Forget Kevin Bacon, It's all about Angela

Ok... you know how the world is all super connected? Well, here's how my morning web-browsing progressed:

First I clicked on a blog post from "Two Straight Lines"

Then I saw an adorable doll wearing cute costume - Bamboletta.

So I wondered if the company makes boy dolls - would the Mogrunt like a boy doll? (His mom sure would.)

I decided to have a look at the Bamboletta website - Oh, it's based in British Columbia!

I browsed through some pages and discovered that they have an Etsy shop.

So, I signed into my Etsy to add them to my favourites.

Then I searched Bamboletta on Etsy.

Hmmm... there's a familiar name among the list of people making clothes for Bamboletta dolls.

I clicked on the familiar name.

That's when I laughed my arse off.

Why?

1. I have met the proprietor of the Silly Con Etsy shop (she used to live here in NS.)

2. Regular readers of this blog might recognize the designer of the graphic at the top of Silly Con's Etsy page.

(Note: they do have boy dolls but that they are all sold out of dolls right now - I'm considering placing custom order...)

Mother Nature is a Tricky Mistress

 

Yesterday dawned clear, bright and warm.  Mr. Happy and I crawled out of bed at 7:30am to walk to the Dartmouth Farmer's Market. It was beautiful and sunny. Birds were singing. And while the world still looks a little "messy" (picture piles of dirty, melting snow), it felt like spring and green grass would be along any minute.

Now, you may be wondering what, pray tell, was so important that we would be headed to the market so early in the morning?

These are chocolate croissants (Pain au Chocolat) made byTwo If By Sea Bakeshop. The Proprietress of which is the girlfriend of a musical friend of Mr. Happy.

Now, I will admit that Mr. Happy has been telling me about these croissants for ages, but as he hadn't eaten them he didn't know if she made Chocolate-filled Croissants.

Enter Fate.

I picked up a copy of the Coast this week and inside was an article about the croissants including the most valuable tidbit of information: pain au chocolat! And another valuable tidbit: "usually sells out by 10:30am"

You see this?

This is the face of a very happy girl.

And this?

This is the face of a guy who, although he has been working insane hours this week, pulled himself out of bed so that his wife would have company at the market. (This is also the face of a guy who is thrilled that the Dartmouth Farmer's Market is much less crowded than the Halifax market and that there are plenty of tables and chair at which to sit and relax.)

We left the market completely satisfied with our purchase - Mr. Happy departed for his parents' place for a visit and I went home as a friend had hoped to stop in. Alas, she had a rather rough night, but was kind enough to send a message of explanation...

No matter, I used the opportunity to get started on some much needed house cleaning and tidying.

The weather outside was a whopping 10C, so I left the front door open, turned off the thermostat and set to work. It was a glorious day. I managed to get quite a few things taken care of before heading out in the afternoon for a visit with friends and a couple of errands..

This morning, however, Mother Nature is, most-likely, chuckling to herself about this little surprise:

You've GOT to be kidding me.

Dammit, Dammit, Dammit

Stephen Harper.

Again.

Minority Gov't. Here we go again.

Thank God for the Newfoundlanders. Smart people, they are, kicking Conservative arse off their Rock.

You can take back all those stupid Newfie jokes and start telling stupid Prairie jokes.

(Sorry Uncle K.)

Why Did We Have to Leave?

Re-entry into the "real" world hasn't been the easiest. It was very hard to leave the cottage behind.  Can you blame me when the view from the deck in the evening glows as golden as this?

When something as simple as a walk leads you down a lane this perfect?

Where it's ok if you knit all day long, even when you're a growing boy who only sits still long enough to eat mass quantities of food:

Where swimming is fun for everyone: Humans,

and dogs alike:

When your bed buddy is as cute as this?

Where, when the sun shines, you can't imagine why you would want to be anyplace else?

An Open Letter of Apology to Schmamadian Schnire

Dear Schmamadian Snire,

I would like to sincerely apologize for my previous letter. I was in the throes of home renovation and was feeling vulnerable and sensitive to every inconvenience. I do hope you can forgive me and that we can remain friends.

After the mis-tinted paint drama back in March, I finally got around to painting my craft studio. The Debbie Travis paint covered the walls quite nicely. I am thrilled with both the white and the green in my craft studio. It is exactly what I imagined.

