Bleary Eyed and Cushy Tailed

Well, dear readers, I’m a month and a half into my summer selling season, and what have I got to show for it? Bags under my eyes, a return to my daily ponytail habit, and an alarming degree of tightening in the pants that fit me fine in March. Heh. On the plus side (not to be confused with the plus size… yet), business is faring well so far and I haven’t inadvertently made any mortal enemies out of my fellow causeway workers. <– Again… yet.

I jest. (Not about the business part, but about the bitter rivalry part. Fingers crossed that I can emerge from this season unscathed by any drama!)

Anyone want to take a stab at Victoria’ primary industry?

Towards the beginning of April, when Harbour Season had just started up again, I posted a shining list of so-called “practical” goals for the summer. Hahahaha! Apparently my youthful naivete is a filthy habit I just can’t kick, because what I deemed “realistic” at the beginning of April seems laughably implausible now. Days off? Bwahaha! A cap on weight gain? I kill me! Let’s revisit my goals through wiser, albeit sorta bloodshot eyes, shall we?

1. Maintain a 3-day-per-week exercise regimen, at least until the end of June 

Actually, I haven’t been doing so bad with this one. I renewed my membership at the Y when we moved back into town (so long, cheesy 80s gym at the lake!), and I’ve been hitting up the elliptical machine pretty steadily. I made the mistake of attending a few weight lifting classes early on, but when I rode my bike to work right after and realized that I couldn’t even apply my own brakes because my arms hurt so badly, I decided to focus more on solo workouts for the time being. I’m pretty sure all my classmates were impressed by my uber-fit ability to do a shoulder fly with measly 3-lb weights (right), but the full-body corset I felt like I was wearing after the class was totally not worth it.

Water taxis! At least our workplace is festive and charming!

2. Put a 3-lb cap on weight gain!

Sigh. Can we just skip this goal and move onto the next one? My weight must be solely determined by good sleeps and tons of herbal tea, because now that I am lacking both, I have already hit my cap. Yes! In six weeks! I realize that my weight is just a number and that it shouldn’t define me as an overall human being, but when I saw that particular number smiling up at me from the scale (most likely chirping “na-na-na-boo-boo” in a sickening, sing-song voice– jerk!), I went apoplectic! (<– FYI: “Apoplectic” just happens to be my favourite overused word in the NHL coverage on TSN. That, and “conniption fit”. Both terms were very applicable on the fateful morning when I dared step on my bathroom scale. That son of a gun!!)

3. Take one day off every week

Hahaha, I’m so funny! What means “days off”? Yes, I have taken most Tuesdays and Wednesdays away from the Harbour since April, but I’ve used those days to unpack our boxes, clean up crap, and run not-fun errands. Not technically a “day off”, agreed? The original plan was to cook up a storm at least once a week, but I’ve barely been able to make us more than toast. (Full disclosure: it rained buckets yesterday, which meant we had a day off of work. I made us a stellar Carrot & Ginger Soup.) Luckily, there’s a vegan restaurant not too far from the Harbour that sells amazing (and cheap!) soups and salads. I discovered that they also offer live/raw sauerkraut, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I have been buying it by the pound and shoveling it back on a daily basis. It must be like sandwiches and salads: they always taste better when somebody else makes them. I can’t get enough of the stuff! Healthy intestinal flora for the win!

Photo of chard from when I actually had chard in the fridge… not in the past month and a half, sorry.

4. Dress snappier. 

The plan was to wear more skirts and/or not-jeans outfits to work, but then Marty and I discovered that we had packed all of my “nice” clothes into storage in such a way that they can never be retrieved again. Seriously. I put everything nice into a box, which we placed into a cupboard, which we then proceeded to block with a bookshelf full of photo albums. The bookshelf, in turn, is blocked by a substantial dresser– a virtual Tetris of household belongings. The only way I can access my box of skirts and somewhat feminine attire is to take everything out of the dresser, move the blasted dresser out of storage, take everything off the bookshelf, somehow haul the gigantic bookshelf out of our storage unit, open the cupboard, fetch the box, and rescue everything delicate I own. Or I could buy all new skirts. Or I could just wear jeans to work. Guess which option I chose?

One of the skirts which is currently being held for ransom in our storage locker. Haven’t seen this baby (or the matching tights… or the jacket) since our trip to Seattle last October.

