What’s Cooking?…crazy different family recipe.

Potato Salad is a family favourite.  Summer Salad.  It reminds me of hot summer days sitting at a picnic table in a forested campsite or a scorched backyard making the most of shamefully short Canadian summers.  Hamburgers and hot dogs on the Bar-B-Q, a huge, flowery plastic table cloth held in place with colourful clamps covered the wooden table where one had to fling one’s legs over the bench and swivel around to a hard-won eating spot.

A summer necessity

The loaded table groaned under bowls of salads, Bicks pickles, buns, paper plates and a basket filled with condiments; ketchup, mustard, S&P, napkins and utensils.  Kids ran around with water balloons.  Maybe a super slider splayed out on the lawn with water running from a garden hose provided extra slippery fun.

A giant bowl of my Mom’s potato salad always had a prominent spot.  I like to make it according to her rather loosey-goosey recipe; plain and simple, no measuring.  The only thing I have changed over the years is I now use hoity-toity, Dijon/chardonnay gourmet mustard rather than the plain, old French’s.

I’m up for pretty much anything when it comes to food.  We live in a culture that resonates with traditional, Mexican food.  Food is a delightful adventure.

But when it comes to potato salad, I like it like my Mom’s and so does Mr. Wonderful and Son #1 and #2.

When we visited Mr. Wonderful’s brother and his lovely espouá on Vancouver Island while on our marathon vacation across western Canada last summer, we tried something different – crazy different.  Their potato salad had an interesting flavour; I didn’t think much about it until SIL Wonderful asked, “do you like blue cheese?”  “Well not exactly, although my sons do.” I responded.  “There is blue cheese in the salad,” she said.  “and bacon.”

Gasp!  Blue cheese and bacon?!….in POTATO salad!  Ok, bacon, yes, I can go there but blue cheese?  After the initial shock, we admitted we certainly did like it and we really liked the bacon.  I put that silly notion in my back pocket and we returned home.

Last week, (yes, it took a year) we bought a package of blue cheese and decided to give the blasphemous rendition of potato salad a try on our own.

It was fabulous.  I made a fairly large batch and split it into two so we could experiment.  We tweaked the amount of blue cheese (it’s sticky so “crumbling” is a bit tricky) and loaded in crispy bacon bits.   We think we have the amount of cheese pegged, not too much as to overwhelm and just enough to give it that strong mouldy, gross flavour that is so good.

We have friends coming over for dinner next week.  We’ll see how they like it.  But I’ll tell them there is blue cheese in it first.

 

I’m Retired Too

I have been holidaying in Powell River, BC since 1984. My brother moved there then and my parents a couple of years later. In the days when all I could afford was vacations with Family (and I thank them profusely), we would travel to visit where we could.
There was always lots of laughs, lots of love and occasionally a few heartaches.
Every time I would travel there, I would visit Cranberry Pottery. They were a couple of hippies in round, wire glasses and her in granny dresses that fled the “Establishment” in the 60s to throw pots. Years later they became a significant employer in the neighbourhood. At their peak they employed 11 potters. I guess when one starts to be responsible for others’ livelihood, one becomes part of the Establishment.
I loved the place. I started collecting a pattern called Glass Iris in about 1985. With each visit I pick up another piece. I have acquired quite a collection. Each piece represents a wonderful time I had with lots of laughs and love with family. I can’t remember which peice was bought when, all I know is they were each bought with some members of my family in tow.
My brother has come to accept a visit to Cranberry Pottery is part of the rounds when I come to visit.
I have pruned a few pieces that I never use and have the rest of my collection neatly packed away in our Jalisco Jauler ready to live a new life in Mexico.
Imagine my surprise when, on my last visit as a resident Canadian, I noticed a sign at the desk saying “For Sale – Cranberry Pottery (we want to retire)”.
I spoke with the little lady who is one of the original potters, and we talked about my collection and how funny we thought it was that we are retiring together.

My pattern at Cranberry Pottery

A Last and a First

December 14th was our last day at work. Life as we know it is forever changed. That is a photo of my desk, personal items packed neatly in a box, lights out, ready for the next occupant in my job. I was strangely melancholy when I said a final good-bye to my workmates. But not for long! We still had so much to do before the movers were to arrive the next morning.
My boss let me go at noon after an exit interview. I gave him a big hug and was off. Mr. Wonderful and I went out to lunch and I was as giddy as a school girl. I excitedly told the server that we just retired. It felt magical.

