existent checked bag like everyone else, and give the rest of us bags a break on ours.
Today I climbed Cerro Ancon. Panamanian taxi drivers are adorable. Everyone honks and wants to  pick you up and take you to the top. MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER!!! This is not "Fifty Shades of Panama". They all had fares. But I huffed and puffed my way to the top and was blessed with some gorgeous views of the city below, a city I love. Can't explain it, I am not a big city girl, but PTY rocks. Met one of the adorable cabbies at the top, he was waiting for his charges to complete their photo ops, so he took me to where I could take some good shots, chit chatted and smiled, and, adios.

I picked my way back down and met this guy. Look to the right somewhere. I didn't take a front shot, because I didn't want to be too obvious. Let's just say from the waist up, front on, well, I didn't know whether my shirt was wet from sweat or from drool. To state the obvious, in my opinion, though, no man should ever wear speedos or whatever the heck he is running in. He was going up a hill, no race. Need to get over oneself, hmm? Of course, I think it was his exceedingly fit girlfriend whom I passed just before. I guess he's keeping up with the Joan's ass. Oh please. It is hot, and I've not had enough rum.

I never mind being alone, but occasionally it does feel awkward. Tonight I went to a recommended resto, of course I arrived a little earlier than the the locals, and I was the only one there. No people watching, but waiters tripping over themselves to serve me. I had my pick of tables. I received a couple of looks like I had two heads. I guess these young ones don't understand why a fifty something year old somewhat menopausal and and literally hot mama customer would want to position herself underneath one of the two big honking air conditioners in the back. They also thought it was weird that I would send back a cerveza (Me! Send it back!) when it came out of the bottle full of ice crystals. Had a fun time explaining that I wanted it frio, pero sin hielo. I didn't bother trying to tell him what freezing does to the carbonation. Out of my Spanish realm.
Tomorrow I leave for Bocas del Toro, and have to somehow beg and plead with the regional carrier that they HAVE to take my 55 lbs worth of stuff, even though they only allow 35. The joys of traveling and mission work.

Salud!

