The Coconut Chronicles: Life

The Running of the Cats or Self-Discipline 101

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 21:44:31 GMT

Hello again from the Big Blue!

No Scootie Award this week. Are you kidding me? It’s way too cold to scooter. We are in the grips of winter – mornings find us huddling inside long pants, fleece tops and, horror of horrors, socks! Last week, I even had to put an actual blanket on the bed. You may think we don’t suffer here in paradise, well, you are wrong. Pity me, oh yes, pity me!

Winter has, to be truthful, been chocked full of activity and fun. Our guests, at this time of year, seem to hail primarily from New Zealand and Australia. They come here to escape winter back home, which, I have been told, is even more grueling than the winters on Aitutaki. (Impossible!) Unlike the round-the-world travelers of the summer, these folks have limited time and they’re on a mission to have fun. This sets the stage for much frivolity. No one warned me that one of the dangers of running a small pacific resort would be sore cheeks from too much laughter and more than a few cocktail-induced headaches in the mornings.

Oh dear, I feel the pity waning. You’re not feeling very sorry for me any more, are you?

But now I have to speak of serious matters. (This is the Coconut Chronicle equivalent of those dreaded words, “Honey, we have to talk”.) About three months ago, I ran into a sticking point with the current novel manuscript. Work slowed and eventually stopped. I had a hard time putting my finger on the problem but I knew it was there. I’d sit down with Lappy, determined to push forward, type something along the lines of “The…” and then delete it. This behaviour would repeat several times before I’d give up and play solitaire.

Part of the reason I resisted the idea of becoming a professional writer for so long was that my Spock brain is distrustful of The Arts. So many artists seemed to me to be far too flaky for my liking. I have a strong work ethic and the idea of not working because “the mood isn’t right” or the “muse won’t speak” struck me as a pathetic excuse for laziness. Eventually desire outweighed common sense but I was determined to be the master of my crazy cranium and not fall into traps such as writer’s block and the lot. But here’s the deal: creativity doesn’t follow rules. Harnessing imagination is a bit like herding a thousand cats, (those of you who have seen the EDS “cat herders” commercial are having a nice visual right about now).

I’ve finally figured out what is wrong with the manuscript. I’ve also, with much foot dragging, begun to admit to myself that the solution will involve the erasure of characters I’m quite fond of, not to mention an almost complete rewrite of the hundred or so pages I’ve sweated over since November. Sigh. (Oh, I feel the pity increasing, good!) Still, knowing what needs to be done and actually doing it are two different matters. When it comes to distraction, I can run with the best of them. But my Spock brain is getting cranky, cracking its knuckles every time I start surfing the internet or daydreaming, as I am wont to do (just ask Prez, he’ll concur).

The time for discipline is now. With this in mind, I am not going to replace the bottle of gin I polished off last night, nor am I going to open my solitaire program, and…gulp…I am going to put aside my beloved Chronicles. Just for awhile. Maybe three or four weeks. Sniff. This is still peak season here and I really need to use every spare moment wisely. Damn, I hate being so level headed sometimes!

You can blame my friend Mompoet for this. In her most recent blog, (another great means of distraction), she talked of how she was going to walk away for a few weeks and concentrate on her writing. I realized that, although I would miss my little Mompoet word-fixes, to be a “real” writer sometimes the fun stuff has to take a back seat. If I don’t take myself seriously, why should anyone else? Sure, my blog doesn’t take up that much time on its own but added to all the extra curricular activities in my life it does. And, more importantly, it diverts my focus – I really need my focus right now.

Once I’ve lassoed all the cats and have them headed in the same direction, I’ll be happy to indulge my need for mindless rambling again (you lucky readers!). But for now, I’m going to say a temporary farewell and I’ll see you soon.

I will leave you with just a tidbit…

Prez and I went to “Romance Night” at Ultra Fancy Resort for my birthday but it rained and the fire dancing show had to be cancelled. Nevertheless, the food, as always, was spectacular and we are always able to entertain ourselves. For dessert, I ordered “potted chocolate” – as opposed to the “chocolate pot”, which is something else entirely, and illegal in most countries – and proceeded to moan shamelessly as I slurped it. More than a little tipsy at this point, I told Prez to snap some “dessert porn” shots of me with my decadent spoon full of gooey goodness. This he did. We were having a good time of it until Mr. Buff, the manager, happened upon us, exclaiming, “What the…?”, whereupon I lost all composure and laughed, embarrassedly, until tears rolled from my eyes. And here is photographic evidence of my tart-like display...

It all started out so innocently... Then came the wine and chocolate...

Oh dear, getting a little carried away... Busted! You didn't see that did you??

QUESTION: Will you miss me? (It's OK to lie)

Until….? I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Mr. Internet's Home for Wayward Bullies

Fri, 16 May 2008 21:52:27 GMT

Hello again from the Big Blue!

The year is 1987.

My boyfriend, Stud, and I have just finished another round of sucking face and groping, and now we’re bored – as teenagers perpetually are when not groping or face sucking. “Let’s go over to Geeky B’s and hang out,” Stud suggests.

“It’s after eleven o’clock, he’s probably asleep,” I say, readjusting my bra and re-spiking my hair, (which may have been blue at that time).

“Are you kidding? He probably only woke up an hour ago.”

We hop in my car – well, my parent’s car, a massive, white and red Malibu Classic, Damn the environment, full speed ahead - and go. Sure enough, Geeky B’s house is dark but for one light in his bedroom. After a rap on his window, he lets us in. Stud was right, Geeky B is at his computer and his night has just begun.

Geeky B and I go back to the days of our 5-pin bowling team. (Yes, I bowled. I also collected comics, and kept my Star Wars collector cards in a photo album, in sequential order. Got a problem with that?!) He was at the forefront of the Computer Geek movement, with his pasty white skin, out of date clothes, and too-large glasses. He dropped out of school in Grade Eleven to spend more time on the computer. I worried about him, and the irony of that, in this age of technology, must be obvious.

“You guys gotta check this out!” Geeky B says, motioning to a large contraption sitting on his desk, beside his computer. The contraption is a metal box straight out of an eighties sci-fi movie. It is about twelve inches across and eight inches high, with all manner of cords, wires, and bits of…um…stuff poking out of it.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Watch.” Geeky B smiles, takes the handset of his phone from the cradle and places it into a form-fitting receptacle on top of the contraption. Then there is a flurry of keystrokes and incantations (and I think he may have brandished a magic wand). The contraption lights up and starts making all kinds of weird noises. As Geeky B types, we watch a glowing green sentence appear on his computer screen:

Hey, Gates, what’s up?

