New FerryCam up and running

Did anyone spot the camera fairy climbing atop the Skol Pub to fix a new webcam for the ferry line up?

Now we can monitor BC Ferries as well as the newspaper vendor!

Great picture of the Viking Warrior too !!!

Check it out for yourself here

The Kennedy Obsession

The Engineer and I were literally in Hyannis Port when the death of Teddy Kennedy was announced.  In fact, we passed the Kennedy Compound on the ferry to Nantucket.  

This is the closest we have ever been to something historical, as it was happening.  The other day, the LAST sunny day we had on the Cape, the Engineer and I were driving home from the Sandwich Glass Museum (yes, that's right.  We wasted the last heat and sun of summer at a museum. Damn you Frommer's) and passed a pile of people stopped on the overpass looking at the highway. 

First thought?  Someone jumped.

On the highway, we saw hundreds of people lining the streets.  Still didn't clue in.  Were the Obama's on the Cape?  Oh wait, it finally dawned on me (before the Engineer!  HA!  That almost never happens), the Kennedy's must be on their way to Boston.  

Sure enough, we pulled over to a gas station, and I asked a sheriff what was going on.  Grrr, I would have looked less like an idiot if I had said 'are the Kennedy's coming?' rather than 'what's going on' because he treated me like a slow-minded sloth.  Whatever, I pulled the Canadian card.

The Engineer and I waited for five minutes (ha!  other people waited hours!  Totally pays to be ignorant) and the motorcade did indeed go right by us out of Hyannis on it's way to Boston.  It was sort of cool.  There were about four limos, the hearse, three Escalades, and a Peter Pan bus with all the Kennedy kids.  The Kennedy's waved at us as the Cape Codders (ummm?) thanked them and waved their flags.

So the obsession began.  I have always been sort of fascinated with the Kennedy clan.  Who isn't?  An massively powerful, political and rich family that is so big it fits into four Peter Pan buses?  Thanks to Wikipedia, the Engineer and I have learned everything there is to know about this family.  Even if you hate the Kennedy's, you can't help but feel some sort of compassion for the amount of tragedy that has hit this family.  Besides the two assassinations, did you know that the oldest son was killed in World War II at the age of 28?  Or the oldest daughter died in a plane crash?  The second oldest daughter had a frontal lobotomy that went wrong (did they ever go right) that left her a vegetable in a Wisconsin institution?  That Teddy Kennedy's oldest son had cancer at 12 and lost a leg?  Or that Jackie Kennedy had a stillborn AND her fourth baby died three days after his birth?  

Weird right?

I am the most unpolitical person I know.  But in this last week, I have learned more about what the Kennedy's have done for the Democrats and the US than I probably care to know.  I even cried during Patrick and Obama's speech.  I think it's quite lovely that despite what Teddy Kennedy did in his private life (and wow, was that something) that he personally spoke to all 177 Massachusetts families that lost someone in the attacks of 9/11, that he wrote to a widow about how one continues on after such tragedy.  

Watching the funeral where the world's most influential people sat, I felt very very small.  One of the most interesting figures of the Kennedy family, I think, is Eunice (mother to Maria Shriver).  She passed away only two weeks before her brother and I think she could have been the first woman president if she had run for office, in another time of course.  Joe Kennedy (the dad) was so ambitious that he wanted all four of his sons to be president.  He overlooked this amazing woman because it was the sixties.  She would have rocked.  

Eunice is the driving force behind the Special Olympics.  I first learned about her on Oprah (no comments) where Oprah told a cute story: 

In 2004, I was vacationing in the Caribbean when the catastrophic Indian Ocean tsunami hit. I was standing at the edge of a pier overlooking the water when suddenly I heard a strange commotion. Coming toward me was a woman wearing a swimsuit, a bathrobe, and a pink bathing cap flipped up around her ears; arms waving in the air, she was calling my name loudly. It was Eunice. 

She wasted barely a moment on the niceties of Long time, no see, How are you, blah, blah. Instead, she dove right in: "I know you're on vacation, but what are you planning to do about the tsunami?"

"I…I…I don't have a plan right now," I stuttered. "I feel terrible, though. It's just awful what happened."

"Everybody feels terrible," she said. "But you can do something. Call Maria. Set up a meeting. Make a plan. Meet with Teddy. Do something."

This has me thinking.  About that small feeling I got watching the funeral.  How can I make a difference? I am not Oprah or the Kennedy's. I don't have buckets of money.  I feel strongly that people who do have buckets of money should contribute to the world using their power, influence and chequebook. But how can I make sure that at my funeral, people will stand up and talk about all the contributions I made to our world?

Is it through volunteer work?  Or writing letters to the government?  Comments are welcome here.  I know it's time to get off my butt and volunteer for a cause I feel strongly about.  But is that enough?  How can people truly, really make a difference?