Animal House

I had room mates for a night. They are in charge of promoting self sufficiency in these parts by way of growing your own food. Some folks have to taken to raising chickens, and others to planting a garden. some of the chickens and vegetables are heritage types, more suited for thriving in these parts, with some TLC. The chickens go to school sometimes, and they are trying to convince some schools to incubate some eggs.  remember fondly when we had to imprint ducklings in high school for biology class. My poor parents. Because the following year, I brought home a gosling. I told my Mom that this was for a different class, liar that I was. I just wanted the gosling for that short period of time. I was president of the Biology Club, so I had access to all creatures great and small in our zoo room. I got home from school one day, only to find my mom dusting the floor with the dust mop, one little gosling nestled happily on top, enjoying the ride. It got me to thinking about the pets I've had over time.
1. Fish. The usual goldfish, I think these days they are termed "feeders'" but for my brother and me, they were our first pets. Which as usual, Mom had to take care of. Oscar and Charlie. I think my Mom named them. After two mice that used to watch her in the restaurant of her youth until the exterminator came for a visit.
There were a few Oscar and Charlies, naturally. None so eerie as the two that were found belly up one morning. Later that day, we received the news that my Grandma, my Mom's mom, had died. My Mom was full of little premonitions like that.
2. Turtles. Green Bay and Wally. Mine was Green Bay, after the Packers. Don't ask me why. I hated football, but I guess I may have been trying to impress my brother. Wally was named after Wally Gabler. maybe he played for the Packers. Or the Argos. These guys lasted about a year. Again, nothing known about aquariums or proper turtle nutrition. a steady diet of raw hamburger and ant eggs knocked them off. However, being the curious sort, after the first one died, I think it was Wally, I dug him up a week or two later, to see what he looked like. He still looked dead.
3. Cats. First was Gypsy. I had her for a week or two. Then I developed severe abdominal pain. My Mom read in the ancient medical dictionary that abdominal pain could be caused by allergies. so Gypsy went to the neighbour's daughter's farm lickety split. Turned out I had acute appendicitis, in the days when you spent a week in hospital. As it turned out, I found out that cats don't cause appendicitis, but I never got Gypsy back.
Next was I think Squeaky, a lovely black and white male. He grew up into a night prowler, and neither my folks nor I had figured out that you could neuter something and/or keep them in the house. So one night, Squeaky went out, and never came back. I spent hours on my bike looking for him, to no avail.
Then there was Smokey. she was still an outdoor cat, but I kept my eye on her, made sure she came in every afternoon. Caught her consorting with the boys, too, I was rather excited over the prospect of kittens. So obviously we hadn't learned our lesson about the neutering bit. And Smokey had one really bad habit. There was a shallow pot hole in front of our house, and she liked to flatten herself in the pot hole and chase cars. I think brains was another thing we forgot to ask for when we got her. One afternoon she limped up to the door with a broken leg. Off to the vet, and I never saw her again. My parents told me at the time that the break was too bad and that neither she nor the kittens could be saved. I only found out not too many years ago that my parents could not afford the surgery, so they had her put to sleep. I probably would not have understood anything like that at that age.
4. Quail. Okay, these never quite made it into the house. I was in grade seven or eight, and one of my Italian friends, it was either Joanne Franseschini, or Maria Caruso, had a father who bred these little things. He was willing to set me up in my basement. I am sure my Mom's jaw must have dropped to the floor. It was November. She finally said no, but my folks agreed that day at lunch time, that I could have another...
5. Cat. They both figured that in November there would be no kittens to be found, and that by spring I would have forgotten all about it. As if. I went back to school after lunch, and asked every single kid who crossed my path if they had any kittens to give away. When my folks returned home from grocery shopping, they were greeted by Taga, a black and white half Siamese. I seem to remember two dropped jaws and the deer in the head lights look from both my parents. But what could they say? Taga we did right by. she was tied up in the back yard so she wouldn't get hit by a car. She used to run to the patio and wait until you fastened her up. When her caterwauling and slinky butt at heat time became too much for us, she was spayed, and vaccinated. That cat was a tenant in the house for over 22 years. When she died peacefully of kidney failure, my Mom called, I was out of home already. I went down and picked her up, and a growl  came out of her throat, and there I was, shaking this cold, stiff as a board, dead cat, asking her if she was alive. Scared the bejeebers out of me.
6. Gerbils. Rusty and Misty. They stayed in my room at night for awhile, and then my brother would come in and get them and put them in the living room so he could watch them. When I think of it now, I was pretty selfish with my critters. These were a birthday gift from my best friends Patti and Louise for my birthday. We used to walk to school together, and for weeks before my birthday, they would make me walk ahead while they discussed their surprise for me. I was so upset, I was ready to disown them because I though they were keeping secrets behind my back, well, which they were. All was forgiven of course.
Taga thought they were something to play with. One day I returned home from high school to find Misty missing - they were in an aquarium with a lid, which had been knocked off. I found her in the basement in a heap. Front incisors knocked out, broken tail, blinded in one eye. Needless to say she was barely alive. I phoned the humane society who said I could try to syringe feed her, which I did. Applesauce, ground oatmeal flakes, ground gerbil food. She lived until she was almost three, the usual life span for the critters. They lived in a secure cage after that episode.
7. Nuts and Bolts. Being president of the Biology Club had its perks. Jocko the Squirrel monkey was one of them. he liked me, he used to sit on my lap during biology class, and then he would try to get it on with my ear. he was the first animal who taught me how to say no. Well, Jocko could not stay in the school over the weekend, there was one family who always took him home. One weekend they were unable to take Jocko home, so I eagerly volunteered. I must have asked my parents, because a monkey in a cage wouldn't have done public transit very well. I am sure in addition to the jaws dropping, the eyes must have rolled. But Jocko came home, under the "promise that he stayed in the cage. Well, didn't I feel sorry for him, he needed to get out and exercise. So out he came, and my parents didn't say much as he careened throughout the house, until he ended up on top of the hutch and was eyeing the Swarovski chandelier. My dad took matters in his owns hands by grabbing onto Jocko. Into the cage he went, biting my Dad. Still pushing the envelope, I would take the cage in the bathroom and close the door and let him loose in there for a bit. For Jocko loved mirrors and would spend hours staring and chattering to his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror while suspended from the shower curtain rod. For some reason, I was never allowed to bring him home again.
The one they didn't know about was the mouse. Someone had fed this mouse to the boa constrictor, and I watched as the little guy tried and tried to escape his nosher by jumping up the sides of the aquarium, and after a half hour (the snake wasn't hungry) he made it to the top. I figured anything that tried that hard to get away deserved to live. So Mousy became a basement dweller, my brother my accomplice. Mousy was already old, so he died later on that summer while I was away. My brother buried him. My parents never knew. I think.
Then the teddy bear hamster came home for the summer, hidden in the basement again. This time near the furnace where a patch of sunlight would hit during the day. This happened to be under my parents' bedroom, My poor Dad, started having asthma attacks, and was hacking, spitting and sputtering. My Mom thought the house might be a little dry, so even though she NEVER checked the furnace at that time of the year, she did so, and found my hamster. Both the hamster and my Dad's asthma went away.
Dogs. I really all of my life wanted a dog, but my folks didn't. My Dad offered to get me a little one after Smokey died, but my Mom knew the time and the clean up commitment involved, and who would be involved in it, so I didn't spring my doggy surprise on them until I was 19, when my Dad was in the hospital with an unknown ailment. Mugsy belonged to the landlady of a college friend of mine, and was lonely and mistreated, so to speak. However, Mugsy was well fed and well groomed. Before I could convince them she was a stray, I had to make her look raggedy. I dragged her around outside in the February slush before taking her home. The curtains were opened, unusual for my home at that time of day. Mrs. Milligan, bless her heart, informed me that my Dad had gone into surgery late that afternoon. She took Mugsy for me while I joined my Mom and brother at the hospital. I'm sure her jaw was on the ground as Mugsy stepped into her house. My Dad died early the next morning, and Mugsy eventually went to her forever home with a family that treasured her and loved her to bits.
We won't mention Hobie the greyhound who excelled at stealing roasts off the counter, or making cow patties look like rabbit poop in comparison to his. Or the cat, the dog and the chinchilla that were planted on my Mom's doorstep along with myself and my child when I had to move home. I'm sure my Dad's jaw was dropping in Heaven. Hopefully they are both smiling over it all together now.