You'll be pleased to know that Mr. Happy and I are doing more "sprucing up" at our house. We've stripped the 80-year-old wallpaper in our bedroom and are preparing to paint this weekend. After much hemming and hawing, we decided to paint the room with the same colour we used in the craft studio.

Today I walked over your threshold and down your hallowed aisles to stand, humbly before the paint counter.

Happily, I found a very helpful staff member who called over, "Someone who loves to mix paint." When the someone arrived at the counter, I was surprised to see the face of a teenage boy. Having worked for my parents from the tender age of mumble, mumble* I understand that some aspects of a retail job are a lot of fun.**

The young man walked with me to the Debbie Travis paint section where he asked, "Do you want to use her paint or do you want to use another base?"

I promptly replied, "Um, no. I'll use Debbie's because the last time I had this colour mixed in a different base, it turned out pink and there was a some drama trying to get it right."

He said, "oh. I think I may have heard about that."

My eyes widened and I said, "Oh dear, yes. That was me! Three cans of paint later I left with Debbie Travis.*"

The young man just smiled and headed to the counter with the base. Ahem. Apparently the new personnel at the store are learning from the fiascos of the past.

If you calibrate your paint machine; learn how to correct mistints; and be nice to your customers, they will, after a bit of whingeing come back to you. And they will be thrilled to pieces to discover their new favourite paint brand is on sale.

$7.00 off? I'm painting the whole bloody house at that price!

Thank you again, for welcoming back your prodigal daughter with open doors and lots of tempting goodies in the sale bins.***


Yours always,

Steph

*I'm sure there were labour laws broken, so let's not discuss how young I was

**For me, it was bagging the bulk chocolates.
***Why yes, I DO need a Margaritaville Frozen Cocktail maker and a set of Tinkerbell floor mats!

An Open Letter To Schmamadian Schnire

Dear Schmamadian Schnire,

Over the years I have spent many hours walking your hallowed aisles. I spent many an evening of my childhood in the "city" reluctantly trudging behind my father and brother as they combed the store for this or that. I, like many youngsters, had a bit of Schmamadian Schnire money in my wallet and used it to play "store" with my little friends... I have worn your helmets, lifejackets, snowshoes, winter boots, skates, and snowsuits.

In my adult life, I have wandered through your store wondering how all of the employees seem to disappear just when you need help carrying something or finding something or want to ask a question about a product. I have even seen 5 of your employees playing football in one aisle of the store while at least 3 families looked around helplessly in the bicycle aisle the weekend before Easter. (A little known fact: the Easter Bunny brings new bicycles in Canada)

Despite the shitty customer service I have returned time and again to buy things for my home and my car. I have saved up my Schmamadian Schnire money to put toward purchases. I even have to admit that I really enjoy a trip to Schmamadian Schnire. Like many other Canadians, I always find something I need or want at Schmamadian Schnire.

Right now, however, I'm a little disappointed.

A week ago, I purchased two cans of paint. One white, one green, and both mixed by yet another of your unhappy employees. She flipped open the lids, showed us the colours and then hammered them shut. She did not, as is generally suggested, check the colour by spreading some on the chip and drying it with a heat gun.

On Saturday, I cracked open the white paint. I started cutting in. I worried to myself, "Gee, that looks pink". It was pink.

I spent an HOUR standing at the paint counter trying to get it fixed. Exceedingly long story short and three cans of paint later, I walked out with the correct colour. Since I was already frustrated and just wanted to get going, I didn't get the boys at the paint counter to check the can of green I had brought in with me.

So tonight, almost a week later, I started cutting in what I hope will be a cheery, bright green.

I have just spread what looks like pea-soup baby vomit on my wall.

I will be in to see you tomorrow. It will not be pretty. And I really hope that hard-done-by clerk is working again this Thursday.

I will have to think about our ongoing relationship.

Yours reluctantly,

The girl who insisted on the yellow and black CCM Boy's bike in 1984.

It's Brrrrr-y Cold. Hug Me!

This morning the local CBC Radio hosts informed the listening audience that it was -15C outside and with the windchill, it was -30C. They announced some activity cancellations (no skating today for the kids in Lower Sackville. Bummer.) and then they cut to a reporter who is a friend of Mr.Happy's.

Jackie was standing outside, as she said, (and I paraphrase) "withstanding wind and snow and sleet and hail to bring you a very important story". She was charged with reporting on today being "National Hug Day".

