purplelara

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This day in paradise begins a little differently than most. Today we are setting out on a much anticipated snorkeling trip, my brother and I, our (now ex) partners, my brother’s best friend, his best friend’s dad, brother-in-law and nephew. The water and skies are as crystal clear as I’ve ever seen them as we reach our first stop. We swim into an island tunnel, a long, watery cave with a pirates’ oasis hidden in the centre.

We leave the cave island and head to our next destination, about an hour away. Suddenly, the boat stops. The driver and his mates point to the water – over 50 dolphins are circling the boat. They jump and spin in the air, splashing us. It’s magical and fantastic and we snap picture after picture, toasting with cold beers to the “BEST DAY EVER!”

The next island is my favourite snorkeling spot in the world. But on this day, the water is unexpectedly cloudy, not clear. The tides are rough, not peaceful. Standing on the shore’s edge, water is at your ankles one minute, the next, your neck. We leave, disappointed.

We jump in the ocean a couple of times on our way back inland but the water is too rough. “Strangest tides I’ve ever seen” says the friend’s brother-in-law, a scuba instructor.

We head back home in the glorious afternoon sunshine, still reveling in a near perfect day.

As we approach the shore of our island, we notice things in the water. Strange things, like a cooler. A lawn chair. A whole palm tree. What the hell? A baby bottle. Oh god.

There is no one on the miles of beach. No one. Not a soul. What happened here? What is happening here?

The boat is silent.

We come upon our beach and see crushed bungalows. The once white beach is now black – wet with dark sand; covered in debris. The entire place is deserted, except for one man who owns the beach bar next door.

We run to him “What happened Rocky? What happened? Where IS everyone?”

“Gone”, he says. “All gone. Earthquakes, all over the world. Everything. Gone. Everything. Everywhere”.

My heart stops and a shiver runs through my entire being. I look at my brother; we cry silent tears and hold each other close.

I count my blessings that I didn’t see worse that day and pray (in my own way) for those who didn’t make it through, who weren’t as lucky as we were.

It turns out Rocky was wrong. It wasn’t everywhere and everything, but in his world, it was. It was December 26, 2004 on a small island in Southern Thailand.

I’d like to thank the always kick-ass Linda at All & Sundry for giving me permission to snag the comment I left on her site about a year ago that formed the basis for this post. Thanks Linda.

your nation’s capital

I completely lost the first draft of this post, which made me suicidal, or more accurately homicidal. Towards gmail. Yes, I know I confirmed I wanted to leave the page when I hit the back button and I know I shouldn’t be creating drafts in gmail, I know. So YES, technically MY FAULT but I’m only human and it was not at all UN-DO-EY, GMAIL.

The first draft was way, way better too. But this one has pictures.

Anyway, back where we left off, or rather back AT THE BEGINNING: Earlier this summer I had the opportunity to go to Washington, DC to attend a course and write an exam to become certified by an international software testing qualification board. My original post had some thoughts on the certification debate as well, but hell if I’m recreating THAT now too.

Grump grump grump.

I believe I started the original, spectacular post by saying that I jumped at the chance to attend the course, not just because I love learning, but because I also love to travel – like, anywhere.

I know DC is home to many historical sites and I’m a history nut, but as a Canadian, it never ranked very high on my list of places to visit, so I was a bit surprised that I ended up loving every minute I spent there.

I arrived in DC on a Saturday afternoon in June, grabbed a cab headed to my hotel, the lovely Hotel Lombardy on Pennsylvania Avenue.

This former apartment building has been converted to a lovely boutique hotel I can’t recommend enough. The historical details, the staff friendliness and even the old, extremely slow and noisy manually operated elevator were delightful.

Yes, I took pictures of the bathroom. I loved the all white look and want to decorate my next bathroom just like this. It felt so clean and fresh, and isn’t that how everyone wants to feel in the bathroom?

