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.)

Bliss and the Non-Mama

Unnecessarily Long-Winded Preamble:

Around the same time that I up and left Calgary, Alberta– the land of my birth and geeky upbringing– Kathy, a friend from my knitting group, also up and left the city with her partner and young daughter in tow. Marty and I made a beeline for Victoria, craving salty air and smaller pastures, whereas Kathy et al. set up the most gorgeous and inviting nest in the heart of British Columbia. (Seriously. Can you handle the idyllic-ness of it all?)

Kathy's strawbale house, Kathy's bike (Little Prozac), and Kathy herself! Image from www.whiletangerinedreams.typepad.com

Five or so years have passed since our Big Moves Out West, and even though we don’t see each other every week like we used to for Knit Night (obviously), Kathy and I still check in frequently via the magical web of the internet. I have evolved from Basket-Case Grad Student to Mostly-Sane Creative Partner in the art business that Marty and I share. She has added an adorable son to her family and has blossomed into a savvy writer and creative coach– a person who literally radiates happiness and bliss at every turn. (One look at her blog will either leave you grinning like a fool or glaring at her photos with menacing daggers of envy, or both. I myself oscillate between the two reactions on a regular basis, though mostly I just want to be a shimmering goddess of total bliss like her. Nothing creepy, I promise.)

Isn't she gorgeous? Image from www.whiletangerinedreams.typepad.com

Kathy has just delivered a delightful e-book, The Bliss-Filled Mama– Self Care for Soulful Mothering, and I am tickled to be featured as one of the stops on her virtual book tour this week! Kathy has graciously offered one of my readers a free copy of her e-book, which also includes an mp3 file of her reading the book to you, just in case you’re too busy to peruse the pdf. (That is so Kathy, it’s not even funny.) If you’re interested in the book (or even if you’re not really and just want to say hello to me or congrats to Kathy), please leave a comment below. I’ll draw for the winner this Sunday, February 19th at 5 pm PST. Thanks!

Actual Book Review (Better Late Than Never)

You might be wondering: why on earth would a childless woman buy a book called The Bliss-Filled Mama? I hear you. Partly, I purchased the book to support a friend in her newest creative endeavour. (Full disclaimer: I probably would have bought a book called “Dead Animals, Toxic Cleaning Products, and Ridiculously Oversized Vehicles” if the name “Kathy Stowell” appeared in the author credits. That’s what friends are for, right?) Partly, it was to see if any of the mama-centric information could be applied to long-distance aunties such as myself. Mostly, though, I bought the book because I’m familiar with Kathy’s buoyant and uplifting philosophies on life and hoped that her book would contain her signature nuggets of wisdom for anyone– parent or not, woman or not– to enjoy.

I was not disappointed. At all. To the contrary, I finished reading her breezy e-book feeling rejuvenated and inspired to preserve some sacred me time, always and forever, even when our summer work schedule makes it difficult to blink and relatively easy to justify wearing the same pair of underwear more than one day in a row. (Aside: I swear I have never done this. I’ve rationalized and debated doing it, yes, but I’ve never actually wore the same pair more than once in a row. Cross my heart.)

"We" time at the Harbour (clean underwear and all!)

Kathy’s e-book outlines simple and effective ways to take care of yourself and your own creative spirit so that you can be fully present in your responsibilities as a parent (or as a non-parent, in my case.) Her suggestions are not particularly earth-shattering when taken individually or solely at face value, but together, they are insightful and they can be life-changing when pursued and practiced in earnest. I am sure of this.

Starfish jump!

Many of you might recall (because I bring it up all the time) that I have struggled for the past three summers with significant weight gain, a lack of sleep, and a decided feeling of imbalance– physically, mentally, spiritually, and socially. (New readers: my husband and I work extremely long and intense hours at our outdoor art booth in downtown Victoria every spring and summer. It wreaks havoc on my body every year.) The highly seasonal nature of our work makes for 6-8 months of being totally on (like 12-16 hours per day, 7 days per week of on-ness) and 4-6 months of emerging from a crumpled heap of chaos. I love what I do and feel highly privileged to be able to pursue this line of work, but I also deal with the persistent, nagging thought that the way we do our work is not sustainable. I, for one, can’t live off of take-out food and too few hours of sleep indefinitely (or even 6 months out of every year, truth be told). It’s not healthy to work out all winter, only to sit on my ass all summer. My body can’t rebound from weight gain over and over again, and even if it can (bless you, adaptable body!)– who wants to gain and lose 10-20lbs every six months? Not me.