Through chattering teeth but with her usual indomitable spirit, Jackie told us that she had already hugged 3 people - none of whom she was sure she even liked - and that she had two more people lined up for hugs. She then proceeded to hug the two strangers and ask them about their hugs. They seemed quite happy with their CBC endorsed hugs. Jackie seemed not at all freaked out by the oddness of her assignment.

I don't know about you, but I will not be snuggling up to my fellow bus commuters tonight on my way home. I'll just hug a few people here at the office and be done with it. Of course, if it gets any colder, I may have to hug a few people for warmth. Even if I don't like them.

How cold is it? Well, here's what my little remote thermometre looked like this morning:

Indoor temperature: 18.5C
Outdoor temperature: -15.3C
Difference between cozy house and the great outdoors: 33.8C
With windchill (-29C) then we're talking a 47.5C temperature difference.

Is it any wonder it was hard to leave the house this morning?

The End of the Watt Furnace Moratorium

Mr. Happy left for England a week ago tonight.

For the last week I have been sleeping in my flannie jammies in a bed layered with the following (Top to bottom)

- The feather filled comforter that once belonged to my neighbour's grandmother
- A quilt made my my grandmother - folded in half (i.e. two layers)
- A cotton bedspread - carried home from Portugal by my father only to be spotted in Sears a month later.
- A Velux blanket
- a feather duvet
- New Brunswick sheets
- Me.

I have been doing so well:

I've abandoned the house for coffee shops and longer hours at the office;

I've been eating supper and then heading to bed where I watch TV and hang out for the night ;

I've even employed the oft-overlooked "canine heating system" on Saturday night (Pippin came for a sleep-over)

I've considered putting sweaters on the houseplants;

I've drank many many cups of this*:

Tonight I started baking a batch of bread.

It was 12C inside the house.

Then I realized that the temperature was going to dip down to the freezing mark tonight, I caved; I went downstairs and turned on the furnace.

Mr. Happy and his internal radiant heating system are an ocean away.

Don't blame me. Blame him. If he was here, I might have made it.


*If you haven't already discovered this little gem, Abuelita is a product from Mexico. It's the best hot chocolate I've ever had. The package contains 6 round "cakes" that make 4 servings each. You melt the chocolate in milk... and then you slurp down ever last bit. It smells like, and even tastes like, Ganong Chicken Bones.

Cubanos, which is a hop, skip and a jump from my house, sells Abuelita. I'm predicting a run on it once the word gets out.

By the way - Abuelita falls into the "Happiness to be had for under $10" category.

One last thing

Ok, before I head off into conference land.

I have been knitting...

Projects on the go:
1. Socks for Mr. Happy - Burnt orange 6-ply Opal - the man has size 11 feet, you think I'm insane enough to use 4-ply?
2. Turtleneck shrug for moi
3. Silk scarf - for ?


Projects recently finished:
1. My dad's Christmas present. (sorry, not telling you what it is, but knitters will know - the Magic Loop ROCKS!)
2. Another Sweet Baby cap - for Tangled Skeins this time!

And I've been stashing...

...and Crap. I wanted to say something else, but I can't remember what it was.

Silly conference... sucking out all my brain cells.

Tuesday morning: I remember now!

It's time for the annual Home Heating Hold Out!

It's the yearly contest of the wills to see how long Mr. Happy and I can last without turning on the furnace. We usually give in some time in early November, when we can see our breath in the morning, and I start using the hairdryer to heat up my pants before putting them on.

Mr. Happy is heading off to the U.K. next week* and will be gone until November 1st. I'll be on my own, wearing my multiple layers of fleece and watching steam curl off my coffee in the morning.

Good times.


*Mr. Happy will be creating a "making of" video for a local musician who is recording in Dover right now.

Moose Toes*

My dad got his moose on Friday morning.

I was half expecting a toe tag on the poor guy. (kidding)

For those who are interested, it was 850 pounds, field dressed (i.e. guts removed), which means it was probably close to 950 lbs. There were 17 points on the antlers. Translation: A big bull!

I'm sure I'll hear the story of the hunt later today - now that Dad is out of the woods.

For those of you who are horrified by this photo and the idea of hunting - please know that the meat will be eaten, and not wasted.

*Looking at this photo, I can't help but think of the term "Moose Knuckles". Every time I look at the photo, I see a woman wearing her pants too tight. Ew, ew, ew, ew.