I had only slept a couple of hours the night before my flight and didn’t sleep on the plane at all, but it was only about 4:30 pm once I finished checking out my room. I felt like I should go explore, find something to eat, do *something*, but I was exhausted, overwhelmed and feeling a little homesick already. But then I realized I hadn’t adjusted the time on my laptop yet and hurray! 7:30 is a perfectly acceptable time to hunker down in my room, order room service, watch American TV and check out Hulu videos on-line (thanks American IP address!)

The next morning I got up bright and early and headed to the Metro station. After initially getting on the train going the wrong way (der), I ended up on back on track (literally) and sped off to Arlington National Cemetery, which is actually in Virginia, just across the Potomac from DC.

I hadn’t initially planned on going to Arlington, but my dad (who is the only person I know who has been to DC) recommended it, and I’m glad I listened to him (for once).

This picture has been used for an online map of DC and it’s surrounding areas. I’m PUBLISHED. I know I let them basically steal it for no fee, but I like seeing my name in lights as much as the next person.

After asking around a bit, and knowing the main sites I wanted to see at the cemetery (thanks again to my dad), I decided to buy a ticket for the hop-on/hop-off bus and I’m so glad I did. It was much hotter in DC than I’m used to in June and I hadn’t thought to bring sunscreen with me. I had applied some earlier but it pretty much melted off in the first five minutes spent in the muggy, muggy heat. Also, whoa, hilly.

One of the things I love about traveling is meeting new people and I met a great couple in the line for the bus. She was American and he originally from South Africa, and they were in DC celebrating the finalization of his American citizenship. I kept running into them all day, at different sites around DC, and as anyone who has had this happen will tell you, running into someone you know – however slightly – while traveling is like seeing a long-lost friend. I can’t remember their names (I should have written this sooner), but I do remember their faces and their story, which is now part of my story.

My first stop was JFK’s grave site. Jacquie is there with him now, and they are flanked by the two children they lost in infancy.

JFK Jr. is not there, but I understand he would have been eligible for burial there, had his family so chosen.

At the request of Jacquie, an eternal flame was placed on JFK’s grave and has burned all day every day since his burial (yes, hence “eternal”, shut up). I hate my brain sometimes, but as I stood there, wrapping myself in the surrounding history, thinking about JFK’s life and death; thinking of Jacquie and what she went through and remembering the pictures of little John John saluting his father in this very place, all I could hear in my head was “and is this BURNING an ETERNAL flaaame?” Shut up, brain.

Near JFK’s grave is RFK’s:

At the time, his was the only grave in Arlington marked with a single white cross, although I understand Ted Kennedy is now buried near his brothers and that his grave too is marked with a simple white cross.

After wandering around a bit more, I headed over to the amphitheater that houses the Tomb of the Unknowns, or the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, as it is also known.

The tomb holds the remains of unknown soldiers from World Wars I and II and from the Korean War. It also once held the remains of an unknown from the Viet Nam war, although his remains were fairly recently identified through DNA testing and disinterred. While there are hundreds, if not thousands of unmarked graves in Arlington, mostly from the Civil War, this tomb is the symbolic resting place of all unidentified soldiers and is guarded 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. The Changing of the Guard ceremony itself is very formal and militarily precise.

The guards and spectators take the ceremony very seriously and despite the crowd being over one hundred strong, you could have heard a pin drop. From Wikipedia:

It is considered one of the highest honors to serve as a ceremonial guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns. Less than 20% of all volunteers are accepted for training and of those only a fraction pass training to become full-fledged Tomb Guards. The sentinels do not wear rank insignia on their uniforms so that they do not outrank the Unknowns, whatever their rank may have been…

It was very moving and it’s in a spectacular location, I’ll never forget it.

OK. Time for a rant. There are signs everywhere in the cemetery reminding visitors not to sit on tombstones, not to run between graves, to be quiet and respectful of grave sites and mourners, and to turn off cell phones. WHO ARE THE PEOPLE WHO NEED THESE REMINDERS? It’s a CEMETERY, you shouldn’t need a reminder. Not only that, it’s your National cemetery – the final resting place of many who died fighting wars FOR YOU. So, kid. Yeah, you, teen aged kid who thought your text messages were more important than the Changing of the Guard ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknowns and yelled “WHAT?!” at your grandmother when she tried to grab your phone from you when it started chiming it’s hip-hop ringtone DURING the ceremony honoring people who DIED for YOU: I don’t care if you are only 13 or 14. I don’t care if you’re still a kid. FUCK YOU.