5. Kinda sorta keep abreast of other people’s blog entries 

I’m doing okay in this regard. Yes, I am falling behind and yes, there is still some catching up to do, but quite a few of my go-to blogs have decided to tone down their posting schedules this season, which has helped me tremendously. It’s so much easier to follow everyone I want to follow when they’re not all pumping out wordy, deep, or otherwise complex posts on a daily basis. Thank you, brevity! Bless you, not having to use my brain!

You know me: I don’t like to miss out. I will be sifting through handfuls of posts whenever I can sneak in a few minutes. If I’ve been absent from your comments sections for a while, please forgive me but know that I am plugging through the backlog in my inbox. I’ll get there, I promise!

That’s me in a nutshell, readers– same girl, but with less sleep and more weight!

How about you? Shall we commiserate about things? Share a laugh?

Learning to Keep My Big Mouth Shut

Why do I even open my mouth? 

I ask myself this question on a regular basis. You see, I talk to people all the time. Most of our household income is derived (at least in part) from our interactions with others. Superb customer service isn’t just a lofty ideal for us– it’s a basic necessity. An imperative! It’s like this: Regardless of what people think of our art products– ‘The greatest thing since Van Gogh!’ or ‘What the hell kind of prescription meds is this guy on?’– if they are turned off by our communication or customer service skills for whatever reason, we generally lose a sale. And then it’s plain white rice for dinner again.

Unfortunately, the laws of probability dictate that for every 100 conversations I have with other people, I’m likely to say anywhere between 10 and 99 stupid things. All of my gaffs are unintentional, I promise– regrettable slips of the tongue that occur when I’m innocently trying to fill the silence with friendly banter or keep an otherwise smooth conversation moving along at a decent pace. But why do I even bother?

The multi-lingual caving sign in the Czech Republic says it all: NO!! DON'T DO IT!

With the odds of saying something embarrassing, irrelevant, or accidentally rude looming so largely above me, why do I continue taking chances? And with so many awkward conversations already under my belt, why do I still insist on yammering on like a nincompoop? It’s basic math, people: 

Foot + Mouth – Potential Sales – Other People’s Respect/Admiration = A Regular Day at Work (aka Plain White Rice for Dinner Again)

Recent encounters I wish I could do over or erase include:

1. Hopelessly Devoted To You

Me: [glancing at the last name on a customer's credit card] Oh, your last name is Schmitzelwerft? Do you happen to know Norbert Schmitzelwerft? We went to kindergarten together!

Her: [eagerly] Yes! I’m his great, great aunt twice removed! What are the odds of running into you here? I’ll definitely tell him you said hello!

Me: [in my mind] Please, please don’t! I was five years old when we went to class together and haven’t thought about him even once since then until today. Stupid memory! Stupid recollection of stupid details! Please don’t recount this experience to Norbert and get him suspecting that I’ve been obsessing over him for all these years…

Me: [out loud] Ha ha, yes! Please do! Have a great day! [Dying inside]

************************************************************

2. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

Guy: I live up island. My fiancee is an artist as well.

Me: Oh, does your fiancee work on one of the piers up island?

Guy: No, she works down in Mexico.

Me: Seasonally?

Guy: No, she lives there year-round.

Me: And you live there, too?

Guy: No… I live up island.

Me: But she’s your fiancee?

Guy: [hesitating, discretely trying to slip his credit card back into his wallet and away from my prying fingers] Yes…

Ed. note: STOP STOP STOP!! Do I really care about this guy or his fiancee? No! Does it matter that she lives in Tijuana and he lives on Vancouver Island? No! What am I, the Proper Marriage Interrogator? The Dean of Righteous Living? STOP STOP STOP TALKING!

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3. Who Even Says Things Like That?

Me: [watching a customer sign his credit card slip in the tiniest, most scrunched-up cursive ever] SO SMALL!

Ed. note: Seriously. Who talks like this? Why say *anything* if all you can manage is “SMALL!!“… to some guy… with no context whatsoever… in a slightly-crazed tone?

Customer: [silent, irritated]

Me: [backpedaling, trying to provide some context] What do those handwriting analysts say about people with tiny writing again?

Ed. note: Again! STOP. TALKING! …. BE. SILENT!

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4. to 125. I’m Sorry to Hear That. No, Really: I’m Sorry to Have Heard That.