Last of the Arctic Summer

My time in the Arctic has finished. Just a few observations:
1. A fifteen year old girl and a 75 year old drunk can pack a mighty punch. Ask the Boys in Blue.
2. Our office manager said that because of the 24 hour daylight, our bodies automatically pack on the the weight in preparation for the winter, and that we HAVE NO CONTROL over it. Geez, I never realized I was preparing for hibernation. Time to stop blaming the cheese doodles.
3. A root canal does not qualify you for a 3 month sick note.
4. A baby's baby toe and a long hair do not mix. Took some anaesthetic, a scalpel and a doctor to fix that one. I was also told that this is fairly common among boys and their exclusive appendages. Um, ouch.
5. Timing is everything. Call at 11:50 AM. "I need to see the nurse." Me: "Can you come now? I'm at the clinic." Patient: "Okay, I will be over in a few minutes."
12:00 - No patient.
12:10 - No patient.
12:30- No patient.
12:35 - Call to patient: "I was just having a bite to eat."
5. You can't outrun an Arctic Hare. What you can do is acquire cuts and scrapes and bruises when you roll around on the tundra because you thought you could.
6. I am not a fisherman. Unless I fish for men. Because today I hooked two men, and I had to let them go. And another fishy this big.
7. I miss trees. I don't miss raking leaves, but I miss seeing them.
8. Pavement. My kingdom for some pavement. Dirt roads are fine. Gravel is not. I would come home and my skin would be red, I thought from over exposure to the Arctic sun. Heck no, it was the the Arctic road dust. And I won't get started about stones and pebbles underfoot and in your boots. It was. Extremely. Annoying.
9. CPR and 85 year old chests do not combine well. Living will, folks. The folks that found the patient had to start, and we had to finish. Fortunately, the patient was finished before anyone started.
10. Canadian North. The airline that actually feeds you. Should have a disclaimer on their website: "Canadian North. The Airline of the Arctic. We might get you there on time. Probably not." But as with everything, it is the north. And I know I wouldn't have it any other way.
Salud!

Cuddles

Had a conversation tonight. We were discussing parents and grandparents, and some of the frustrations around them. I have always maintained that raising parents is more difficult than raising kids. Kids grow up. Some parents regress. And amid all of the frustrations we alluded to, my roomie came up with the most profound statement: : "When it's kids, we cuddle them." I should have cuddled my Mom more. So should we all.

Dippity DEW Dah!

Me! In the bikini! What do you mean, only in my dreams?