That’s when the magic happens. Words start to appear beneath Geeky B’s sentence, except he isn't typing them.

Not much, Geeky B. Got to Level Ten on Frogger today.

Far out. Still working on that stupid micro-whatever program?

Yeah, but my mom’s being a total cow, she says me and Steve gotta mow the lawn and rake the leaves once a week or she’s not gonna pay for our Doritos and Coke any more.

As the “conversation” continues, Geeky B turns to look at our puzzled expressions with a crafty smile. “Do you know where that’s coming from?” He asks. Of course, we don’t. “Texas!” (What? You thought I was going to say Seattle?)

“How?” Stud and I ask, in awe.

He points to the contraption, “Through that. It’s called a Modem.” (Cue the Steven Spielberg-esque music).

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the internet.

The year is 2008.

On a wee patch of volcanic land, somewhere in the South Pacific, from the comfort of my bed, (yes, I write in bed), I am “speaking” to you over the very same internet I witnessed the birth of way back in Geeky B’s bedroom.

Twenty years, less really, that’s all it took to get from there to here. Twenty years ago, I would have had to rely on letters to communicate with the outside world. Today, I can communicate with Beckster back in Nelson, in real time, via Instant Messaging, while she speaks to the Ripster via satellite phone, as he stands on the summit of Mt. Everest. How crazy is that?

I owe much to the internet. I live in a place with no bookstore and no library – heck, you can’t even buy a watch here – but I can research anything, down to the smallest detail with just my trusty laptop, (or “Lappy” as he’s affectionately known) and a few cords.

But there is a dark side to all this technology. Sometimes, I think they should have called it the Crack-net, to better express the internet’s addictive qualities. Be honest, how much time do you spend on Facebook? The other danger of the internet is the anonymity factor. Predators and bullies, who, in real life, are confined to back alleys or their parent’s basements, find a world, rich in victims, they can move through freely, all with the click of a mouse. And of course, as easily as I can find information on a 5^th Century BC trade vessel, so others can also, just as easily, find information on how to make a bomb with the items you keep under your kitchen sink. Scary.

While I manage to avoid – I hope – most of the predators and terrorists, and my limited bandwidth/speed keeps me from wasting too much reality time online, I have run into my share of bullies. If you’ve spent any time at all on a discussion board, you know exactly what I’m talking about because there’s always one, often more than one, of these real-life losers who live to taunt and ridicule unsuspecting newcomers to their little internet kingdom.

Discussion boards, or forums as they are also known, are essentially networking platforms for folks to meet online and discuss subjects they are interested in or passionate about. For me, as a writer, they are gold. For the manuscript I’m currently working on, I have a shipwreck forum populated by maritime archaeologists, salvage operators, and shipwreck enthusiasts, from all over the world, who supply me with leads and information I would otherwise spend months, maybe years, trying to track down. I am constantly overwhelmed with gratitude for the assistance these strangers so willingly provide. (If any of you are reading this – thanks again!)

I’ve been working on a short story I hope to enter in a competition this summer and I needed some technical information on life rafts. I emailed the Fergs and the Flying Powers (my blow-boater friends) for some info but I also found a good sailing website with a bustling forum, which I posted on. I’m always honest about my intentions when I post on forums, and so I explained that I was a writer, working on a short story, and looking for answers to a few technical questions.

So, what kind of responses did I get?

Most, as usual, were excellent, positive, comprehensive, and friendly. (If any of you are reading this – thanks again!) But, as usual, the bullies had to rear their ugly cyber-heads. Two fellows, in particular, seem to…well, how about I just let you read some of their comments:

“Look...I could be like everyone else here and tell you to get a real job....but I don't…”

“Professionally I wrote already over 180 reports...all over 50 pages they also have charts, tables, recommendations, fancy calculations and each is sold very expensively.... etc...
So I guess I am a writer too...just like you....PFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”

“He passes away a sucker, much like those that read this post... she is gone now, adrift in words that almost could be called plagiarism - a egoistic parasite that when given the chance dances for only the five minutes but if no quarters remain in the jukebox - gone - for ever more...”

There’s more, but you get the idea.

The best thing to do with these sorts of sad people is ignore them. Their rants are the same on every forum, on every subject. They are no different than the school yard bullies who, undoubtedly, used to beat up my friend Geeky B because he had the audacity to be different.

The year is 1998.

I’m all gussied up for the final X-Files wrap party at the Planetarium. From behind me, in the elevator, a deep voice says, “Princess?” When I turn around, a tall, dark-haired, strikingly handsome man, in an expensive suit and tie, is smiling at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, apologetically, “do I…”

“It’s me, Geeky B!” he says.

And so it is. We hug. He tells me about the big software company he is part owner of. I tell him about my job as a stunt performer. Neither of us is surprised by our career choices but we are ecstatic at our mutual success.

Is there a moral to this story?

QUESTION: Is there a moral to this story?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Full of Sound and Fury

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 00:16:35 GMT

Hello again from the Big Blue!

Recipe for Feeling Small:

50 mile wide, ominous cloud

25 Knot wind

226 Thunderclaps

8 Billion gallons of rain

100 Megawatt lightening strikes

1 Tin roof

Mix ingredients, lie in bed, and be amazed.

Don’t you just love thunderstorms? I remember one night back in Nelson we sat upstairs at the Ripsters, turned out all the lights, and watched a dazzling thunderstorm through the large picture windows. Yet, as full of Boom and Bang as mountain storms are, nothing quite beats a tropical deluge.

Last night a big crasher landed on top of us. Part of the joy of tropical storms is the thin wall separating you from the elements. Our windows and doors are always open, so you get the full scope of the sound and fury in Dolby quality. And, if the wind is blowing in the right direction, you also get a cool misting from the rain. But the best part is that tin roof of ours, the one that feels as if it could shake right off with every thunderclap or be pounded clear through by rain drops the size of small house pets. Exhilarating!

Encounters of this magnitude with Momma Nature always send me into a vortex of self reflection. Last night I was thinking about death. Not in any morbid way, just pondering the inevitable. It is inevitable, isn’t it?

I’ve never really considered my own end, partly because it always seemed so far away. Now, however, as I scooter my way toward the Big Four-Oh, (July 2009…I have still one year left as an official Cougar), the signpost for Endsville is no longer an abstract idea, it is a tangible object.