We spent Saturday loading our trailer. On Sunday we travelled to Calgary for our last visit with the Mexican Consulate. We were awarded our Residencia Permanente visas. It is a sticker on a page in our Canadian passports. My photo is dreadful. There was no warning or “smile” before she took it. I don’t care, it’s in there and I am now officially a wanna-be Mexican.

Monday was our first day of retirement. I got up early at Son #2’s downtown condo with a view of the Calgary skyline. I sat quietly with my coffee while my son and husband slept. I waited for my boy to wake up and get ready for work so we could say good-bye. I watched the lights of the city come to life and all those folks getting ready to go to work.
I whispered out loud: “neener, neener, neener”.

A fire and a bath

I did two things last weekend I haven’t done in years.  Lit a fire in the fireplace and took a bath.

Actually Mr. Wonderful did the lighting.  I sat there and watched.

We cleaned out several drawers of file folders last week amassing a large pile of documents that were about to hit the shredder.  If we would have been on top of all that filing and culling old files we wouldn’t have amassed such a giant heap.  My little shredder only takes about 6 pieces of paper at a time, so it was rather overworked. I had to let it cool down a few times.  Plus I had several bags loaded and tightly packed with shredded paper.  He looked at the pile, and said:  “Why don’t we light a fire and burn it?”  Excellent plan.  Let’s do that and where were you with your bright idea 2 hours ago?

This will be the first time we have lit a fire in our little rental house since we moved in 2 years ago.  Our previous houses had gas fireplaces which are way more functional and not as messy as a wood fire. However there is nothing like a nice, wood fire especially over the Christmas season.  We poked the wood and heaped on stacks of paper and drank eggnog.  We still have lots of paper left so will be doing it again next weekend.  We have a huge fireplace in Casa Luna de Miel.  It will be nice to light it in the winter as the evenings can get chilly.  We have neither heating or air conditioning.

The other thing I did was have a bath.  I went through all the stuff I have in the bathroom cupboards.  I created a “keep” pile and a “toss” pile.  We don’t have a bathtub in Casa Luna de Miel, so I thought I would take a bath.  Maybe I’ll miss having a bath if I actually can’t have one.  I don’t have smelly bath oil stuff.  The clear glare of the water had a magnifying effect making me look like the Michelin man.  Don’t look down!

I used a foot scrub with shea butter and “dead sea minerals”.  Really?  Minerals from the Dead Sea are in that bottle of stuff I bought at Winners for $2?  How could one tell if that is really minerals from the Dead Sea or just sand from any old gravel pit?  And what possible difference would it make even if it was from the Dead Sea?  Important points to ponder while laying in a puddle of water. I put a “mask” on my face; the stuff that dries solid after leaving it on for a few minutes.  I looked at the water and realized why I’m not a bath person, besides the whole puffy spare tire thing.  I had to have a shower after the bath to wash my skin off from all the ikky stuff floating around.

The “toss” pile got bigger.  I’ve been trying to scale the pile to a manageable amount that will fit in a shoe box.  It’s a challenge.  Since I stopped wearing make-up most of the time, I haven’t been buying all that stuff.  I think my skin has actually become softer and clearer.  How ironic; I spent decades and thousands of dollars fussing over products to make my skin softer and clearer only to get the desired effect after I stopped.  None of that pile of stuff in the picture has been used.  I have no idea when I bought it all.

I got all my bathroom crap  stuff into a manageable box; yes, bigger than a shoe box, marked “bathroom articles”.  After I retire I will have time to use those fancy toe separators when I give myself a pedicure.  We’ll see.  Perhaps I should have another fire.

Pack by Numbers

Yes, that is our storeroom with boxes piled to the ceiling.  It is now about 4 months since that picture was taken.  I can see the leaves on the trees outside the window.   A lot of that pile of boxes has been culled out and reboxed into a much smaller pile of numbered boxes, with contents loosely listed and valued on our maneje de casa; a list of household goods.  We have presented the list to the Mexican consulate for verification.  They will issue a permit so we can import our goods into Mexico without any import duties or fees.  It is a one time thing for immigrants to take household goods into the country.  We are up to box number 22 and counting.  I expect only one or two more.