I can’t even keep track of the number of times I’ve opened a proverbial can of worms by asking seemingly innocent questions to people. I’ve found out about illicit love affairs, deaths of cherished family members, bitter divorces, the fallout of coming out as gay to so-called “friends”, heartbreaking situations of abuse, obscure medical conditions, pain, suffering, and drippingly sad stories involving puppies simply by trying to be friendly to people. In most cases, I’m happy to have offered a sympathetic ear or a metaphorical shoulder for somebody to cry on. It’s when Marty discovers me sobbing uncontrollably over some stranger’s misfortune that it becomes a problem…

Do you have similar awkward experiences to share, dear readers?

Are you a regular foot-in-mouther like I am?

SO SMALL!

4 Days Down; Only 182 Left to Go!

Harbour Season has begun.

For those of you who are fairly new to my blog, “Harbour Season” refers to the 6 or 7 months each year when my partner and I sell our artwork on the scenic waterfront in Victoria, BC. “Harbour Season” is also the professional-sounding euphemism for “Falling off the Face of the Planet” and/or “Being a Terrible Friend-Slash-Reader/Writer-of-Blogs”. No, I cannot celebrate your summer birthday with you or attend your summer wedding. (Seriously. Why can’t anybody get married in the dead of January, at least for my sake?) I can’t even celebrate my own birthday in June or mark my own wedding anniversary in August– that’s just the way the Harbour Season rolls. Summer = Make or Break the Cash Flow.

Insanity runs amok on the causeway!

A few days before last weekend, Marty and I hauled our art supplies out of storage, assembled our mobile display booth, and spent a loooong night printing price tags, trimming posters, and putting greeting cards into plastic sleeves. Good times! On Friday, we set up shop for the first time this year, practicing our friendly chit-chat about the weather and polishing up on skills that we haven’t used since last October. (I’m talking to you, old school credit card imprint machine!) It was nice to see a lot of familiar faces (both other vendors and our faithful returning customers) and of course, it felt good to start selling things again.

Just an ordinary day at work... bunch of yahoos.

There’s no turning back now. I know we’ve *technically* had 5 and a half months off from the Harbour, but after a mere day on the causeway, it felt like we had never left. Four days in, and we were a well-oiled machine once more. Le sigh.

Marty working on one of his masterpieces, "Mungo Martin House" last summer.

Anyway. I tend to have wholly unrealistic expectations about the summer months whenever we head into them, so this year I’m making more “practical” goals for the half year ahead:

1. Maintain a 3-day-per-week exercise regimen, at least until the end of June. (July and August are usually gong shows on the causeway, so I won’t beat myself up too badly if I can’t make it to the gym as much… or ever… during those months.)

2. Put a 3-lb cap on weight gain! I never managed to shed all of the husky 18 pounds I put on during Harbour Season last summer, and I’m not interested in heading down that particular road ever again. I don’t think it’s possible to stay at the same weight (or to lose weight) at the Harbour, so I’m hoping to keep my inevitable ass-widening around the 3-lb mark. Gah.

3. Take one day off every week (except maybe in July and August. See above: gong show!) Use my “day off” to cook real food and to do our laundry. No rest for the wicked, right?

4. Speaking of laundry: dress snappier. Marty looks incredibly dapper at work every single day, but I’m usually bumming around in jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers, and a greasy ponytail. Welcome to our business, everyone! Obviously, I don’t have to wear a prom dress to work every day, but attempting to at least match my husband’s sense of style will be a plus.

Isn't he handsome?

Isn't he dapper? (Photo credit: Netherlands-based photographer Anneke Hymmen, www.annekehymmen.nl)

5. Kinda sorta keep abreast of other people’s blog entries. Last summer, I ended up with 1000+ new post notifications backlogged in my inbox. This summer, please don’t take offense if I don’t manage to comment on every single post of yours or to hit the Like button without fail. I hate falling behind with reading and writing blogs, but it’s inevitable that I will. Consider yourself warned!

We generally work at the Harbour from April-ish to Canadian Thanksgiving (mid-October). The next few weeks will see us moving out of our cabin on the lake (sniff!), moving into a crappy apartment back in Victoria, getting our inventory bulked up in prep for the summer months, and getting back into our sleep-deprived, super busy Harbour routines. We can do it, though– only 6 months left!

Honorary Keepers of the Lighthouse!