I am nearly forty, and last night one thought kept rolling through my brain as I watched the palm trees backlit by lightening: there is no going back. I think one of life’s many ironies is that by the time we start to actually figure some stuff out, by the time we start becoming genuinely interesting people with worthy ideas, suddenly we’re also in a race against the clock. I’m pretty happy at thirty-eight and three-quarters; I could sit here a spell. I’m not as buff or tough as I was in my twenties, true, but I’m not as arrogant or shallow, either. My looks are still passable enough to get me ID’d at liquor stores at least once a year, and men still, occasionally, make lewd comments as I walk by, (Note to young girls: this won’t bother you as much as you get older). My brain is sharp enough to finish a crossword puzzle in a decent amount of time but now it’s also wide enough to accept other puzzles with less definite solutions. Yep, I like me right where I am.

But I woke up this morning a day older. There is no going back.

I don’t want to die but I’m not afraid of it. At some point oxygen will no longer make it to my brain, the lights will go out, and consciousness will vanish. Everything I’ve ever experienced and, more interestingly, every thought that’s ever drifted through my crazy cranium, will also vanish. I will be but a shell of a Princess.

There are numerous theories about what happens to us after we die. I don’t believe any of them, though I acknowledge that the ‘verse is a mysterious place and anything is possible. The way I see it, everything is matter, and eventually the shell we leave behind will break down and convert to another type of matter – ashes to ashes, dust to dust, yadda yadda yadda. Perhaps, in last night’s thunderstorm, if there were a way to trace such things, I might have found the molecules of Leonardo Da Vinci, or my old hamster, or even the first humans to walk this earth.

Prez likes to remind me that humans are largely made up of water and those water molecules return to the atmosphere once we die. He likes to remind me of this while I’m drinking a glass of water. I drink dead people.

As for consciousness, some would call it our “soul”, that is a puzzle with no hints, and no answers at the back of the book. I prefer to leave it as one last surprise though I must admit last night I had an image of my consciousness being sucked into a cyclone and melting into the universe. That was trippy. (I think my iron level may be getting low again).

Everyone has their own way of looking at death, of dealing with it. For many, insulation is the key. Stay safe, close the windows, lock the doors, sound proof the roof. If you can’t hear it, feel it, see it, smell it, or touch it, it can’t hurt you. Nothing works though. Death comes to everyone and what you thought was safety turns out to be your prison. Sure you stayed dry, but you never heard the thunder or felt the wind.

I plan to live long enough to be a cranky old lady, with too many cats, who drinks martinis in the afternoon, and bores the neighbourhood kids with stories of how cool she once was. But when I’m gone, I hope they say of me, “She always loved a good storm.”

QUESTION: Do you think about it?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. Speaking of elements, our good pal the Ripster is in Nepal preparing to climb Everest. Of course, first he has to get over the mountain of red tape the Chinese government has put in front of him. (Don’t get me started on the Chinese government). From Nelson Base Camp, his wife, “Beckster” keeps everyone up to date with dispatches on the Peak Freak’s website. This year, the theme is “Green”. Very cool. Anyway, you can follow Ripster and his team on their amazing journey here. GO PEAKS!!

p.p.s - My man chartered his guests onto a nice, juicy Dorado/Mahi Mahi. Cats and humans alike were jubilant at the prospect of fresh fish!

Fish for cats? Fish for humans?? Now that's more like it!!

Cat on a hot tin roof...

Finding my Z-Spot

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 21:55:33 GMT

Hello again from the Big Blue!

I have this thing I do when I need to stop thinking, or when I’m cranky, or hot, or when I just feel like it. I throw on my bikini, go down to the water, wade up to my waist, then fall back, close my eyes, and float. That’s it. I float. (It drives Prez nuts that I can float so easily – he is a sinker). What happens when I float is this: The water takes all of my weight without putting any stress on my body, it also cools me, and it covers my ears so I can’t hear anything. With my eyes closed, weightless, soundless, I drift off – literally and figuratively – to a state of total Zen.

This is my Z Spot.

Every time I go to this place, I’m amazed how something so simple can be so blissful. It’s temporary, but isn’t everything?

I’ve been thinking lately, (uh oh), about the nature of happiness. Specifically as it relates to our perception of How Life Should be Lived. I’m well aware that each time we pack up our old kit bags and smile, smile, smile…then move away to a new job, town, country, etc, there are folks out there crossing their fingers hoping that this time we’ll find “it”, that things will work out, and we’ll finally settle down. I understand these feelings come from love and friendship, and so I let the warm fuzzies wash over me, but at the same time, I want to explain that there really is no “it”.

Do you know someone who has the Dream? Someone who has a good job, makes good money, has a good spouse and/or family, and yet you know they aren’t happy? Or they seem happy but you suspect that it’s an act designed to fool you, them, and everyone else? But why? I mean, if you have the Dream, isn’t that supposed to be enough? Isn’t that the path to a happy life?

According to the rules of How Life Should be Lived, you get a good job, find a partner, buy a house, have kids, and work away until retirement. This has been the logic for so long, in our society, that we’ve stopped questioning it. But I want to question it. I want to re-examine the thinking that would have us believe there is some kind of mathematical formula for happiness.

OK, let me ask you another question, (I’m very inquisitive today): Have you ever been on a diet? (Many of you are now rolling on the floor laughing). Remember how it felt, after starving and depriving yourself, to take that first bite of the forbidden food. Mmmmmm. Chocolate cake! Yum. A big, fat juicy steak. Ecstasy! A greasy bag of potato chips. Slobber, slobber, drool! Sure, you’d eaten these foods before but now, tasted again, as if for the first time, dipped and buttered in the nectar of memory, these foods transform from mere treats to some sort of sinful, almost orgasmic, pleasure.

We’ve all heard the annoying platitudes about how happiness comes from the inside, money can’t buy happiness, happiness is a warm gun, etc. etc. But the crazy thing is happiness does come from the inside. I’m not suggesting we can manufacture it; I’ll leave that to Dr. Phil. Consider this, though – the same piece of chocolate cake that was just tasty pre-diet, without changing its molecular structure, becomes a piece of frosting-covered magic post diet. The cake didn’t change, we did. The ability of the cake to make us happy had more to do with our perception of it than the sugar content, or the blend of ingredients, or the rich, dark chocolate…

Hold on, I need a moment to compose myself. Too much discussion of chocolate.