Boxes are described as “decorative items” or “kitchen wares” for example and valued at garage sale prices.  We certainly know how much, or rather how little goods are worth second hand with our experiences trying to sell stuff.

And that is Son #2’s pick up loaded with a large amount of the crap good stuff that came out of the storeroom.

We are left with whatever we will be taking with us.  I have a few boxes of small, knick-knack type things.  I will be taking them to a nice lady named Odette.  She volunteers at a second hand store here in our little mountain town where the proceeds are donated to the neonatal unit of the local hospital.  They have done pretty well by me.  I told you about the never ending saga of my downsizing here and here.

The last item to sell was my Explorer and I sold it over this weekend.  I owned it for about 11 years.  A nice young man bought it.  He understood it had been well looked after and appreciated the file folder of repair and maintenance records I gave him.
We took our Jalisco Jauler out on Saturday.  We practised backing up into a “stall” in the unused area of the parking lot at the mall.  Mr. Wonderful replaced the manual electric brake control for the trailer with a proportional control that he is much happier about.  I failed miserably at hitting the mark of the white lines.  I was too embarrassed to take a picture.  I proudly drove it home and got a feel of what it will be like to have the trailer on behind.  Very soon it will be filled with boxes numbered and mapped according to our maneje de casa.

I have my clothes whittled down to one large box.  I am getting out a large suitcase today to pack clothes other than day to day garments.  I will take a smaller case to drag into hotel rooms and family visits.  We will be living out of a suitcase for 3+ weeks.

My work clothes will be thrown out bit by bit with glee in the last week of work.  I can hardly wait.

Names like Tinker and Peso

We, or rather I, am anxiously awaiting the time when we can adopt a dog.  I have had doggie envy for years.  I regularly peruse the local Lake Chapala webforums where I glean all kinds of information about Lakeside living.  They have a section called “Paws, Claws, Fins and Feathers” where they list dogs and cats that have been rescued for a variety of reasons and are ready to be adopted to a “forever home”.  There are many.  And every time I sit there longingly looking at the pictures.  I’ll show them to Mr. Wonderful, who always says; “Our dog will be there when we get there, Sweetie.”  He is very proud of his ability to be a pack leader.

The other day a Newfoundland puppy was up for adoption.  Mr. W. owned a Newfie named PJ in the past and loved him lots.  The picture was of “Major” laying on the floor looking up with giant, puppy eyes Right at ME!  I had hopes he would not be attractive to adopt because he is so big and still be there in January.  Seems like a nice family of dogs have adoted him….sigh.

Major is a nice name for a big dog.  My sister had a family in her distant past, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, who owned a Newfie.  He had soft, wavy black fur and was wonderfully friendly.  My little brother and I loved that dog.  One Sunday when we were kids and all cleaned up for dinner at this “important” family’s house, we were supposed to be on our best behavior, which was torture.  That dog was our escape from the stuffy ambience.  His name was Tinker.  All things considered, he did suit the name.

Names are funny.  I am reading a book about writing poetry, “poemcrazy” by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge.  She told the story about a juggler with “twizzle sticks”.  The sticks came from China where they are named “devil sticks” or “flower sticks”.  With each name one can conjure up evil weapons slicing the air and a nasty clang when they drop on the floor or graceful wands drawing daisies in the air.

Names and words can be very powerful.  I have grown accustomed to my name, after a lifetime of resistance.  I always wanted to be a Vanessa or Rachel; something elegant and sophisticated and maybe just a bit sexy.  My name has a harsh sound; Carol.  I think it’s a tomboy name, so I guess I suit it.  Some people pronounce it “care-rel”  and some “cahr-rul” and those with a Spanish or Scottish accent; “catt-el”…mooo.

It was a popular name in the 50s, like Donna or Linda.  There were several of us Carols/Donnas/Lindas in school.  I don’t hear of anyone naming their daughter Carol these days.  Perhaps after a couple of generations, it will regain popularity, like Sarah or Emma.  Now, parents want something “unique”, either the name or the spelling and apparently don’t care about the negative repercussions the child may suffer throughout it’s life.  I heard recently one family named their daughter “Female” pronounced “Fah-mah-lee”, poor kid.  Some people name their kids/dogs because of the popularity of the word, or some celebrity’s say so, not the fit of the child’s personality.