Wild and Blue

I've been a negligent blogger as of late. One would think that I had run out of stories to tell, but one would be wrong. It's been a busy couple of weeks Chez Happy - a wedding, overnight company (human and canine), water dripping into the dining room, a golf tournament, and a horrible incident with some knitting needles.

Until I'm able to sit down and fill in the details of what I've written above, Henry asked me to post the following.

While we were home visiting my dad and Ivy in St. George, NB, Henry and I popped in to see Beth - a very dear friend of ourse - at her place of business.

Beth and her husband, David own Granite Town Farms. They harvest blueberries and Beth has developed all sorts of amazing products. Henry tried to choose just one:

First, he perused the shelves of the condiments - sauces, syrups, jams, spreads...

Then he sampled the Blueberry-Raspberry spread:

It took me ages to get the blueberry stains out of his hands. Beth had to scrap the sample - it had wool bits in it!

He really liked these candles. I explained to him that they are made with natural ingredients. No artificial blueberry scent here:

He inhaled so much that he hyperventilated and started staggering around the shop. Finally, he spotted these beautiful pottery mugs:

They're made by Flo Grieg, a potter from Gagetown. Henry and I both agreed that these would be a great purchase. We're already huge fans of Beth's blueberry tea, so we decided that these would be perfect for a nice liesurely cuppa.

Thanks Beth! It was great to see you and to visit your shop. Henry sends his love.

(For those of you who are wondering - Beth's products - Granite Town Farms - are available at some local shops - I've seen some things at Jennifer's Of Nova Scotia. They do internet orders as well. If you're shopping online, I highly recommend the blueberry syrup. Your ice cream will never be the same again.)

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I went home to New Brunswick on the 26th and spent 5 nights with my Dad and Ivy. It was really nice to get home for a visit. I haven't spent more than a weekend at home in a few years, so this trip was really great.

I headed home on Thursday night (no air conditioning in our car, so it's much nicer to drive in the evening) and then Becca came to visit on Monday for a couple of nights.

So, here's a brief photo story of my time in St. George:

1. I went to a wedding.

My cousin, Brian, got married. My aunt Heather made the cake:

When I grow up, I want to be just like my Aunties. This is the same recipe that another of my aunts made for another family wedding. The cake was chocolate, with chocolate raspberry ganache and the icing was white chocolate. My aunt made the sugared pansies. They were delicious too!

2. I went to Mardens in Calais, Maine, with Becca.
We spent three hours combing through the fabric and all the other aisles. I almost made some ill-advised purchases:

3. I ate ice cream.

No trip to Calais is complete without a trip to the Irving for Ben and Jerry's. I'm not sure who I look more like: Ben, Jerry or the Cows on the container.

Don't let Becca's smug face fool you - she ate it too. See? There are two spoons.

4. We had a sleepover with my nieces... and we did pedicures!

5. I teased my father about wearing plastic shoes:

He says they are for "around the boat" but I think this retirement thing has just pushed him over the edge.

6. We went boating:

(It's just too bad that the girls didn't like Becca.)

7. I met Tozer, Becca and Troy's Norwegian Elk Hound puppy:

8. I remembered why I miss home so much:

The Big Fog Horn - A Morning Tale

Last night, when I opened my bedroom window a gentle breeze lifted the curtains like a child playing hide and seek. I went to bed at a decent hour (not easy for a night owl like me) and looked forward to waking up refreshed at 7am this morning. I fell asleep listening to the sound of the occasional car driving past the house.

This morning, I was pulled from dreamland by a persistent noise. With my bleary, nearsighted eyes, I first checked the time (5:45am) and then squinted at the window. The sky seemed bright but grey. Then the noise sounded again.

Baaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrp!

Whuzzat? Huh? I know that noise. Ugh. Fog horn, those persistent

Baaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrp!

little buggers. Surely, in this day and age there is another,

Baaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrp!

less noisy way, to warn boats of the shore. I stumbled out

Baaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrp!

of bed and shut the window. Then, I pulled a pillow

baaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrp!

over my head and tried to go back to sleep.

When I emerged from my tortured slumber an hour later, the sky was sunny and bright.

There are many perks of living so close to the harbour and then there are those early morning wake-up calls.