Being married to an artist definitely has its perks. For me, one of the greatest parts of being the Less Creative Other Half to a Creative Genius is getting to accompany my beau on some stellar “art research” excursions. We’ve been invited to experience the inner workings of a chocolate factory before, got to hang out at a micro-brewery when Marty’s custom-designed beer bottles were being filled, and most recently, we were whisked away to a nearby island to be Unofficial Keepers of the Race Rocks Lighthouse for 24 hours! It’s a tough job, but somebody has to be a tag-along bride!

Race Rocks: Our new home away from home!

Race Rocks Lighthouse is one of the two oldest lighthouses on Canada’s west coast, and it can only be accessed by boat. (Fisgard is the other oldest lighthouse, and both have been in operation since 1860.) Marty and I had been by Race Rocks Lighthouse before (en route to see the Super Pod of orca whales, natch!), but we never imagined we would ever get to set foot on the sacred island, let alone spend a night at the Lighthouse Keeper’s house! (As Honorary Lighthouse Keepers, even!!) So what if the beacon itself has been automated for decades? Allow me to take a single night’s worth of credit for keeping the passing ships safe…

Don't worry, ships passing in the night-- you're in great (albeit inexperienced) hands!

How on earth did this happen? How did the chance to hang out at Race Rocks Lighthouse fall into our laps?

I’m glad you asked! Last autumn, Marty was asked to donate an item to a charity’s fundraising auction here in Victoria. He generously donated a custom painting of the winner’s choice, and we were thrilled to bits when the auction winner requested a piece of the Race Rocks Lighthouse! Even better was the fact that the winner had actual, physical ties to Race Rocks and could arrange for us to spend an evening there, for “research purposes” obviously. Hanging out at the Race Rocks Lighthouse is not an opportunity that comes along very often or to very many people at all, so you can bet that I dubbed myself Marty’s “Art Manager” ASAP and insisted that I accompany him to the remote island when the invitation was extended.

I'm the manager. I go everywhere Marty goes.

Getting ready for our journey, I fretted about what to pack and how to prepare. What, exactly, does one wear to be a Lighthouse Keeper? How much food does one pack, especially if there’s a chance of being stranded on the island? Should I bring my own toilet paper? (Was there even a primitive toilet there?) Would I need a book to read? Would I get any sleep at all? (Race Rocks is home to a substantial bunch of migrating sea lions during many seasons of the year and is a notoriously loud and stinky place while they are there. Thankfully, the sea lions weren’t basking on the surrounding rocks during our visit, so we didn’t need to use our ear plugs or hold our noses for 24 repulsive hours!)

We were told by the auction winner to “bring a sleeping bag and food” with us– in addition to our signed waivers, of course– but I had no idea what to expect from the accommodations. Would we be roughing it on a rustic wooden pallet on the floor? Would we be crammed into a storage closet-sized ‘room’? Would there be heat? Could we cook? Call me naive, but I’d never been an Honorary Lighthouse Keeper before and had no idea what awaited me. (For the record: I resisted the urge to prepare all of the remaining food items we had in our fridge and pantry for a 24-hour stay, and instead packed enough food to last us 2 days, just in case. The weather forecast looked promising for a timely exit from the island, so my OCD kitchen tendencies were kept in check.)

On Wednesday afternoon, we met the official Lighthouse Keeper at the docks of Pearson College with our overstuffed (and impressively heavy) expedition backpacks on hand. We were wearing our most rugged hiking clothes, vintage PFD jackets (on loan from the college), and we had warm and dry clothing reserves waiting in our sacks, just in case our very small and otherwise exposed transportation boat left us soaked and freezing before we even pulled up to the jetty at Race Rocks. Luckily, the sail there was dry and mostly warm, if bumpy and a little nerve-wracking. (Did I mention I don’t know how to swim? Heh.) First hurdle: cleared!

On our way!

Our first surprise was encountered right at the jetty, where we were supposed to dock and make our way onto the island. Blocking our only pathway to the island was a moulting (read: cranky!) female elephant seal, who snorted, hissed, and generally threatened to bite us when we made even the slightest move towards her.

Race Rocks is a protected ecological reserve site, so one of the first and most important rules for guests is to not disturb the animals, at any cost to themselves. (In realistic terms, this means that regular visitors to the island have to stand back and witness the normal life cycles of resident animals, including mating, birth, death, abandonment, starvation, disease, stand-offs, etc.) This female seal showed no intention of moving off the jetty, and there was obviously no way for us to move her ourselves, so we ended up having to creep around her while grasping to the outside of the protective handrails on the jetty. Welcome to Race Rocks!