Just a wee bit of mish mash from last week's activities.
My life in the past four years has consisted of a lot of firsts: first time really living on my own, first time travelling on my own (to a foreign country where  I don't speak the language, no less), whale watching, piranha fishing, zip lining, well, you get the drift. Nothing is too outlandish, but for this former scaredy cat, it's all bonus.
So last week, my buddy Elaine and I participated in the Cambridge Bay Polar Bear Dip, to raise money for the community centre. Now how many of your friends/acquaintances have been to the Arctic, besides me of course? None, for most of you. And how many of those crazy  adventurous friends have ever swam (swum?) in the Arctic Ocean? In the Northwest Passage, at least close to it? Even less. And since I still haven't seen a live polar bear in the wild, or the ocean, the least I could do was act like one. You know, live in its paws.
So, on a blistering 15 degree C day along with a handful of other oxygen deprived intrepid fund raisers, Elaine and I tested our collective mettle and took the plunge.

Frozen treats.

Nice 'do! And our Dr. McPherson, just in case.

Now I know why Arctic char fight so hard. They don't give a flying fig about the hook in their mouths, or the fact that this is their last day before landing on the Corelle.They are just trying to keep warm. And while polar bears, real ones, exude a certain grace while in the ocean depths, I doubt that the first word out of their mouths when they hit the ocean is along the lines of an f-sharp. Neither do they fall flat on their arses when turning around in 3 feet of water  trying to run back to shore. Neither are their arms frozen in their shoulder sockets, lips turning blue (their lips are black, if you want to know), nor does their skin turn red and then blue. And they certainly do not muss their carefully coiffed and lovingly lacquered hair. Clearly, I am not a polar bear. And while this was not necessarily on the bucket list, I'm striking it off anyways. Not. Happening. Again. Ever.
Anyone remember the DEW line? It was a joint venture with the States and Greenland et al to protect us, more like U.S., from the Russkies back in the days of the Cold War, when there were only 2 nuclear crazies in the world. Russia and the States. Nowadays, we have 15 or 16 nuclear crazies out there. Well, hot damn, we were invited out there for brunch. Picked up at the residence, and chauffeured there and back. Eggs cooked to order, bacon, sausage, fried baloney for the easterners, coffee, and SHOPPING! What more could two Ontario girls ask for?
Beer. Okay, got that last night. I'm a happy camper, and still the luckiest girl around.

Salud!

A Fish Tale

The last time I went fishing, I was in the Brazilian Amazon, looking for piranha. I caught the same fish that another tourist had caught 20 minutes before. How to tell? It was a black piranha with a googly eye that was looking south while the other eye was looking north. What a fish won't do for stewing beef. I pretty much figured that was it for my fishing days. I'll cook them and eat them, but the catching and the cleaning is best left to someone else.

This was my first cast.

And then, that Elaine, my roomie in the Arctic, told me we were going fishing. In 6 Celsius weather, probably in the negatives with the wind chill. And I said yes.
My first cast resulted in the hook landing 10 feet behind me, on the rocks, and an unmanageable knot. A knife solved that. The next cast resulted in the hook landing 10 feet beside me, on the the rocks, to the right. And another knot that didn't require a knife. A few f-sharps and a few tugs fixed it. The next cast, I hooked a man, our guide Norman. Fortunately, it was his jacket and not his skin. I threw him back.

Dinner.

In the meantime, Elaine, who had not been fishing since she was a kid let out a whoop, and my fishing rod and I were abandoned by Norman, who assisted her in landing a 10 lb. char. She did this in less than 5 minutes. In the meantime, I snagged a rock about 10 feet from shore, in the water this time. Elaine caught another fish. I landed the hook 10 feet beside me, in the rocks, to the left. Norman and Elaine both caught fish.
Finally, I caught one this big. I threw him back too.

The other one that got away.

Norman kindly offered to show us how to quickly dispatch a fish, picking up a rock. I let my fish go.



I think  finally found my cold threshold. I can handle -50C with an open jacket and just ear muffs for a hat. I cannot handle standing on a windy beach barely above zero throwing hooks anywhere but in the water for three hours. With no liquor for another 6 weeks. I feel like it is Lent, in the summer.
And then I had to pee. Across the bay was the hamlet. To my right were Norman and Elaine. All around me was rock. Not a tree in sight. Use your imagination. If that will give you nightmares, then don't.

Another throwback.

Then we switched sites. Norman and Elaine both caught fish. I caught seaweed. And then I caught another one that was less than this big. I threw him back too. This propensity for tossing things back might explain why I continue to be single. I snagged more rocks, and watched a couple of seals in the inlet who were watching us. I swear I could hear them laughing. The hook was finally landing in the water, well, most of the time. Then we were done. Norman, bless his heart, took all the fish home, and cleaned them. And God saw that it was good. And told me to keep my day job.

Neither the fish nor I were happy about me holding him.