Running on the Ocean Foor

This weekend, in Five Islands, NS, there will be a 10km run / 5km walk to benefit the local fire department.

Why am I mentioning it here? Well, because it's the Not Since Moses Walk/Run

Again, why? Five Islands is on the Bay of Fundy and at low tide you can walk/run on the ocean floor (as long as you know the route). Having grown up on the Bay, I think this is a brilliant idea and the name of the run is so funny that I'd be willing to take it up running just so that I could participate.

Doesn't this seem like the kind of local event that will become very popular very quickly?

Thanks to Terri for pointing it out. (Pssst, if you want to see beautiful photos of the Bay, check out Terri's site.)

A Last Bit About Newfoundland

The first time I went to St. John's (3 years ago now), I knew I had to go to Signal Hill. I've been to St. John's at least once a year since, but I hadn't had the chance to go back to the Hill again until last week. It was a beautiful day, so I set off in the rental car and drove downtown.

In the spirit of she who needs no link I took my sock along to enjoy the view.


The sock was a little nervous at first. Preferring to stay inside of Cabot Tower. I think it was because someone told us that it was very windy on top of the tower.

But after some persuading, I managed to convince the sock that the she should come outside with me. What are the chances, after all, that this one small sock would get to see the North Atlantic again on such a lovely day? Well, once I talked her into going outside, I had a hard time keeping her from crawling all over the place. This is her, sitting on the ledge of the tower.

That rock you can see beyond the ledge is actually quite far away. I walked out there the first year that I went to St. John's but I didn't have the time nor the lung capacity to walk down all the stairs and back up again before I had to be back at the hotel. The sock asked if I could show this photo. There's a cruise ship sitting in the harbour.

Once we were back inside, the sock was feeling more adventurous. She got quite out of hand. The next thing I knew, she was hanging over the stairs in Cabot Tower. The cheeky bugger. She knows I don't like stairs.

After some struggle, I reeled her in and shoved her in my bag. I didn't let her out again until I was sitting in a nice sheltered spot enjoying the view. The sock was feeling shy so she missed out on this last photo op from the top of Signal Hill.

Then the sock and I headed back to the hotel. She was navigating, and although we did eventually end up back at the hotel, I think she had me taking her on a joyride. She even snapped some photos while we were driving.



She started snorting with laughter when she saw this place...



...and asked me if W. J. Murphy was any relation to Jesus Murphy. At that point, I had had enough and put the sock away for the trip home.

Next post: Things To Be Thankful For.

There's a Moose In My Lane

Back to Newfoundland we go.

Before I start telling you about the moose, I must take a moment to thank the kind people at the hotel where we stayed in Gander for providing me with the following blog fodder:

It was very considerate of them to give me the only suite left in the hotel. I also appreciated that they went to the effort to go into that suite, dirty a facecloth and leave it on the vanity for me to find. I think it is perhaps some sort of cultural equivalent to the mint on the pillow. I really and truly appreciated the sight of that facecloth b/c my first thought on seeing it was not, "Call the front desk and complain" but "Take a photo of that sucker for the blog!"

Let's just say that although I'm sure the people who work there are very nice and all, I'm just not entirely sure about the cleanliness of this hotel. Needless to say, I was so freaked out by the thought of what may be on the bedspread, that I really don't think I moved all night long. Ew, ew, ew.

Sunday morning, my coworker, T and I met up with my manager, R, who had been in the hotel for a conference since Thursday evening. I've never seen her sooooo ready for familiar human contact and the promise of the clean sheets that awaited at the H.I. in St. John's. She almost tripped over herself greeting us in the lobby.

After about 2 seconds of debate, T decided that she was too tired to drive to our outport destination and I jumped into the driver's seat. T is a very good driver, but her eyes were screaming "Please, let me just nap in peace!" We turned onto the highway and set off, each of us eager to meet the day head on.

You all remember the last post when I said that the cabby gave us the best directions ever? Well, C, our bald-headed friend on the previous night's flight had agreed with the instructions and had also given us a few words of warning.

"Watch our for moose. It's hunting season. The moose are spooked and on the move. Be careful."

Now, my father is a hunter extraordinaire. While he hasn't shot a deer in years, he is still fond of moose hunting. As a child, I was often recruited to go with my dad up to "check on the camp" in the woods and to wander around back roads looking for moose signs. It may seem about as much fun as a temporal lobotomy to some of you, but I loved hanging out with dad and tromping around in the woods. Anyway - what I'm trying to say is, I was trained from a very early age to spot moose and other wildlife at great distances. A skill that would come in handy on the trip... Erm, I guess I don't need to foreshadow this, 'cause I already told you we saw a moose.