I’m Canadian, not American, but my feelings on this subject aren’t new and aren’t a result of infused American patriotism obtained while visiting such a patriotic place. My grandfather fought, and was injured, in WWII. I dated a man for many, many years who was (and still is) in the U.S. military. I grew up with a father who was a firefighter, which I know is not exactly the same, but is a profession where you chose to say “I will risk my life to save yours”. I may not support the wars world leaders choose for their soldiers to battle in and die for, but I have the utmost respect for soldiers (and firefighters) and absolutely no respect for anyone who disagrees with me on this subject. I usually try to respect other people’s opinions, but on this matter, there is no room for negotiation. In other words, suck it.

Anyways. Hi. What were we talking about?

I wandered around Arlington for a while longer, stopping in at Arlington House, which unfortunately was ungoing renovation, but from where amazing views of DC can be seen.

Note JFK’s grave at the bottom of the picture – I wasn’t on a tour, but when standing here I heard a tour guide say JFK visited Arlington shortly before his death, and upon seeing this view said “I could look at this view forever”, which was why this particular site was chosen for his grave. I’m not sure if this is true or not, but it certainly is a spectacular setting.

I decided to head back to DC and visit some of the memorials in the National Mall area. Checking out the Metro map, I noticed that none of the stops would put me really close to the Mall, so I walked from Virginia back to DC (sounds impressive, doesn’t it?) It was a longer, hotter and muggier walk than I anticipated, but I’m glad I walked as it gave me the opportunity to watch people enjoy the green spaces along the Potomac.

After I took a bit of a rest under a lovely big tree in a lovely green park, ate a horrendous sandwich and had a bird shit on me, I walked over to the Lincoln Memorial, where my camera batteries died.

By the time I got back to my hotel, I was absolutely exhausted from the heat and many hours of walking and I had to start studying for my course, so I packed it in for the day. I did go back down to the Mall the next night, and visited the Smithsonian museums (plural) during my stay too. I’ll write more about those later.

I enjoyed my Sunday in DC and Virginia far, far more than I ever expected to. I saw natural beauty, touching memorials, and historic places. I stood in attendance at a ceremony honoring people I respect, I had the courage to explore new things on my own (which I often find intimidating) and I met wonderful people. I’m grateful to have had the chance.

the great mashed potato war

Did I ever tell you I had an earlier blog? No? Hmm, really, I can’t think of why. But I did, it was short lived and secret and it was when I was going through the separation that led to my divorce and I was kind of a mess. Hey don’t you wish you could have read all about that?

I am always, always thinking about writing again. I never stick with it and I’m not sure why. I write at work, all day, every day so there’s that. I’m also told you should write about things you are passionate about, right? So, I should start a cheap wine blog? A pizza blog? AN AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL BLOG? (I’m kidding about one of those).

As everyone who knows me knows, I do love technology and using tools and services on the web to share and communicate and so on, and I may have an opportunity to write about those things coming up, but more on that later (TEASER).

I’m getting to the point of this post.

I started thinking the other day about the writing I did in the past and I wondering if I could remember the password associated with the account or even the email address I had at the time. Turns out I’m an awesome geek and I’d saved the info and last night I went and poked my head into, well, my own head all those years ago and ohgodwow.

I’ve hidden the old blog, but I thought I’d share this post. I wonder if people question how things fell apart for us so quickly. Before it happened to me I questioned how two people could go from “let’s promise to be together all forever-like” to “I hate you so much DIE ALREADY” in just a few months. I stopped wondering pretty quick.

I forget myself how bad it was. I’m not posting this to remember the bad parts, I’m posting it to remind myself how much better things are now and to be thankful I had the strength to leave. What I put up with was ridiculous and humiliating and killed a part of me.