My parents didn’t give much thought to our names.  I was named for Carol Channing.  I was a bit early for Carol Burnett, thank goodness.  I can’t imagine hearing Carol Burnett’s Tarzan yell associated with me while growing up.  They named my sister after a nice neighbour my mother thought was beautiful.  We call my sister by her second name.  It has a soft, smooth sound like a gentle, wispy breeze.  It suits her.  My brothers all have strong, timeless names.  They are all strong, cool guys.  My paternal grandfather’s name was Rugglass.  They called him Rugg for short.  He was a popular, successful pillar of the community.  He put his children through post secondary education in a time when that was virtually unheard of.  I doubt he was ever walked on.  He lived to 93 years old, so a strange name doesn’t always mean a tortured, short life.

We will wait until we bring our dog home to name it.  We’ll teach it to “speak” English and give it a Mexican name.  One lady, Mexican Trailrunner,  named her newly adopted dog Peso.  He will give her his life in gratitude and unconditional love and cost her a lots of pesos or a little.  Either way, I’m envious.

New Shirts

I have a gorgeous husband.  He is tall, fit and handsome.  At 6’4″ he takes a size Xtra large shirt.  He has broad shoulders and a big chest from years of working out and lifting weights.  He does not have the big belly usually associated with a man wearing an XL shirt.  He has always had to tuck in the blousing fabric of the shirt into his pants like a sail without any wind.

My sons live in a downtown condo in the City where they have befriended the resident dry cleaner/custom shirt and suit maker.  He is a delightful Vietnamese fellow.  Huey is meticulous about the quality and fit of the shirts he makes.  My boys have many Huey Lam shirts and are quite fussy about the fit of any other of their shirts now.  As they look in the mirror wearing something else: “Hmmm, this isn’t a Huey shirt”.

Huey took several measurements of Mr. Wonderful, made a template that he tried on on our next visit and voila!  5 custom made shirts, a perfect fit, excellent quality fabric and workmanship.  They are all short-sleeves, so will be ideal Mexican shirts.

This lavender colour was my pick.  It’s my favourite.  It is almost the same colour as the dress I wore when we married.

Life is good.

Stress?…what stress?

I was at my dentist recently.  I was telling him my teeth were particularly sensitive.  He asked if I grind my teeth to which I replied; not any more.  It is a stress response I had years ago and I think I am cured.  His general thought is the cause of sensitive teeth is grinding.  My Sensodyne toothpaste has made a difference for me.  So, why the continued sensitivity of my teeth, I asked.  How much stress are you under, he asked.

I laughed.  What in my life could possibly be stressful?  I am happily married, financially independent, have a no stress job and have great relationships with my kids and pretty much everybody else in my life.

I am retiring in a month, moving to a foreign country where I don’t know the language, culture or currency.  I will have very few of my belongings where I retain an identify with my life.  What can possibly be stressful?

The job I have focused on for the last few years will be gone; the job of learning from anyone who writes anything online about retiring and moving to Mexico will be over.  I will truly be without any type of function where I have received a reward, either financially and/or for my ego.   Everything from December on will be fuzzy, touchy-feely kinds of things.  Things that will make me feel good.  What about the stress, dammit!  How am I supposed to function in a world where every day I will wake up to and be able to do whatever I want in a place where the weather is always beautiful?

Gee, maybe I do have a stress issue.  Along with my sensitive teeth, I haven’t been working out lately.  I have put on 10 pounds.  That makes me very upset and I refuse to buy bigger clothes.  Pretty soon I’ll have to wear yoga pants to work, for petessake!  I get coldsores on my mouth when I’m stressed.  Last weekend I broke out with three of the dreadful things.

Ok, maybe more than a bit of stress.  It is time to take a cold hard look at how I am dealing with this.  Every day, at work people come to me and ask “how many days?” to which I have a ready response and a big, stupid grin.  I have written the countdown on my calendar on the wall in my office.

I cannot let this overtake my regular rhythm.  My usual way of handling day to day life that has been high jacked by my future.  Even as wonderful a future as I am looking forward to.