So, the girls and I reach our turnoff (sees how I'm puttin' on me signal loight? I'm turnin' in here, me ducky) in Gambo. About 2km later, the road sign informed us that the speed limit is 40km/hr in this area.

There are moans of protest from the passenger seat and the back seat.

"We'll never make it there."

"I can't believe it's 40!"

I said something about, "Well, maybe it's 40 because of the moose."

The response?

"We're not going to see a moose. Drive faster..."

Famous last words.

We turn a corner. I see a large dark form, trotting toward us up the road a ways. I see a minivan pulled to the side of the road. I turn on my signal light and pull over to the shoulder.

"T," I say, "Get your camera."

"Stephanie," responds T, "What are you doing? We don't have time to stop for pictures."

I point ahead of us.

T's head swivels and I hear her gasp.

Then I hear this from the back seat, in a loud panicked voice, "OK, don't move, we'll just SIT RIGHT HERE." (Which was the cause of much hilarity for the rest of the trip.)

I keep repeating, "T, camera, get your camera... you're going to miss..."

The moose, who by this time had trotted closer to us, saw her exit (Sees how I'm turnin' on me signal loight?) and took it - a gravel road that led heaven knows where.

She got close enough that I could tell two things about her:
a. She was frickin' huge. i.e. she made the minivan look small.
b. She was not entirely certain of her path, but she wasn't mad (which is good, b/c mad moose = long explanation to the rental company)

After she disappeared I turned to my passengers to see their reaction. T was frozen in position - leaned slightly forward with her hands cupped over her wide-open mouth and eyes bugged out. R, in the back, was engaged in stunned shock.

Then we all started laughing.

T said, "I wondered why you were stopping. I didn't think we had time to stop for photos."

To which I replied, "Um, I couldn't really proceed, there was a moose occupying my lane!"

We continued to discuss what a bunch of city slickers we were (well, them, not me. I still like to pretend I remember my roots) when my manager came out with what could possibly be the best line of the day:

"I'll have to say, I'm just really glad we didn't see any hunters chasing it."

After wiping away my tears of laughter I said, "Um, you do know that they don't actually chase the moose on foot, right?."

The rest of the drive was rather uneventful (Well, except for me choking on a mouthful of water while driving and having to make a hasty stop on the shoulder of the TCH while a transport truck barrelled past - serves them right for discussing such inflammatory subjects with me in the car - honestly, I thought I was going to drown in the driver's seat)... but we managed to make it more interesting by ingesting lots of chocolate. Now, I know the following photo is blurry, but I think if you saw it clearly, you might be turned off your breakfast.

I like to call this photo "Carnage on the TCH" (that's Trans Canada Highway).

(BTW - we were quite lucky that this was the only moose we saw on this trip. According to the news, there was more than one car accident involving moose on the same road we travelled later that day.)

Welcome Aboard Flight 107 To Gander

Newfoundland. I've said many times before that going to Newfoundland must be something like visiting England or Australia: Everyone speaks the same language as you, but their accents are so different from your own that you start to wonder if you have a firm grasp of the English language. Whenever I'm there, I start to pick up the accent (something for which I have my many Newfie roommates to thank) and people start asking me where I'm from.

On dat note, I'd like ta share sum of da stories about me trip to da RAHk.

We knew we were off to a good start when my coworker, T and I, saw this on the way to the airport.

"We've GOT to pass it! We just have to pass it!" I said to T. Under duress, T sped up and we got closer...



and then finally, we pulled out and because the camera is slow, this is all I've got:

But it gives you an idea of how big the pumpkin was. It filled the back of the truck. I'm not sure where this pumpkin was headed, but I DO know that Thanksgiving weekend is the annual Pumpkin boat race in the Annapolis Valley - and the domestic goddess herself will be there for the race this year. Yes, that's right: Martha Stewart will be racing a pumpkin boat in the Valley this year. And the Valley is where I spend my Thanksgiving holiday!!!! But, I digress...