Some people don’t understand how damaging it is, how the horribly hurtful things said and done to you by someone you love makes it harder, not easier to leave. It damages you and when you’re damaged you hate yourself. You hate yourself for putting up with it, for not being able to stop it, for failing to be the person he wants you to be, and for being the person he tells you you are. Your self-esteem is shattered, daily, and with no self-esteem, you do not have the courage to leave. Until one day you do.

What follows is just one day in the approximately 450 days I was married.

(It’s not well written, a little heavy handed – I was a little heavy hearted at the time, but I’m not going to edit it, but you’ll note I did change his name (and, subtle hey?), even in the original).

Hard

Our condo is for sale. It’s over. The life we shared in this home is over. I’ve been packing and cleaning today. Again. And sobbing frequently. Again. These, here, these are chopsticks from our honeymoon in Thailand. And this, this “Press ‘n’ Seal” cling wrap. He told me it was too expensive, a rip off…yet a few days later he brought it home from the store Here honey he said with a goofy smile. Silly, yes, but everything, everything, reminds me of the life we had together. Even saran wrap.

This is so hard.

And this here. What is this? This crusty mark on the wall? What IS this? Oh. This is a remnant of the Great Easter Mashed Potato War.

I can’t even remember how it started, other than I remember being annoyed with him all evening. He hovers over me, critiquing at every step the smashed turnips and carrots I’ve been making for years. Yes John, I know they need more butter. YES, John I know I need to mash them a bit longer. NO John I DO NOT THINK THEY NEEDED TO BE BOILED ANY LONGER.

It continues with the gravy…and the turkey…and the potatoes…and the…everything.

He drinks too much, par for course, at dinner. He is obnoxious, as per usual. He embarrasses me in front of my family, as always.

During clean up time, my frustration boils over. The precise reason why, I can no longer remember, but at some point, angry words are exchanged, and all of a sudden a spoonful of mashed potatoes is flung. At my head. By my husband. My 39 year old husband threw a spoonful of mashed potatoes at me. Then a handful. Then another handful.

What the hell. I start screaming at him to STOP STOP STOP WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM WHAT IS YOUR POINT STOP IT.

“I’m going to bed”, I scream. “I’m ending this. Now. I’m.Going.To.Bed.”

“Oh no you’re not”, he screams back. “You.Will.Clean.Up.This.Kitchen. NOW.”

“I will not. I will NOT clean up this kitchen because you order me to. I will NOT.”

“Oh yes you will…if you don’t clean it up RIGHT NOW, you are NOT.SLEEPING.TONIGHT. I GUARANTEE you that.”

“Fuck You John”.

I go to bed. Seething.

[BLINK]. The lights go on.

“I told you. CLEAN UP THE KITCHEN NOW or you are NOT SLEEPING TONIGHT. I’m not kidding. I will keep you up until 6:00 am. GET IN THERE AND CLEAN UP YOUR MESS.

DID YOU HEAR ME??

GET UP!!!!!!!!”

He climbs on the bed and pokes me with his finger [poke poke poke]

“I SAID GET UP.

GET UP NOW.”

I try desperately to ignore him.

“OK”, he says. “OK…”

He turns out the light, gets in bed, gets comfy.

And again [poke poke poke].

“You think I was kidding? I’ll keep this up all night!” [poke poke poke].

[poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke]

[poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke]

[poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke]

[poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke]

[poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke]

[Giant ELBOW in my side] “YOU THINK I’M KIDDING??????”

<snap!>

“FUCK YOU JOHN FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!”

He smiles.

I’m in full on rage now. I’m sobbing hysterically, I’m screaming at him “LEAVE ME ALONE IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED YOU WANT ME TO SNAP YOU GOT YOUR WISH!”

I run to the bathroom. He stands outside. Now his voice is calm. As calmly as can be, he says:

“Wow. Freak out much? Fat fucking crazy bitch.”

There is a smirk in his voice.

“Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, I’m going to a motel.”

I start throwing clothes in a bag. He lies in bed, hands behind his head, relaxed as can be. Still smiling.

“Motel huh? You leave now, don’t come baaaack”. Now he’s sing-songing.