I’m better now.

What I’m saying, in a convoluted way is this: There is no “it”. Still confused? I thought so.

There is no one true path to happiness. Our jobs and our postal codes don't make us happy - only our perception of them does. If there is any great secret to happiness it is only that it can be found anywhere, anytime, and often when we least expect it.

Would Prez and I be happier, would our lives be better, if we could just find the right place and career and settle down? Maybe, but I doubt it. Each time we uproot ourselves and leave behind people and places we love, it hurts. And each time we return to visit those people and places, it’s absolute joy. (Right now I have a list in my head of all the foods I want to eat, all the people I want to see, and all the things I want to do when we return to Canada). We don’t take things for granted the way we probably would if we stayed put. Our relationships with friends and family remain fresh because we have time and distance to allow all of us to gather new stories, meet new people, and have new experiences to share.

Don’t get me wrong, our lifestyle is no guarantee of happiness, either. I know plenty of folks who would be clinically depressed if they had to walk in our shoes. For us, however, it works. Our personalities thrive on change – even the painful kind.

So I bitch about the heat, and the humidity, and the postal service, and the crappy food, and the mosquitoes, and the occasional crazy guests. I miss my friends, my family, my writing group, and cheeseburgers that don’t have beets on them. Some days are horrible and I watch the evening Air Rarotonga plane fly away, wishing I was on it.

Then I put on my bikini, walk down to the water, wade in up to my waist, close my eyes, fall back, and float.

I float.

And I smile.

QUESTION: Where’s your Z Spot?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

One of those happy moments...

The Company you Keep

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 02:30:06 GMT

Hello again from the Big Blue!

There is no shortage of things to complain about in this world, is there? Prez tells me I am not allowed to complain about the heat. His logic is thus: Because I am always cold in Canada, wherever we travel that is hotter than our homeland I must love it whether the temperature is “pleasantly balmy” or “surface of the sun hot”. It is two in the afternoon and I have just completed my third cold water shower of the day. My hair is still sopping wet, parts of my body are only now drying, and I am already sweating.

But I’m not complaining. Just for the record.

Add to the list of Things to Complain About : customer service. I’m sure I have ranted, in past Coconut Chronicles, about the dismal state of customer service these days but, like ice cream, there’s always room for more. Top of the list for bad customer service, in Canada, has to be telecom companies, (followed closely by the cable company…very closely).

Back home, the largest purveyor of inferior products and dismal service is Telus. Their slogan is “The future is friendly…The present, however, is full of pain, agony, and a great deal of waiting.” I might have made part of that up but I think my version is closer to reality. Mention the name Telus in mixed company, anywhere in BC, and you will undoubtedly notice at least half the faces in the room will suddenly look as if they’ve suddenly swallowed a mouthful of sour milk.

Our history with Telus began a few years ago. We were preparing to leave the country – this time en route to the Cayman Islands, and then Mexico – and Prez called Telus to see about the possibility of canceling our cell phone service as we were planning to be gone for at least six months or more. I was skeptical; we were only given our “free” phones by signing up for a 107 year contract, (I believe we had to sign in blood and Satan was present at the time). Imagine my surprise when I was informed the nice man at the store was completely understanding of our situation and had told Prez, “No problem, we’ll cancel your service right away, valued customer, with no fees!”

I think you may have an idea where this is going.

While recovering from a British Columbia November in the dry, Baja air, we received an email stating we had an amount of several hundred dollars owing to Telus…due last week. Never trust a nice telecom employee, they are either lying or this is their first day on the job and they have yet to understand company policy, which is to say an unequivocal “NO!” to every customer request. In Don Quixote-like fashion, Prez tried to do battle with this phone giant and that lead to another notice telling us our account had been sent to a collection agency. At this point, even my hero conceded the chances of us winning were non-existent, and so he sucked up his pride, called Telus, and told them to just reactivate our account and we’d pay for the months we’d missed. Oh no, no, no, it was too late, out of their hands, too bad, sorry Charlie. In other words, Big Daddy was going to teach us a lesson.

We paid the money. Switched cell phone providers. And swore never to use Telus Mobility again.

The problem is, we needed a land line in Nelson and our choices were: Telus, Telus, or Telus. There was that other start up company “Two Tin Cans and a String Inc.” but they don’t send their customers free calendars every Xmas, so we passed. We signed up for a land line account but used another company for internet. Telus was not going to get one penny from us we didn’t have to give them.

Everything went fine until…we were getting ready to leave the country for the Cook Islands, (is there a pattern here? Are they trying to keep us prisoner in Canada?). I made a thorough list of all the utilities to be canceled and sat down one afternoon – well in advance of our departure date – to spend a few hours on hold with various companies, listening to an automated voice tell me how important my call is to them between static-laden muzak. When I got through to Telus, I informed them we needed to cancel our service for October 15^th as we were leaving the country. A chipper voice on the other line assured me that would be “no problem”, made a witty comment about how lucky I was to be moving to the Cook Islands, asked if there was anything else she could help me with, and wished me a good day.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

How could I not know when a telecom customer service person says “no problem” it means there will be problems galore?

The October bill arrived online. I paid it. The November bill arrived online. I…hey…wait a minute!!! Now, thousands of miles from Telus Headquarters, (which, I think, are located beneath a dormant volcano in Antarctica), I was reduced to emailing my displeasure. In the end, it all came to nought – as I thought it would, despite my use of LOTS OF CAPS to express my anger. They backdated my cancellation to November 15^th and I paid for a month of phone service I did not use. I tried to explain that on October 15^th I was in Vancouver, and by the 29^th I was in the Cook Islands, with a plane ticket to prove it, and if they checked the line they’d see no calls had been made from October 14^th on; they didn’t care. (*To be fair, in one of my emails I mistakenly put "November" instead of "October" but if they read my original complaint they would easily see the month I meant).

I don’t think telling the already pissy customer service person that you are living in the tropics really does much to help your cause.

Now, you could make the argument that smearing Telus’s good name across the internet is an abuse of my blogging powers, except they don’t have a good name. And until they return the $560 of mine they stole, publicly apologize, and promise to only use their super powers for good, I will not retract a single word. (Next week’s Coconut Chronicle will be an explanation of how Telus is suing me, FYI). I will never do business with the Telus corporation again - and I encourage my readers to do likewise if they have any other possible choice.