We flew into St. John's and had a few hours between flights. T and I headed into town for supper. On the way back to the airport, the cab driver gave us directions on how to get to the outport community that we would be visiting the next day. He was from that area, so he knew what he was talking about, but poor T could barely understand a word he was saying. I think he sensed that one of us was lost, so he DEMONSTRATED the instructions:

"Ya head down da hoi-way, as if yer goin' to St. Jahn's. Take the exit at Gambo, see hows I'm puttin' on me signal loight? I'm turnin' inta Gambo. Alroight, then, the next place we comes to is Dover. But you're not goin' ta turn in there, no my ducky, no my lovely, you're goin' ta droive raght by. You sees how I'm passin' by this exit? Sees hows I'm not turnin' in? I'm droivin' raght by."

Then, he put his foot on the brake for a stop light and the brakes screeched like someone was murdering a cat in the trunk. At this point, I was clutching T's hand in the back seat and doing my best to remember the instructions, while trying not to giggle. I have to say, though, best darned instructions ever.

We got back to the airport and I, giddy from the drive and the coffee at the restaurant, was given a once over my the securing guards. My belt buckle had set off the metal detector and the security in St. John's is nothing if not thorough. As the security guard was putting his hand around my ankle (thank you so much, cheapy zippers in my boots) I made the mistake of saying,

"Geez, I was just telling someone that I never get felt up at the airport. It's always my manager, she has a metal rod in her ankle."

I clapped my hand over my mouth when I said it, but it was too late. I'm a dork. I saw T look at me with a horrified expression on her face and then scurry out the door. The security guard who was working the X-ray machine laughed. And I'm sure they all heard me laughing as I walked away. I am such a moron. I still can't believe I wasn't put in some back room and forced to listen to a lecture on how airline security isn't a joke.

The good news is, I made it through with this...

A little while later, we were told to board our flight to GANDER. T and I walked out on the tarmac and saw a large airplane that we thought was ours. Then we saw that our fellow passengers were heading toward a very small plane with the name "Air Labrador" stencilled on the side.

This is what the plane looked like on the inside. The two gentlemen at the front are, on the left, an American tourist from the South and C, a friend of the person we were going to visit on business, who said the cabby gave us good directions.

And that's the Co-Pilot's sleeve in the photo. The co-pilot did the whole, "Welcome aboard flight 107 to Gander" complete with a Newfie accent. I half expected him to say, "Oh behalf of Jimmy and myself" instead of "On behalf of the captain and myself", but he didn't. I laughed the entire way to Gander.

If you want to see what the plane looked like Click Here and then choose the Beech 1900. Scroll down the page for a view of the passenger area.

Ok, next post, "There's a moose in my lane."

Have I Got Stories For YOU!

I'm in St. John's, Newfoundland right now and BOY, oh BOY, do I have stories for all of you!

It's been a grand adventure so far. Here are the teasers:
- the best driving directions ever, given by a cab driver, complete with a demonstration of how we should pass certain exits ("see how I'm driving past that exit? I'm not turning in, am I?") and how we should signal for the one we were to take, all done wit' a 'tick Newfie hack-cent. HE ROCKED the ROCK!
- making a joke in security at the airport (I am such a loud-mouthed DUMBASS).
- the smallest domestic passenger plane I have ever been on (I've been in a biplane, so it's not the smallest airplane, just the smallest one that also carried my luggage).
- a large moose who was "Occupying my lane"
- missed photo opportunities
- almost getting us all killed by choking on a mouthful of water while driving on the "TCH" (i THOUGHT I WAS GOING TOWARD THE LIGHT)
- eating WAY TOO MUCH CHOCOLATE
- a lot of laughter
- general bad behaviour
- knitting (I'm almost done a the bunny baby hat out of SnB Nation! - but I was chastized for knitting in the car b/c if we were to get in an accident, the needle might go through my nose and into my brain, dontcha know?)

Ok, I've got work to do. I do have some photos, I'll share them later.

Holy CRAP

Laura just sent me an email. My post about joining the picket line is now a LINK ON THE CBC LOCKOUT WEBSITE.

Holy old crap.

Scrape... scrape... thud, thud... "AHEM, Excuse me!"

That's me, pulling out my soap box. My beloved CBC is still on strike. Let me just tell you why it is my beloved CBC:

When I was in high school, I was like all the other bratty teens - listening to the local rock station, trying to fit in, complaining about my perpetual boredom, and just being a general pain in the neck. BUT every Saturday morning, my mother would drag my cranky arse out of bed, throw me in the car and take me to piano lessons in Saint John. I loved the piano lessons, but I've never been a morning person.