“No problem” I say.

“Well”, he says, “have a good sleep!!”

It’s 2:00 am. I have to work in the morning. I drive towards the local motel-row. I picture the desk clerk thinking Oh hey single young woman checking in alone in the middle of the night, how convenient I have a key to your room…

Fuck, I think. I pull over to the side of the road. Sob. Why, why is this happening to me? Oh, I over-reacted. Yes, I TRIED to walk away when it got stupid. No, he would not leave me alone, but still. I should have handled it differently. Why can’t I DO this?! What is wrong with me, with us? I’m going home. I’m calm now. It will be OK.

I call him. “I’m coming home, OK?”

“No you are NOT”, he says. [Click]

oh god oh god oh god oh god

Call him back. Repeatedly. Same thing, over and over.

I try to reason with him. “Look, I say, this is ridiculous. Let’s stop this NOW. It’s late. C’mon? Please?” (I hate myself a little more).

“Fine”, he says. “Come home…

…

…

…

but you’re still not getting any sleep tonight.”

I cleaned up *my* mess, yet I still wasn’t allowed back in the bedroom. I tried to sleep – on the couch, but it was hard, having the lights turned on every 10 minutes or so, just as I dozed off. It was hard, getting poked in the arm constantly (although not as hard as the time he pushed me right out of bed). It was hard not being able to understand why my husband treated me like that.

Today wasn’t that hard.

gyro salad (with lamb or pork) and tzatziki

Hey, I promised recipes didn’t I? Ya, sorry. We’re fasting for…Iran? Or, um Dafur? Or something?

Actually, I’ve been in a bit of a food slump for the past few months.  I’m not sure if was the nice weather or what but we’ve been eating a lot of burgers, chicken breasts and salad.  Boring. Combined with the fact that I also hardly ever have time on the computer, I’ve fallen behind on the recipes.  Sorry.

The other day I picked up one of those recipe magazines that are always displayed at the grocery check out line – I’m not sure where they get off on charging $10 for these magazines, but this one had some great recipes in it and I wanted to get out of my slump so I bought it. When I got home, I flipped through it and was inspired to get cooking again.

The next day I was super excited to be trying a light Tandoori chicken recipe…until I read that I have to marinate the chicken for a day. So that’s for another night then.

Not to be deterred, I dragged out a couple of my older magazines and tried one that I hadn’t tackled yet, and it’s definitely a keeper.

I started this dinner with a recipe called “Gyro Chopped Salad with Lamb Chops” from a Cuisine at Home “Cuisine for two” magazine (yes, yes, the title is barf-worthy, but the recipes are fab) I bought a couple of years ago.  As usual, I changed it a bit.

• 1 cup plain non-fat yogurt
• 1 cup cucumber, seeded, chopped (seeded? are you kidding me? who seeds cucumbers? let’s go with “chopped”)
• 2 tablespoons feta cheese, crumbled
• 1 tablespoon fresh oregano leaves
• 1 garlic clove
• Juice of half a lemon
• S&P to taste

• 4 cups romaine, chopped
• 1/4 cup red onion, thinly sliced
• 1/4 cup feta cheese, crumbled (or you know, more)
• 10 grape tomatoes
• 8 kalamata olives, pitted
• 4 peperoncini, chopped*

• 4 lamb or pork loins**

Spoon yogurt onto several layers of paper towel or cheesecloth. Press and compact, then set aside to drain (I left mine, draining the liquid several times, for about an hour).

In a food processor, zap the cucumber, 2 tablespoons feta, garlic and lemon juice until the cukes are minced.  Add drained yogurt and combine.  Add S&P to taste.

Assemble romaine, onion, feta, tomatoes, olives and peppers.  Top with tzatziki.

*Do you have any idea of what these are? Me neither, but google knows   everything , so here’s a picture.

**This recipe calls to season 4 lamb loin chops with salt, pepper and dried oregano. I bought pork loin chops, because they are cheaper and less fattening. Instead of just “seasoning” them, I marinated them for about 1/2 hour to an hour in some lemon juice, garlic, oregano and pepper.