After my futile battle with Big Daddy Telecom, a package arrived in the mail that restored my faith in humanity. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome “Maui Jim”, makers of quality eyewear and all around wonderful company!

I purchased a pair of Maui Jim sunglasses in 2003. We were getting ready to leave the country, (you may wonder why we ever bother coming back into the country), and I wanted a real skookum pair of polarized shades for boating in the Bahamas. Now, Maui Jim’s are the Cadillac of polarized glasses, and worth every penny of the two hundred plus dollars I paid for mine. I loved those glasses. I literally wore them out, and that’s hard to do!

Before coming to the Cooks, I called the Maui Jim company – with not much optimism, I must admit – to enquire about getting my glasses repaired and shipped down south. The angel on the phone assured me this was one hundred percent possible, and gave me instructions to do so. “No Problem.” Yeah, I’d heard that before.

I sent my glasses, with a note, and credit card info to Toronto and awaited disappointment.

Well, they didn’t ship them to the Cooks but they did ship them to my friend in Coquitlam, and he forwarded them on to me. And when I opened the package…

They sent me a spanking new pair, complete with case!! WOW!!!!! Free of charge!!!!! WOW, WOW, WOW!!!! They didn’t have to do that; those glasses were five years old and I was happy to pay for repairs. So…wow. I didn’t believe customer service at that level existed anymore. I say again, wow.

Yes, they lost out on about a hundred dollars in repair fees, or a couple hundred if I’d bought a new pair, but what they got is free advertising. All of you now know how terrific Maui Jim is, and, believe me, I will tell everyone I know. When I buy my next pair of sunglasses, guess who’s going to get my business?

For a couple hundred dollars, a drop in their bucket, I’m certain, they bought themselves a good reputation and a life-long customer. Kudos to you Maui Jim, wherever you are!

Wow.

If only they provided telephone service.

Business has been booming for us. New bookings are flooding in and email after email people thank me profusely for “getting back to [them] so quickly!” Once guests are here, Fred becomes Super Host, organizing movie nights, setting up bocce ball games, mixing up fresh fruit smoothies for everyone. It doesn’t take much, just a few minutes out of the day, sometimes a couple of dollars, to do a good job and let people walk away feeling happy. And sometimes, it’s better to lose thirty dollars and keep a good reputation. It bothers me that we’ve forgotten the importance of making people happy. Not just our friends and family, but our neighbours, co-workers, and even that stranger on the other end of an email who just wanted to have her phone service canceled on the day she asked for it.

May 2008 be a year of happy surprises for all of you!

QUESTION: Your best customer service experience? Your worst?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy, and lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. I’ve loaded a new photo album, have a look!

The Write Stuff

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 01:26:39 GMT

Hello from Casa Roney!

I considered just copying and pasting last week’s Coconut Chronicle and slapping a new title on it but…oh, I’m just so damn ethical!

By the tardiness of this post, you may have already guessed I’ve been busy. Our first few days at the Kozak mansion, during the times we weren’t being stuffed full of food, I was polishing up the new novel manuscript – well, the little I have written thus far, anyway. Then it was time for the Surrey International Writer’s Conference which I can sum up as:

Wow! Huh? Cool. Oh, great idea. Hello again! Nice to meet you. Slurp. Yum. Hmmm. Yes. Whew. (Please). Really? YIPPEE!!! Ha, ha, ha! Good. Oh, not good. Sob. Ahhhh. Fabulous. Where’s the chocolate? Cheers. (Applause). Must get home and write, must get home and write, must get home and write…

I won’t bore you with details only other writers would find interesting but I’ll share a few highlights. On Thursday, I attended a Master Class taught by best-selling author Jack Whyte. This class was special because you had to “audition” to get into it – I had to write a 750 word scene containing two people, a street, and a long weekend – and he only chose 15 people to attend. He read my scene to the class, in that sonorous, Scottish accent of his, and said he found my piece, of all those he received, the most intriguing.

Author Anne Perry gave a keynote speech that brought tears to my eyes. She spoke of empathy, of the power of books to give us an understanding of other people and other lives. For example, if you have never experienced abject poverty and starvation, the kind where you literally do not know if you will have any food from day to day, how can you empathize with those who have (and do)? Well, through books, you can go inside the thoughts and feelings of characters that are poor and starving. Anne asked us writers to strive to leave our readers “a little richer”.

There was also a mini-reunion of the RWA – Refugee Writer’s Association. Seeing as there are only four members of this organization, a mini-reunion consists of two people, Rebel Mom Jen, and me. Jen’s face was a welcome sight; there’s only so long “Polite Princess” can stay on the surface before “Martini-Swilling, Sarcastic, Trouble-Making Princess” kicks her out. Jen’s the kind of person who will not only put up with, but also join in with, this evil side of me. Mwa ha ha! She brought a friend, Sex Writer Mom, this year, who was just as fun – so we may now have five members of the RWA.

Another keynote speaker, Eric Walters, had not just me, but also the entire crowd, in tears and on their feet for a rousing standing ovation. He is a writer, but he will tell you his most important job is being a teacher and a parent. His books for young adults deal with difficult subjects – 9/11, street kids, etc – but they are important stories, stories that have meaning to his readers. Eric gave a multimedia presentation about some of the tragedies in our world and about the very special individuals, all kids, which are doing something about them. I’ll confess, I left the conference that evening feeling a little ashamed about my petty concerns.

There was a lowlight, I suppose. I was brave/stupid enough to add the first two pages of my new novel to the stack awaiting judgment at the SIWC Idol workshop. In this workshop, Jack Whyte reads out each submission anonymously to the room and a panel of editors and agents. The panel stops him at the point they feel they would stop reading, and then they discuss what they didn’t like and why they wouldn’t read further. The workshop is designed to show you how agents and editors think when they are reading manuscripts. Though it is very helpful, they also make a point of telling the crowd that personal taste is definitely a factor in their decision and just because they don’t like something, that doesn’t mean another agent won’t love it.

So how’d I do? Well, my opening paragraph got a big laugh, (which was what I wanted), but Jack only read to paragraph four before they stopped him. There were a couple of words they didn’t like. I suppose my feelings might have been a little bruised if it weren’t for my Ultra-Super-Wonderful highlight of the entire conference…

My editor/agent meeting.