We would natter at each other for about 5 minutes (mostly me whining about wanting only to sleep past 9am on a Saturday and mom reminding me that how someday I would miss these mornings together - she was right about that, as she was about many things) and then mom would switch on the radio so that we could listen to CBC. We had a 45 minute drive, and my mother refused to listen to the rock stations. At first, I whined and complained... and then, then there was Arthur Black.

Arthur is the man who first made me realize that CBC was not all about stuffy guys with large thesaurus-like vocabularies. Arthur was funny. Arthur was endearing. Arthur was adventurous. Arthur expanded my imagination and perception of the world Arthur introduced me to people I would never have heard of otherwise. Arthur made me laugh out loud. Arthur made me love the CBC and Arthur gave my mom and me something to enjoy together.

After I quit taking piano lessons (after a total of 10 years and 9 conservatory exams - yoi), I started getting up on Saturday mornings to hang out in the kitchen with my mother and listen to CBC. The conversion was complete - thank you very much.

During my summer vacations while I was in university, I would often work in the office at my parents' pharmacy with my mother to cover the deposit clerk's vacation. I realize that the office we shared is smaller than the office I now work in on my own. Every afternoon, we would listen to Peter Gzowski on CBC radio 1 and in the afternoon we would listen to Vicki Gabereau.

During the school year, I discovered DNTO (Definitely Not The Opera) on Saturday afternoons. I loved it almost as much as I loved Arthur and Vicki. (Years later, I met the former host of the show, Norah Young, at a show Andrew's band played one night. I was a complete geek and had to limit myself to a quick "Love your show, I listen to it every week" so as to prevent myself from begging to sit at her table so I could talk to her about her job.)

I quickly became a CBC snob. I started watching This Hour Has 22 Minutes (I went to a taping of the show last year). I refused to answer the phone during The Vinyl Cafe on Sunday afternoons. I started listening to Finkleman's 45s on Saturday nights! I brought a radio in to my present job so that I could listen to Richardson's Roundup if I had work to do that didn't require concentration. I've even been to the local CBC morning show's annual birthday breakfast bash in Halifax (granted, it was the year that Andrew's band was playing, but still, that's dedication to get up that early!).

My CBC snobbery has reached the point that friends say, "Have you heard this song... oh, never mind, you only listen to CBC." Although I'm sometimes sad that I don't know the particular main stream (gag) song that they are talking about, I LOVE that they remember. Hello? The CBC plays CANADIAN music - i.e. my husband's band. Heck the CBC records CANADIAN music (again, my husband's band - that's album #3 - Better Weather) and televises CANADIAN music (ahem, Zed TV).

But also, the CBC is educational! Sometimes a bit too educational. Erm, maybe the kids shouldn't listen all the time - but then, private radio stations are worse - I was totally offended when I tuned in to a local radio station one morning last week. There should be a PG rating on that stuff.

Most importantly, it brings us together as a nation! EVEN THOSE OF YOU OUT THERE WHO DON'T LIKE IT! Seriously, want a controversial party discussion? Put some left wingers and right wingers in a room and ask "What do you think of the CBC?" and whoosh - it's off to the races. Almost everyone has an opinion.

Where else, but on the CBC, would the host read a letter from a woman about playing with her grandfather's prosthetic leg as a child... and have someone, two provinces away, hear the story, think it sounded familiar and then realize that it was his niece? (yes, that was me... and my uncle in Quebec). Where else, but on the CBC could you win a prize and have friends from British Columbia call your in-laws to see if it was you? (again, me)

When you see those picket lines, remember those people are looking for the same things we all want. I don't know all the logistics of the contract demands, but I don't think that job security is really too much to ask for. Darn it!

Remember I mentioned our friend who works for the CBC? Well, I found out that she started a blog about being locked out. I read her blog this morning and saw that she mentioned hockey starting in a little over a week. What do you think the chances are that the corporation will get busy trying to settle the contract in time to start airing hockey games?

When all else fails, use hockey to settle the score. It's the Canadian way.

(Oh, and gang? This blog is still my virtual "living room". Please remember that the people who work for the CBC are my friends and neighbours. If you were all at a party at my house, I doubt you would start a brawl on my living room rug.)