Life's a Stitch

That's what I learned on my last day of work. And you can't expect to leave without tears. It was hectic right to the end, so although I have handed my office over to my wonderful replacement, I have a few hours to do from home.

The celebrations were lovely, a community reception and dinner with the family, staff and members of the board. So many good memories.

An appropriate gift:

The retirement speech:

Download Retirement speech-3

Chuck tries his comedy routine at the restaurant, Anatoli Souvlaki:

My favourite pictures. Auntie Mari and Rye and one at the dinner:

I was asked what I wanted for a retirement gift. I decided on one that's practical, to be used on a regular basis, but keep-sakey, something I couldn't lose, an item that could be passed down in the family someday, and preferably something vintage that can continue it's life happily in our house. Try filling those requirements!

Here it is, my giant Danish silver serving spoon from 1880. It was probably a gift for a silver wedding anniversary. Coincidentally one set of initials engraved on the back for that event were the same as my Dad's and the date was on my birthday, March 15th.

Now on to the next phase!

 

All I can say is I'm relieved our trek on the Camino is over three months away because that will give me plenty of time to lose this footwear. This new boot has better grip than my last one, perfect for an invitation to join friends for a day on the water.

I know, I know, all you long term readers of this blog have that look of incredulity as you realize what this means. I have gone for a matched set of ankle fractures. This time is more convenient, however, being on my left non-driving side.

I'm as dumbfounded as you, embarrassed even. How am I going to show my face at work with yet another encased leg? Especially considering the way it happened. Not a hiking/geocaching accident for a change. I would have been safer hiking as I'm extra careful, considering my previous misfortune, wearing a brace and using hiking poles. Nope, this time was walking on a sidewalk of paving bricks, rolling my ankle over the side of a brick one way, and the rest of me going the other, landing quite disgracefully on my side. I knew instantly it was broken, having felt the telltale snap.

Camino training has come to a standstill, so to speak. It's a good thing it happened now, because my Camino will require extra precautions with the security of braces on both ankles.

I'll just come right out and say it. I have an issue as a chair rescuer. You know those chairs, left at the end of the driveway with a hand written free sign taped to the back? When it comes to those, I have very little resistance, but only for ones that aren't upholstered or need little attention. My history includes amongst others: pub chairs, a rattan rocker, and a set of the blue plastic classroom variety.

In recent years I met someone else with the same problem. She even has a blog, a place to display her finds. C is annoyed that she has legitimized my habit. But the truth is, I've had this for a long time, prior to my husband as a matter-of-fact. 

Here are my two recent finds:

We've placed this one at 21-40 years old, probably one of the first official Panton chair knockoffs. B commented that it cups his butt perfectly.

I found this one on Mother's Day after our hiking/geocaching/picnic outing, where an annoying dog, bolted out of nowhere, jumped in my lap and stole my sandwich. Granted, it was an off leash area and it wasn't as annoying as the number of full poop bags we encountered abandoned by the side of the trail. Back to the chair. This one, an Ikea Poang was left at a bus stop. 

Looks like a comfy knitting/crocheting spot and where I might park my New Wave afghan when it's finished. 

The chair pictures were taken after wrestling the foam out of the cover, washing it and completing round two of the wrestling match. And it still needs an ironing. A lot of work for a chair that only costs $89 new. I guess it's the thrill of the hunt that makes it so addicting.

One day down and 13 to go on round two of treatment for H Pylori. I was one of the lucky 20% who don't respond to the first go at medication for this crazy infection. This regimen requires 22 pills per day, 20 being antibiotics with all the associated side effects. Once again no alcohol, but worse for me is the limitation on dairy foods. Cheese is my staple.

I've got it figured out, though. Meds are to be taken six hours apart, no dairy allowed two hours prior or after. If I have to get up in the middle of the night for meds anyway, might as well make it work for me. Setting my alarm for a 4:30am dose lets me have opportunities for cheese or yogurt with each meal. 

As always creativity equals comfort. Last night included pain-free knitting. I'm realizing that European style knitting is harder on the thumb joints and gave myself a break knitting simple Mistaken Rib stitch in the North American way.

The past Saturday painting session subject was something a little bit different:

 

 

For many years our house was female dominated. Two girls, one boy, C and I. Alas, the girls have grown up and moved away while B has moved back in, bringing with him one full time suite mate and sequential male visitors. At times I feel like a fraternity mother. 

The plus side is they like to cook. Forgoing the gas grill, they prefer the charcoal fueled Weber Smokey Joe. Omar assumes the role of head chef:

He comes with the added benefit of being a real pastry chef. Carmel sauce for the cherry apple crumble:

Ashley is the bartender. Being a frat house means occasional excessive drinkage on party nights. At least they are not driving. Enough said:

This night's menu included barbecued chicken: 

Veal roast:

And yummy dessert:

I miss my girls but being the frat house mom can have its benefits.

 

When C walks in the door in five hours or so he will be officially retired. The party's been had, the speeches done, the gifts received, his working career is over in a nice way. He is ready. Not sure I am, but we have exciting times ahead. 

