It's December!?

Daniel and I originate from opposite ends of the country.  Me from the East, he from the West.  The holidays over the past few years have been interesting.  There is the push and pull of old traditions and new plans. Which family do we visit? Do we venture out on our own? BC? Alberta? NS? What about New Year's Eve?


I treasure the familiarity of Christmas at home with comforting tastes and smells and visits with old friends.  I treasure it so much that last year I travelled from Ontario to Nova Scotia.  A simple and short flight turned into a 36 hours of wide-awake travel involving Porter Airlines, GO Transit and 3 Greyhound Buses. A 'Planes, Trains and Automobiles' experience.  I channelled the good humour and offbeat attitude of John Candy during the entire trip.

Somewhere in Northern New Brunswick, 3 AM on Christmas Eve 2013

I also love the thrill of trying something new and joining in other people's traditions.  It's neat to throw your expectations out the window and get on a plane to snow-less New Zealand.  Then you can have fish and chips on the beach with your new extended family on Christmas Eve before spending 3 weeks caravan-ing all over the island. 

New Zealand, Christmas Eve 2012

 

Another notable Christmas was 2010, the last winter holiday we spent unmarried.   Dan's present to me that year was a couple days away on Storm Mountain (no better name for a mountain in my opinion) where we had a cozy cabin, delicious food, and so much snow to tromp around in. He asked me to marry him. I said yes.  I liked this Christmas a lot.

This year will be different yet again.  This year we head to Vancouver to spend it with another branch of our family. There will be quite a crew of us, and there are all sorts of fun festivities planned, but as long as there is good food (there will be), excellent company (no question!) and lots of time for knitting (I'm gifting a certain someone a sweater, and I'd like to finish it), it will still feel like Christmas to me.

Nearby Nature Reserve

Entrance of Mountain Lakes Nature Reserve.  November Rain.

One of the charming parts about where we are situated in Princeton is that we are really close to a beautiful park.  The Mountain Lakes Nature Reserve.  Especially in the first few weeks of living here, when the fall colours were at their finest, I took a lot of walks through the park.  Rain or shine.


It is not a large park, but it does seem significantly removed from the rest of the town.  You always encounter people on the paths, but not so many that it seems crowded. It is nice to share such a space with other, quiet admirers.

The man-made lake of Mountain Lakes Nature Reserve

As you round the corner on one of the many trails,  you come across this sight. A large man-made lake. Originally constructed for ice harvest until it was linked to typhoid outbreak.  Now this lake is home to many Canadian geese, fish, and turtles!  When it is warmer, the turtles can be seen sunning on the brick ledge surrounding the lake.

Annual Anniversary photo. 1 month late.  Next year we'll do it in October, when it is warmer.

My most recent visit to the park was with Daniel.  It was a cold evening, with the wind stinging our cheeks. and my fingers were numb as I fiddled with my camera.  With a few false starts, a tad of bickering and by precariously balancing the camera on my backpack and a bench, we managed to get our annual "Anniversary Picture" done.   You can't really tell, but  we're holding my blackberry tablet that has last year's picture on it (and in that picture we're holding the previous year's picture, and so on).  We got this shot just in time.  Some pretty nasty clouds were rolling in.

This amazing colour is one of the many reasons I love autumn.

 Today, we got our second smattering of snow.  Tomorrow, if it sticks around I am going to see how it looks sprinkled like icing over the trees and trails.

A Canadian Walks into a Massage Parlour...

... and almost doesn't walk out.

When we entered the 3rd week without our worldly belongings in our new place, we were still champs about the whole thing.  I had mastered a few meals without any of our kitchen tools, the 3 outfits we each brought were in constant rotation, audiobooks are the main form of entertainment in the house.

Just because we are champs, doesn't mean that we are immune to suffering and the days of sleeping on the floor had finally taken its toll on my back. I had done everything possible to strengthen and stretch my panicked muscles, but it was a losing battle.  Daniel that suggested I stop trying to suffer through it, and go see someone about it - namely, to go and get a massage.  So, get a massage I did.

There is an Indian restaurant below the business, and  as you make your way up the stairs,  the lovely, spicy smells of tikka masalas and vindaloos follow you. 

I've been spoiled the past few years and have gotten used to my local spa that warms the massage bed with heated blankets, keeps the lights down low and lets me choose what kind of scented oil they use.  This place was nothing like that.

I was greeted at the door and directed to a small table behind some curtains. It was a small, but pleasant and clean space.  As I lay down on the cold (but sturdy) table, wrapped in a towel, the masseuse came in, and I told her where it hurt.  There was a language barrier, but we understood each other.  She got to work.

And so began the longest 60 minutes of my life.

You know every movie that has a comedic scene that involves a massage?  Well, that is what it would have looked like to an observer.  I flailed like a fish out of water as I was pummelled, stepped on and sat upon (yes, she massaged me with her butt).  There was more then one time that I cried out and literally tapped the table to call "Uncle!".  Each time, this would be the response:
Masseuse: "Pain?"
Me: "Yes! Pain!"
Masseuse: *pats part in pain* "Ah, good pain."
...and then she would continue.

In the end, I was able to walk out with most of my body still functional.  I didn't feel worse (which was surprising) but I'm not sure if it was better.  Was it worth the money, time and the anxiety of not being sure if I would ever walk again?  Hmmm... undecided. One thing I know for sure, I'm going back for that delicious smelling Indian food.