Last year’s appointment with Big New York Agent was a high-tension, sweaty-palmed affair. I had high hopes, big dreams, and a manuscript full of blood, sweat, and tears. And though Big New York Agent told me my writing was excellent, he also said the manuscript had major structural problems. One year later, I have to, reluctantly, agree with him.

This year’s appointment with Big New York Editor was low key and relaxed. The new novel is in its early stages and the meeting, for me, was more about getting some professional feedback and the opportunity to ask some questions. She read the first five pages – said she loved them, thought they were great, wanted to read more. We discussed the plot and genre, and I asked a few questions. Big New York Editor and I clicked; she gave me her email address and asked me to send her the manuscript as soon as it is finished. Yippee!!!

And then, my meeting with Big Canadian Editor went just as well. I even asked her about some of the comments made by the SIWC Idol panel, (she said there was only one word she would change – so there!)

**I must give huge thanks and kudos to Helmi the Wonder Editor who is kind enough to read everything I send her. She made sure my manuscript was clean and beautiful before the conference and I owe her so big for that!**

Now I’m burning to get settled on Aitutaki and get writing. My goal is to have the new novel complete within a year. There’s no guarantee Big New York Editor will like it, or want to publish it, but I cannot express the power of Hope when it comes to the lonely job of writing.

Since the conference ended, we have been running errands and saying our good-byes. Emily is settled in with her Grampa and hard at work training him. I can’t write anymore about her as I have a big empty, painful hole inside me since we parted. But I know she will be happy and well cared for so…sigh.

We are shacked up with Patty-Cakes and Martha until our flight leaves on Sunday, (so soon???) And…ugh…my brain is getting heavy. Must have martini. Evil Princess trying to escape. More later…

QUESTION: Have you ever been so excited you almost peed your pants?

Until…next week (?), I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. So sorry for my glut of unreturned emails; I've been swamped.I haven't forgotten you!

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

Tue, 16 Oct 2007 23:30:17 GMT

Hello from a Kozy place!

I’m not certain where to begin. I feel discombobulated, flummoxed, frazzled, out-of-sorts, out of alignment, out of body, dizzy, dumbstruck, bothered, bewildered, puzzled, perplexed, happy, sad, scared, excited, nervous, ambivalent, melancholic, wistful, wondering, and wonderful…to name just a few.

Our last week in Nelson was a roller coaster of happy gatherings, sad goodbyes, and tense packing moments, (and by “tense” I mean, “we wanted to kill each other”). I had one last Ladeez Night – a dinner at Baba’s Indian food restaurant, which ended with a power failure and paying of bills by the light of cell phones. BJ and I went to the Capitol Theatre to see the hilarious play, "The Number 14"; our cheeks were still sore the next day from all the laughing we did. Prez threw one last sushi fiesta for the gang although the gang was much smaller than usual as it was a last minute thing. And we spent our last night chillin’ with BJ, eating good food with an even gooder friend.

That was all the happy stuff.

The rest of the time we were trying to pare down the mountain of stuff we want to bring to the Cook Islands. We are allowed two bags each, 50lbs per bag, plus one carry-on bag each, and one personal bag (purse) each. OK, so imagine only being able to have 200lbs worth of stuff to live with for one year. Easy? Go weigh some of your favorite things, yes, right now. Ha! Not so easy, huh?

We lose one bag, right off the top, for dive gear – actually 1 ½ bags to be honest. Not much point moving to a beautiful, tropical destination without our dive gear. Then, our tools take up ½ a bag. That’s two bags taken up, and both weighing over the 50lb limit, I’m quite certain! That leaves each of us with 50lbs – good gravy; I have books that weigh 10lbs each!! Forget the carry-on, that’s pretty much all computer gack and emergency – i.e. “If our luggage gets lost, what will we need to survive until it is found?” – type gear. We will be paying extra for our fishing rod case and our reel case. I’m sure we’ll be paying extra for the stuff we’ll have to remove and re-pack into yet another bag, too.

On top of the suitcase packing stress, we also had to pack and move the remainder of our stuff into storage, (I pity the fool who tries to find anything in that storage locker!). Regular Nutters know about my Organizational Issues, and, therefore, can imagine the full-on anxiety attacks I experienced watching Prez, literally, throwing and stuffing unrelated items into boxes and sealing them up with no identifying labels!! Hold on, I have to take a moment and relax…deep cleansing breaths…I’m in my happy place.

Then there was Emily; the root of all domestic disputes. Since she’s going to live with Grampa, I wanted to make sure her vaccines were up to date, get her urine and blood checked to see how her kidneys are functioning, get her on the thyroid medication she needs, and get her some sort of “happy pills” to make the whole transition less stressful. (At this point, most of the women are thinking, ‘well, of course, that makes complete sense’, most of the men are thinking ‘????????’). Feline spending is never a happy topic between Prez and me. But seeing as this is the Coconut Chronicles, MY coconut Chronicles, let me just say…I am always 100% correct when it comes to the health and well-being of my kitty.

So there!

Then I fell down the outside stairs. Not on purpose, either. Stupid, slippery leaves! My bum is blue, and purple, and sore. My chronic back pain became Excruciating Chronic Back Pain. Thankfully I’d already visited my doctor for a truck load of meds to take with us to our desert island – another source of domestic unrest. (Hey, you try having an attack of endometriosis in the middle of the Costa Rican jungle and see if you don’t plan for emergencies a little more thoroughly next time you travel!)

Sunday morning we hugged BJ goodbye and passed along our best wishes to the Ripster, who is in Nepal preparing to summit Ama Dablam. What a flood of mixed emotions, but I held it together…until we went to Oso Negro for coffee. Let me say, for the record, I have never broken down in tears in a coffee shop, until now. Somehow, standing there among the usual Oso hustle and bustle; Nelsonites in fleece and Gortex meeting to discuss the mountain bike route they would ride that day, or politics, or art, or whatever; the smell of fresh roasted coffee and those famous breakfast buns on the grill; brilliant orange and red trees outside the window, with their leaves blowing down to Baker St.; somehow, it hit me. I was leaving, leaving a place, and people, I really love.

Waterworks ensued.

Then we were on the road. The sun was shining, my back was throbbing, Prez kept telling me he loved me and everything was going to be great, Emily was zonked out in the back seat on happy pills. And Nelson grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and eventually disappeared. It was all so…weird.

Then we were at the Kozak mansion, ooo-ing and aah-ing over the new kitchen designed by Tweeter, saying hello to good friends, slurping back (in my case) a gigantic martini, and stuffing our faces with typical Titanium Chef Kozy’s five-star chow. And it all felt…well…weird, but good weird.