He has worked the past 17 years in the office at a shipping terminal. The day he got his job his horoscope read "Your ship has come in." Now, on his last day, a new ship is scheduled to arrive in port. It's name? The Santiago. I guess his ship has come in as retirement planning includes a trek on the Camino de Santiago. His work has ended, bring on the next phase!

The party was on Friday night:

The gift presented above, is a frame with pictures taken of us at the company Christmas Party this year. One of the best pictures ever of us and one of the worst. I'll share the good one:

What makes it nice is that it exists. C REFUSES to have his picture taken by photographers, having ruined, with a frown or a silly face, what would have been nice shots. Blogless Marsha can attest to this as she has witnessed this behaviour on many a cruise ship. In this one, however, he is truly happy. He was probably thinking about retirement.

Now it's my turn. T minus 32 days and counting.

 

Remember those, you long term knit bloggers? Sandy doesn't appear  to be blogging, but the Saturday Sky is her legacy. In her honour here's a Saturday sky taken last week near Pitt Meadows, on our way back from the six mile mini trek around Barnsten Island.

Located in the middle of of British Columbia's Fraser River, Barnsten has a population of 155 and relies upon a cute little free ferry-on-demand. One side of the island is noisy, from the nearby lumber mill across the water, the other is pastoral. There's a cranberry farm, dairy, cattle ranch, a large herb farm and two places to picnic. My vote is to return, C's is otherwise. 

The previous Saturday, I snapped this guy scanning his sky over Bellingham, WA's Lake Whatcom.

is another's painting subject:

That one took a long time to paint. Don't know why. But I'm happy with it. On the knitting side, my Occupational Therapist made me a teensy weeny custom thumb splint which will hopefully allow some pain-free knitting.

It's official, I've lived over half my life in Canada – 50.4% of my life has been based north of the 49th parallel. Oh the differences! Spelling, pronunciation, math, taxes, medical systems, all in all it's worked out well for us. Taxes and social security benefits might be higher in the US, education and medical costs are lower in Canada. It probably evens out in the long run and I'm quite happy to be here.

The only exception is when the bottom drops out of this darn Canadian dollar. Now I know why they call our dollar the loonie. There was a time while living in Canada that we had mortgage payments in the US and $600 meant $1014 out of our Canadian paycheque (paycheck). The pendulum has never swung the other way to that extent. The best I remember is when that $600US turned into $540CDN. Today's dollar puts a bottle of Trader Joe's two buck Chuck, which is really $2.99, at 3.88 loonies.

How to tie this in to knitting and painting? It makes the cost of yarn and art supplies prohibitive.  Luckily I stocked up on both under better currency circumstances, in that preretirement period of binge spending. The "I'm buying it now because I won't be able to afford it in retirement" phase. But the flip side of that is the ability to spend more time turning that spending into income. Here's painting I finished on Monday and sold today:

I've been offered a spot in a gallery in Bellingham, WA. Now that will be a good deal – Canadian landscape, US dollars. At least this year. 

The title is the recipe for the best birthday surprise given to me by my son. We recently were talking about how much we miss our Gracee dog and that, although it's not likely we'll be able to get another one, there is still room for a Scottie in my life. Grand-scotties are also not feasible right now, so we brainstormed. Perhaps I could be a vacation sitter for a local Scottie, but how to find one. Meanwhile Bryant's wheels were turning scheming up something for my birthday. This is what unfolded:

1. He googles Scotties in our city and found comments for a local bed and breakfast where guests were greeted by the resident Scottie dog. He called the b&b to find the dog deceased and the establishment under new ownership. Kind new proprietor contacted the former owners.

2. B is put in touch with Ruth who explains that although Tosh was indeed deceased, she still had two Scotts in her house, Taegan and Torri.

3. On Sunday I had a birthday massage scheduled, ending at 3:15. A call from the boy indicated he needed a ride home from the nearby location at the same time.  We meet, and although it's pouring with rain he suggests we do a geocache, another of my passions, located in a park, a three minute walk away.

4. Walking to the park, B says the name of the cache is Torri's Stash. I'm thinking, gee I haven't heard of that one, must be new. He is doing a good job of geo-faking, pretending to use his phone's GPS. Once at the park I see two Scottie dogs on leash and go into my usual Scottie enthusiasm. "Bryant, Bryant, Scotties, let's go pet the Scotties!"

5. "Mom, meet Torri the geocache, Happy Birthday!" He had a arranged a playdate with Scotties and their sweet owners who invited us to their place for tea and Scottie company. Lovely people and their dogs, and in our lives' ever increasing six degrees of separation moments, found that she had a business relationship for over 25 years with the dad of B's movie co-producer. In fact she remembers the day Joel was born! 

Can you imagine getting call from a perfect stranger wanting you to share your dogs with his Scottie starved Mom? Thank you Bryant, Ruth, Rex, Tory and Tegan.

Look at this noble Scott:

Dear Bryant proves that with a bit of creativity, the best things in life are free.