This morning I read a post from Mr. Money Moustache.  Bless that boy.  He offers a lifestyle that is free of the typical, stress inducing trappings of our consumer driven society and tips on how to live a greater, happier life in spite of it.  My son is a subscriber and has learned lots from him, too.  MMM, as he is fondly referred to, has very thoughtful, like-minded readers so the comment section is filled with relevant, added value discussions.  His post and the commenters offer a variety of different methods of dealing with stress, no matter the cause.  Even with a situation where I am looking to the future of bedazzlement and fulfillment with fear and trepidation, I have to keep my head and not freak out about this.

I guess for me, the recognition something is wrong with the space I am occupying at the moment, physically and emotionally will be enough.  I want to get back on track, relax and shake off this funk.

My future awaits.

Blizzards

Monday morning.  It is dark when I go to work now.  I leave my house just before 8.  It takes me less than five minutes, unless there is a train blocking the crossing.  This morning there wasn’t one.  Zip, zip and I’m there.  Way better than when I commuted to work in the City and was stuck in traffic for 30 minutes in the dark, on a good day.

Today, here in this little mountain town, life is simpler than in the City and now with the onset of winter; darker.  We haven’t had any real snow, none that has lasted more than 24 hours.  It will be winter for the remainder of our time in Canada.  I’m hoping for the “real” winter to hold off as long as possible.

I spoke with my sister yesterday.  She thought I should wish for cold and nasty winter weather so I won’t have any issues with leaving.  Not to worry; my entire life has been half winter.

I recall one particular blizzard when I was a kid growing up in Saskatchewan.  I stood looking out our front room window watching the snow blow horizontally across the yard.  It was dark, so what I really noticed was just below the window where the lights shone.  In summer that was where my mother’s flower bed was filled with tall tiger lilies.  When they bloomed with bright orange blossoms it was like a wild fire blazing across the top of the plants.  Now, a tall white snow bank was piling up below the window.  At the apex, snow snaked back and forth like the back of a lizard lumbering across a sand dune.  I always thought that’s how blizzard got the name; it’s like a lizard…true story.

I expect I will occasionally miss the spring and summer here.  Although, when we endure such hard winters, maybe we are so desperate for spring anything above zero is revered.  In that no man’s land of late winter, the snow is dirty and hard and the crows are hungry and squawking, picking at any garbage left out.  When the weather hints at spring, we run outside in shirtsleeves, smiling, the entire community breathes a collective sigh.

I have family living on the Sunshine Coast of BC.  The weather there is almost like a rain forest.  My brother and sister-in-law moved from the prairies to the coast many years ago.  She misses the drama of the changing of the seasons on the prairies.  Spring is our favorite season; warm sun, green grass, new flowers, and fruit trees blooming.  We gleefully note the day the first robin is spotted.

The weather around Lake Chapala is the top reason we chose the area.  I told you about the weather.  I expect it is the same reason for many folks who live there.  It is like spring all year round.  It is called Lake Chapala, the Land of Eternal Spring.

I look forward to trying to figure out the growing seasons and what and when to plant with year round opportunities.  I expect to spend many years learning.  There is an active gardening club that I plan to join.  We have their book.

Sunday morning at just before 8, in my jammies with a coffee, I was googling Zone 10 and 11 fruit trees.  I want to grow a pear tree or two.  I learned it takes a long time for a pear tree to bear fruit.  One should buy as large a tree as one can afford.  It will take about five years for it to bear pears.

I will learn patience and lovingly tend my pear trees in that eternal spring.  I will never again have to drive to work, just before 8, through a blizzard in the dark and I’m okay with that.

Poem

Well, for those of you that don’t know (because I have been telling everybody I see), I submitted a poem I wrote in the creative writing class I took last year, to the Ojo del Lago.  The Ojo (The Eye of the Lake) is a free monthly publication marketing goods and services to the expat population around Lake Chapala.  Mr. Alejandro Gratton-Dominguez, Ojo del Lago’s editor-in-chief,  emailed me back and said he liked my poem and would publish it.  In September’s issue on page 43, there it is!  I love the graphic he used as well.  I am an internationally published poet!  Who knew?!

Many thanks to Mr. Gratton-Dominguez!  I am tickled pink!

Taaa Daaaa…..