On Thursday, I am off for four days of writing bliss at the Surrey International Writer’s Conference! Yipee! Though I’ve begun working on Novel #2, I will not be trying to pitch anything to anyone this year…whew. I’m really looking forward to enjoying the conference with no expectations or stress this year.

After that, the island, where Emily and I will…

No, I can’t say it. I can’t even think about it yet. La, la, la, la, la, la, la…

Then, on Oct.28th, we fly away to the Cook Islands. Turn the page, next chapter. I suspect my mixed up mood will continue until my feet touch down on sand and my 50lbs of stuff is unpacked. It’s OK, I’m not afraid to feel. To quote the character Shelby from “Steel Magnolias”: I’d rather have thirty seconds of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special. I’d rather feel every emotion under the sun, all at once, whatever the cost, than spend my life thinking about all the chances I could have taken, all the opportunities I missed.

But I will still miss Nelson and the Ripsters and Oso Negro and Baker Street and my writing group and the mountains and…

QUESTION: How are you feeling today?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Will Work for Turkey

Mon, 08 Oct 2007 19:56:30 GMT

Hello again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

We are holiday sluts. I’m not particularly proud of that fact…but not particularly ashamed, either. Wherever in the world we are, and whomever we find ourselves with, we always seem to manage to leech on, (quite unintentionally, I swear), to someone’s holiday celebration. This month? Deep fried turkey dinner for Thanksgiving at the home of ESP Tim and Carrie.

It’s not the first time we’ve batted our lashes and used our, “we’re all alone, we have no family, no children, and if you don’t take us in we’ll end up eating a tin of Spam and crying ourselves to sleep” faces in order to get invited to some special family celebration. I’m beginning to think we could keep our grocery bills down if we started widening our cultural boundaries. “Kwanzaa? Oh yes, we’d love to come to your Kwanzaa party! Um…will there be food? Yes? Great!”

Another tactic which has worked well for us is the “Surprise Visit”. “It’s Easter? Really, why we had no idea. We were just in the neighbourhood and thought we’d pop in. Well, yes, we realize we live 850 kilometers away but…hey, is that ham? Mmmm!”

You can also plant ideas in the heads of children…they’re so easily manipulated. “Hey E, wouldn’t you like to have turkey dinner with Aunty Princess and Uncle Prez? Wouldn’t that be fun? Why don’t you ask Grammy? Go on, that’s a good boy!”

Left to our own devices, Prez and I celebrate holidays in ways that are less than traditional. Two years ago we had our Xmas on a beach in Bahia de Los Angeles; it was a real Hallmark moment. We collected clams for dinner, I read a book, Prez rescued some beached squid, and Emily hunted mice. Then we all held hands and sang carols around the cardon cactus. (Well, I might have dreamt that last bit). The Xmas of 2004 found us stuck in a rented basement suite in the city. Prez was busy working on a new business and I was working almost every day at Mega Book Store, so our plans for the 25^th involved a lot of sleeping. Oh sure, we spent the morning visiting friends and vicariously enjoying the whole Tree-and-Presents thing, but by noon we were back home. We dragged our camping mattress into the living room, gathered a stack of DVD’s, started the T-bone steaks marinating, and spent the better part of the most wonderful time of the year watching movies, eating, and napping – Feliz Navidad!

Now, it’s not as if holidays and the traditions surrounding them have lost all meaning for me but…um…well, actually they have lost all meaning for me. Can you blame me? Last week I was at Save-On Foods and they’ve started putting out their Xmas consumer goodies, (Yes, October 1^st and the Xmas stuff is already appearing, sigh). There was a display of advent calendars; you know the ones that have sparkly, snowy holiday scenes on the front and Xmas-themed chocolates inside? Except one of the calendars had a picture of Spiderman on the front and a big sticker exclaiming that this calendar was good from December 1^st to January 1^st! So…uh…they lost me there. What? Isn’t the whole idea of the advent calendar for kids to count down until Xmas day? What’s with the extra seven days? And where does Spiderman fit into all of this? Has Santa retired? Will children now have to extract their presents from a sticky web which Spidey slings down the chimney? I mean, he wasn’t even wearing a Santa hat in the picture, there wasn’t even snow, or reindeer, or one of those Coca-Cola polar bears!!! Yeesh.

I’m thinking of starting my own line of advent calendars. They will be good from July 5^th to January 16^th of the following year. On the front, I’ll have a cute cartoon picture of Karl Marx and Britney Spears playing Twister. The chocolates will be in the shape of random objects – couches, stethoscopes, turnips – except for December 25^th, which will have only a note that says, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough chocolate? There are people starving around the world and you've got nothing better to do than to stuff yourself with sugar? Merry Xmas!” And I’ll advertise the whole works with big yellow stickers: “Xmas calendar! Now good for 176 days!” Wal Mart, 19.95, they’ll sell like hotcakes.

I wish I was kidding about that last part.

We do enjoy holidays, that is to say Prez and I enjoy any opportunity to get together with large groups of people we love, to eat and drink and laugh and tell stories, but you could rename Thanksgiving, “Flooberdub”, and hold it in January and we’d still feel the same way about it. And I’d say the same thing about Xmas, New Year’s, Halloween, Easter, Valentines, etc. etc. They’re just days; it’s what we make of them that gives them meaning. For example, last night, one of the guests at dinner was V, a lovely young woman who moved to Canada from Czechoslovakia. We got onto the subject of Xmas and she explained a traditional Czech Xmas dinner consists of fish and potato salad. “I always thought it was a really special dinner until I came here and made it and people were like, ‘That’s it? That’s all?’” she told me, a little wistfully. (No, you won’t find Prez and me hanging out in Czechoslovakia trying to bum Xmas dinner any time soon).

So how was Thanksgiving, (aka Flooberdub), dinner with our friends? Fantabulous! I must say, deep frying a large bird is a very manly way to cook! When’s the last time you wore safety goggles to cook a turkey? Huh?! Carrie, (I’m desperately working on a nickname for Carrie before we leave), stuffed us with, well, stuffing, and a host of other treats. BJ brought her famous rosemary potatoes and two, (yes, two!) pies. Prez and I brought…um…us. (We can be quite entertaining sometimes, that has to count for something, right?). I was introduced to Cornelius, the cute little Corn Snake which ESP Tim & Carrie's two boys have as a pet - he was very handsome! And ESP Tim was up to his usual tricks, it seemed like every time I turned my head there was a new alcoholic beverage on the table. “Gin and tonic? Wine? Chocolate Chip Cookie liqueur? Scotch? Mulled wine? Absinthe? Screech?...” I’m not coming back to Nelson until they build a Betty Ford Clinic and a Jenny Craig clinic side by side!