Our Apartment Tour

View of living room from kitchen

Dan and I have made a big change.  We've moved from a 200 year old,  4 bedroom, 3 story home to a brand new apartment that is about 720 square feet.

Right now it still feels very spacious, and that is because none of our furniture, clothing, or art has arrived.  It's really beautiful, and there is loads of potential. I daydream about where the couch will go, and where I will hang some of our favourite paintings and photographs.  Right now it is still a bare canvas, and that is okay for now.

Everything is brand new.  The fridge doesn't leak,  the ceiling in the shower is at a normal height and we don't have to crouch, all of our windows have screens and the tap handles at the kitchen sink are all intact.  We loved our old place with all of its quirks, but we're certainly enjoying the novelty of things that work.

The kitchen.  We have a dishwasher!   "I'm never washing another dish IN MY LIFE" -Dan

There are lots of great things about this place.  The apartments and townhomes were all built to LEED Silver certification.  That means that it was constructed and furnished with high effeciency in mind.  We won't have to put shrink plastic on the windows this winter!

Our location is exceptional.  We're close to downtown, the YMCA,  a nature reserve, and a CarShare operation.

We welcome guests and visitors to our humble abode!  But maybe wait a week or so before you come visit, and then we won't have to fight over the one chair. 

In a few weeks, look forward to a better tour when we're properly moved in.  I'll have my camera back, and the pictures will show it off much better than cell phone pictures.

Makeshift Bedroom

Thanksgiving in a Strange Land

I've been impressed with myself with how I'm adjusting to a new place, a new country - until yesterday.

Thanksgiving is my favourite holiday. When not with family, I've been known to corral anyone I can into our house and stuff them with turkey and roasted vegetables. This was the first year Dan and I were truly on our own for this holiday.  Normally this small thing would not stop me from bustling around the kitchen, cooking enough food to feed 30 people.  Normally I have all manner of cooking tools at my disposal: spoons, spatulas, baking trays, saucepans, meat thermometers, garlic peelers/crushers and turkey basters. Right now our kitchen houses a casserole dish and a slotted spoon.  I thought about how we could make McGyver a turkey dinner - it involved a very small turkey and boiling vegetables in the sink - but it just wasn't feasible.

I did a little bit of moping, and was preparing myself for my first peanut-butter-and-jam-sandwich-Thanksgiving-dinner when I got an email to snap me out of my sulky mood. My mother emailed me money and said "Happy Thanksgiving.  Go out for dinner" and Daniel had already been researching possible places we find turkey dinner. My people know me well.

As it turned out, we never did find a turkey dinner, but we did have a really nice meal (complete with leftovers!) So this Thanksgiving I'm thankful for new opportunities, family, friends... and the very best enchiladas.

Saturday Morning Team Cleans

Don't think this is tidy? I should have taken a "before" shot.

When I was younger, I would be woken up at the ungodly hour of 9:30 in the morning by having our eardrums attacked with the blaring music of Laura Smith.  My brother, sister and I haaaaaaated her music for years afterward (sorry Laura) because it was the tool my parents rouse us for our Saturday morning team clean-ups.  There is nothing more unpleasant than an acoustic and soulful version of "My Boooooonnie lies oooooooooooooooover the ocean...."  at 500 decibels. Nothing.

After we stumbled down the stairs to turn down the tunes, A checklist would be presented for each of us to get done before we enjoying the rest of our weekends.  If we were lucky, we would be able to claim our chores of a master list.  If you got to choose your own, we would fight over (sweeping and washing the stairs was a favorite for some reason). If you weren't quick enough, you'd be stuck with washing the compost bucket or dusting.

Years and years later - the memory of these mornings are still there, but the hatred of the tasks (and the music) has certainly subsided.  I'm in charge now, and cleaning is now almost a therapeutic part of my week.  It also helps that if I really don't want to do something - no one can make me.

Now it feels so good to put together a list or chores, and check them off one by one.  If I have done something that wasn’t on the list – I always put it on afterward so that I have the joy of checking or crossing it off.   After all is said and done – I always feel so satisfied with myself and my surroundings.   I’m pretty sure my breathing and heart rate slow, and I feel instantly lighter and happier. 

This picture captures one of those intensely gratifying moments – the calm after the storm. I had cleaned like  a whirling dervish would, took a break, relaxed and was struck by this pretty sight.  “I live here.”

Hey Mr. Bagel Man, Bake a Bagel for Me

There is small shop by our house that is only open on Friday and Saturday mornings. Every Saturday morning I wake up and following the warm doughy aroma down the street to Sunshine Bagel. Made only with flour, salt, sugar and water, they are fresh, hot and the best tasting breakfast you could hope to have on a Saturday morning on your way to the market.

The man who makes the bagels is a little crusty. You can never be sure what kind of mood he is going to be in, but you can always be sure that the bagels will be delicious.

It is an honor system for paying for the bagels.  You walk in, fill up your bag, and then leave money on the table by the door and take your change.  He is too busy making bagels to worry about you and money.

There was a brief period where he thought he was going to have to close up shop.  His lease was up - and "they" were going to raise the rent.  While the bagels are delicious, and he almost always sells out - I don't think he is making a lot of money in the bagel business.  Every Saturday I would walk to his bagel bakery, nervous that there would be "CLOSED" sign on the door.  Every week, I was relieved. 

It's been a few months now, and there is good news! Our neighborhood bagel bakery isn't going to be taken away from us anytime soon, and I think that Mr. Bagel man is getting a little less crusty as a result.