After reading Kathy’s e-book, I’m much more cognizant of the value of carving out regular, creative me time intervals, even if it means toning down my blood-thirsty urge to make as much money as possible by working as many hours as possible!! in the summer months. (Go figure: I eat an almost vegan diet but suffer from a completely carnivorous work ethic. So embarrassing.) Thanks to Kathy’s book, I also have an arsenal of simple tricks up my sleeve to help me realize the goal of nurturing myself so I can, in turn, nurture our bodies and our growing art business effectively.

The fact is, I love to cook and be in the kitchen. Heaven, for me, definitely involves a cutting board and a stock pot! Unfortunately, I haven’t been doing any cooking during Harbour season for the past three summers, so guess what? My creative spirit and our bodies have suffered accordingly. It’s not rocket science, but if I could just honour this particular creative passion of mine throughout the year (and not just in the winter months), both Marty and I would benefit tremendously. (And our pants would thank us!) Whole foods! Creative time! Win, win, win! This is just one small example of something that touched me personally in The Bliss Filled Mama e-book, and I’m certain that anyone who leans even slightly to the granola side of the fence– parent or not, XX or XY– can benefit from Kathy’s wit, style, and soulful strategies.

Do you want to read more of Kathy’s tips (or have Kathy’s sexy phone-voice read more to you via mp3)?

Do you want to say hi to Kathy and compliment her on her wicked style or cramp-inducing abode?

Do you want to reassure me that my summer pants aren’t that big, even if they fit 20 more pounds of weight in them than my winter pants do?

Tell me what brings you bliss!

Remember, one lucky commenter will snag a free copy of the e-book and the accompanying mp3 file! (Everyone else will have to cough up 14 big bucks, but it’s worth it, I promise.)

Thank you and good luck!

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

Edited Sunday, February 19th to say: Thanks to everyone who commented and entered to win a free copy of Kathy’s e-book. Our random number generator has declared Blogless Mary the winner! I’ll be in touch via e-mail and Kathy will send you your prize shortly!

Distractions

I have several busy days awaiting me to round out the rest of this week. Like a blissful fool, I always picture our winter months involving a whole lotta nothing (except maybe kicking back or sipping on a tropical drink), but there’s always a gigantic To Do List looming and many Important Tasks that demand my undivided attention. This is life. “Time off” isn’t really time off completely… it’s just time off of the Harbour and time to do other, work-related things. Oh well.

The Things I Have To Do This Week are– even from an objective, practical standpoint– pretty important, and they also stand to shape the rest of 2012, for better or worse. (If I complete these tasks well, 2012 could become an exciting, prosperous, and thrilling adventure for Marty and I, but if I complete these tasks not so well…. well…. 2012 will carry on like any other year. It won’t be the end of the world, for sure, but wouldn’t it be fun to have an adventuresome 2012 instead?)

Deadlines are fast approaching, and I’m trying to focus, focus on the tasks at hand. Hocus pocus, focus focus. For the most part, things are getting written and revised, elaborated upon or neatly summarized, and progress is being made. But every now and again, I catch my mind wandering. It thinks about the weather outside or whether I could find any mail in our mailbox. (Should I walk the 2km there to find out?) It focuses on the lake, on the trees, on the sunshine, on the fog, on the squirrels, on the chickadees, and on those nameless water birds that swim right close to the beach. (Should I look them up on the internet?)

A particularly enchanting afternoon at the lake. Everything was candy-tinted and covered in a delicately sweet, marshmallowy mist.

Shamefully, my mind is also wandering even farther away sometimes, into Guilty, Forbidden Territory like reality television and who Ben might end up with on The Bachelor. (Gulp!!) I’m thinking about the afghan I’m knitting and wondering whether I particularly like the colours I’m using. (Why so neutral? What happened to the reds?) But the most common distraction I’m encountering has to do with boots. Tall boots. Red boots. Specifically, these boots:

Oh, John Fluevog-- why must you seize my mostly non-materialistic heart and make it so hellbent on owning your shoes??

I can’t stop thinking about them. I don’t need them, for sure, but I certainly want them. (Did you know you can remove the biker-ish hardware from them and have almost a completely different-looking pair of beautiful, red boots?) A January Sale is on, and I’m constantly debating: should I buy them? Will I love them? Should I reward myself for completing this week’s tasks with an over-the-top pair of delicious, red boots?

My thrift store heart is appalled. My modest bank account is trembling. My distracted, boot-loving brain is foaming at its brain-mouth. MUST HAVE THOSE BOOTS!

I’ve put a moratorium on my boot-buying debate until I can finish what’s ahead of me and approach the issue with a clear(er) head. What do you think? Do you love these boots or do you love them?