I was terrified as I scaled the very outer edge of the jetty, knowing that a sharp drop into still-tumultuous waters awaited me if that female seal lunged in my direction. (The group consensus, made before we exited the boat, was that it would be better to let go of the rail and fall into the water rather than risk being bitten by a moulting seal– if it came to that, which hopefully it wouldn’t. For the record: this is much easier said and done by people who know how to swim. Luckily, I scrambled past the seal without being bitten or plunging myself into the icy waters. Welcome to Race Rocks, indeed!)

Once we were safely past the Unofficial Race Rocks Guardian, we met our next animal friend around the corner– a gigantic male elephant seal named Misery who had taken up residence mere feet from the door of the Lighthouse Keeper’s house.

Meet Misery. (We are smiling in this pic but we are secretly afraid of waking the beast).

This particular Misery does not enjoy company (as evidenced by his continued maiming and killing of rival males and young seal pups), so we tiptoed gingerly past him while he slept, sending furtive prayers to the universe to keep him snoring until we were safely inside. Thankfully, the universe obliged. (I don’t know if I could have handled two seal antagonists within mere minutes of arriving at Race Rocks, especially one of the 1000+ lb, Alpha Male variety.)

But the lighthouse! Oh, the lighthouse!

Race Rocks Lighthouse by day

I was blown away by the actual light tower! A giddy grin affixed itself to my face and refused to budge or wane for the next 24+ hours. I was overcome by all sorts of romantic notions about lighthouses and spent most of the time on the island either admiring the light tower, photographing the light tower, thinking about the light tower, climbing the 98+ stairs to the top of the light tower, or enjoying the spectacular views from atop the light tower. Marty and I took occasional breaks inside to make tea or grab snacks, but the majority of our time was spent outside appreciating the magnificence of Race Rocks Lighthouse!

Race Rocks Lighthouse by night

The weather was perfect for the outing– not raining, not too windy, and we visited there the night before the Full Moon, too. We stayed up as late as possible, watching the sunset first and then witnessing the moonlight playing on the light tower several hours after our camera decided it could no longer capture the magnificence of the setting digitally. (The brightness of the full moon enabled us to keep a sharp watch on Misery, too. God knows we wouldn’t want to accidentally trip over him while we were skipping around like fools on the island! Antagonizing a male elephant seal in the dark would have been a definite– and probably fatal– Race Rocks FAIL.)

What did I tell you, fools? I OWN THIS ISLAND!

After what felt like a very short sleep, we crawled out of bed in time to catch the sunrise. (Would we have missed our only sunrise at Race Rocks Lighthouse? Never!!)

Breathtaking!

(In total, we snapped over 1150 photos in less than 24 hours on the island! Our first sweep helped us whittle this down to 500. It was nearly impossible to “just” pick 20 or so for this post.)

If this is what it’s like to be a “starving artist”, sign me up please!

Final notes and details: The Lighthouse Keeper’s residence at Race Rocks is actually pretty classy and modern. (The Lighthouse Keeper offered us freshly baked cookies right out of the oven, which came in stark contrast to my idea of the house as a tiny, uber-drafty campsite.) There is no flushing toilet on site, but there is a primitive, indoor-outhouse-type toilet that more than suffices, especially when I was bracing myself for a day of peeing on rocks. There’s electricity, heat, a fully-equipped kitchen, and even wireless internet access there! (I decided not to bring our laptop with us, though. Contrary to popular belief, I can last for a day without checking my e-mail.)

Fortunately, the moulting female seal left the jetty during the night, so we didn’t have to deal with her menacing presence on the way back to the boat. Our return trip was delayed by a few hours due to wind and sketchy water conditions, but we had more than enough food to tie us over and the delay just meant more opportunities to take excessive amounts of photos!

What do you think, dear readers?

Was that an adventure or what?

Was the story worth the wait?

PS: A big thank you to everyone who visited Lake Superior Spirit on Thursday when I had the honour of guest posting in Kathy’s absence! Apologies for being a shoddy guest and not telling you I was even there until after the fact. What can I say? I was lighthouse keeping! (Please feel free to check out Kathy’s blog when you get the chance. She is one of my favourite stops each morning, and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to guest post there.)