Yes, we are disillusioned and cynical, but luckily Prez and I are also highly addicted to over-eating turkey with good friends. And while we will likely continue our wild ways, drifting from holiday dinner to holiday dinner, selling our souls for an extra helping of mashed potatoes and gravy, I like to think we will also help to make the lives of our hosts a little brighter by…um…er…uh…

“Hey, is that ham? Yummmm!”

QUESTION: What would you do for a turkey dinner?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Equal, Right?

Mon, 24 Sep 2007 17:37:22 GMT

Hello again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

First order of business: retraction. Oh man, my face is numerous shades of red after last week’s Coconut Chronicle. Somehow I completely mixed up the birth order of Prez’s siblings. #1 Bro is, in fact, #2 Bro. The real #1 Bro lives in Victoria, not Red Deer…and we haven’t ever visited his house either. Bad Prez, very bad Prez! So, a gabillion apologies for my disorderly conduct – can you please forgive me??!!

Groveling complete, let’s move on.

I’ve been thinking about equality a lot lately. It all started with our ever-rising loonie which reached par with the U.S. dollar for the first time in 30 years. For many Canucks, this seeming financial equality has created a surge of pride. We’re as good as you are! Nya Nya! But our strong buck is not all good news. A large segment of our population benefits from a strong US dollar, notably those in the tourism industry. The majority of royalties Prez and I receive from the movie biz are in US funds – those little pink cheques used to make us cheer; now they’re just like the blue ones…sigh. And it’s not so much that our dollar is strong as it is that the US dollar is weak. So are we equal?

Well, we’re not the same, and not just where our currency is concerned.

Remember the hubbub when Canada declined the invitation to the little party in Iraq? We were practically labeled as traitors across the line. (Well, at least they didn’t rename Canadian Back Bacon as ‘Freedom Back Bacon’ or some such thing). But all political arguments aside, consider this, the current population of the US is estimated at 303,056,304, the current population of Canada is about 31,612,897 – only a difference of about 270 million people. Heck, the state of California alone has more people than all of Canada! (Look at a map and consider that fact for a moment – mind blowing, eh?). A lot less people means a lot less tax dollars, which means a lot less money in our budget, which means no trillions of dollars to throw away fighting a war the majority of our population doesn’t agree with anyway. Besides, exactly how much help were our handful of troops supposed to be over there? (Not that I feel we have to make any excuses for our lack of involvement in that debacle!)

We are a big country with a proportionally small population; it’s easy to forget that…no matter how much we try to puff ourselves up and act as big and cool as our big brother to the south. Hey, get real; does anyone even know the name of the Canadian Idol winner? Does anyone care?? Didn’t think so.

But I like being small, I like Canada just the way it is. Sure we live in a big shadow and sometimes we feel unappreciated but our global contributions are every bit as important as our #1 Bro’s. Our relationship may feel unequal but we are the U.S.’s biggest trading partner, and our little maple leaf flag patches help American backpackers around the world sleep well at night.

I must admit, though, it is sometimes frustrating being the one in the shadow, the wind beneath the wings, the good woman behind the great man. BJ and I know all about this. BJ and the Ripster are partners in their business, Peak Freak Expeditions. BJ does, (by my standards), all the really hard work. She is the one who answers the floods of emails, built and maintains the website, (a website built on dial-up internet no less!), handles all the logistics and money, makes travel arrangements, deals with legal mumbo jumbo, does the taxes (YUCK), does the PR, etc., etc. etc. Her job is never ending, often not a lot of fun, and it is a big part of Peak Freak’s success. But, inevitably, it is Ripster who gets the spotlight. He’s the guy who climbs Everest; can you find a bigger shadow than that?

So, while BJ and Ripster are equal in each other’s eyes, and both know how important each of their jobs are, and appreciate the work their spouse does, to the general public the guy who climbs the mountains is the star of the show.

Me? Well, it’s hard to outshine the Prez, as most of my regular Nutters know. In the stunt biz, he was almost 10 years my senior, naturally talented, did lots of big gags on feature films, and doubled a score of well known actors. Prez has what we call the “Wall of Shame” here in Shagalicious. It’s a wall of selected action photos from his stunt years. There he is getting hit by a car, flying through the air on fire, skydiving, pipe-ramping a car – wow. Ever sensitive to my feelings, he tried to make a “Wall of Shame” for me, but I quickly took down those three, not-so-exciting photos and put them back in the box.

And then there’s the whole sushi thing. Those of you who’ve attended a ClubFred sushi party know all about Prez’s antics and the delicious dishes he serves up. After he loaded up on Albacore one summer in Ukee, we hosted untold numbers of sushi parties. I would spend most of the day cleaning the house, shopping for ingredients, setting the table, prepping various menu items, making sure everything was perfect. In short, I’d work my arse off. Then guests would arrive, Prez would slice some fish, slap it on some rice, and everyone would rave. “Oh Prez, that’s amazing!”, “Wow, Prez, you’ve done so much work!”, “This sushi is fantastic, you should be a professional chef!” (OK, he does a lot more than slap fish on rice, but you get my point). Of course, I would also be the one who cleaned up the gigantic mess with nobody fawning over me. “Wow, Princess, how do you get these glasses so sparkling clean?!” Sigh.

Are we equal? If he always gets the limelight while I only get lime-scented dish soap, can we be equal?

Well, perhaps not in the eyes of the world, but definitely to each other. Prez has always been my #1 fan, and I love that he has fallen off buildings and taught himself to prepare fabulous sushi. And now that I’ve begun to experience some success with my writing, I’m also beginning to feel the light on my face. I know any success I have wouldn’t be possible without my husband. Whether we are standing in the shadow or in the spotlight, we are always standing together. Equal.

QUESTION: Are you in the shadow or the spotlight?

p.s. - At the risk of giving the Ripster even more attention; he and ESP Tim will be featured on the Discovery Channel show "Guinea Pig" sometime in January (Jan.8th, I think - I'll get the details from, BJ, the brains of the operation).

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!