It's Like Disneyland! Except real . . .

Cape Cod is pretty much the most adorable place I have ever seen.  It's all quaint houses, tavern's named 'Bee Hive Inn',  and hydrangea bushes abloom (is that a word?).  I feel it's as if I have vomited all things Sarah and 'boom' there's Cape Cod!

Such a lovely metaphor for such a lovely landscape.

It isn't just the views of Cape Cod that are so wonderful.  It's the people.  They are nice.  Like really really nice.  I might go as far to say they are even friendlier than Manitobans.  That's saying a lot.  It's also a wonderful refreshing change from the streets of New York.  

Being in Cape Cod is making me a better, friendlier person.  Just the other morning, as I strolled the dogs to the AMAZING bakery (hello?  I actually got a sticky pecan Cinnamon bun RIGHT OUT OF THE OVEN!!!!) at the end of Willow Street behind our motel, everyone we met greeted us with a smile and a 'good morning' or 'isn't it lovely?' or 'top of the morning to you' (okay, fine, they don't say that last one but I know they all want to).  Even the drivers wave to you!  It puts an extra bounce in my step and a bigger smile on my face.  It's just like Disneyland except (a) it's real and (b) these people aren't being paid to be nice to you.

I thought this area was the bee's knees.  Until I went to Nantucket.  I fell in love.  In Nantucket.  With Nantucket.  Through Nantucket.  I love Nantucket.  And so does the Engineer.

In fact, I have never in our near-three year relationship heard him trill on enthusiastically about anything.  He certainly never agrees so forthright with me about anything.  I can say, "do you love this" and I will often get a quiet 'yes' or 'I guess so'.  But as we cycled the 16.5 miles under the HOT sun to 'Sconset, it was the Engineer who was the first to say 'we are buying a house here'.  Much to my delight.  Now we just need a minimum of $1.6 million for a vacation home . . . .

The moment you step off the ferry into Nantucket Town, you are literally greeted with adorable-ness at each turn.  Cobblestones, gaslights, Colonial houses and buildings.  Oh, and boutiques filled with pricey knick knacks.  And Lilly Pulitzer.

As we cycled, under the hot sun with our bums aching and vowing to never do that again, past glorious homes built with the traditional grey cedar we fell more in more in love.   By the by, the homes are so rich here that on the side of the road we would pass a mailbox for the house, and a mailbox for the guest cottage!!!!!

Then we got to 'Sconset.

Oh 'Sconset.  How I love thee.  Grey homes, flower boxes, white curtains blowing in the summer breeze.  Shell lined streets, tiny yards with Adirondack chairs perfect for star-gazing and tea drinking, and even more hydrangea.  Like I said, Disneyland except real.  

Even the beach was superior to anything we've seen.  Soft sand that was like laying in a recliner chair and the water was so warm that we played for a good part of an hour.  This is something I never do.

I love love love this place.  I don't see myself coming back anytime soon however, it's definitely a place on my list to come with my kids for weeks in the summer.  

Who am I kidding?  I'm going to throw it all in and move here tomorrow.  And eat chowder for the rest of my life.

Lobster or Leave It

The Engineer and I have never traveled anywhere together where we must make important daily decisions. For example:  what to do today?  Where to go today?  And most importantly, what to eat today?  (for the record, we always seem to travel to weddings together that happen in tropical all-inclusive resorts or Disneyland).

 

They say that to really know a person you must travel with them.  You see all their annoying quirks and habits.  I must now face the music, the Engineer is about to see my odd vacation habit.

It’s not so much a habit as much as a picky, annoying, anal retentive quirk.  And it rears its ugly head when it’s time to eat.

I will eat pretty much anything.  I will, however, not eat pretty much anywhere.

It’s as if I get these ideas in my head about what food I should be eating whilst on vacation and will not let it rest until I am satisfied.  Food is very important to me, and my travels.  I think the way to really experience the world is through food.  What’s Osaka without okonomiyaki?  Or Seville without tapas?  Nothing, that’s what.

We’re in Cape Cod.  To me that equals delicious, fresh seafood and bowls of clam chowder.  But now that we’re here, I have discovered something about Cape Cod.  It’s made for families.  And with families come big, cheesy restaurants with food to suit the everyday appetite.  IE. Pub grub.

Don’t get me wrong!  I am not against the family eatery/chain restaurant.  Okay, fine, maybe I am.  But let’s face it.  When you are in your very very late twenties (I only have a few more weeks of having the privilege of saying that) and you are with you romantic partner, it isn’t exactly fun to sit amidst screaming children and their parents begging them to eat one more chicken strip.

 The other night we drove up and down the main street (and only street with food) looking for my lobster.  We stopped first at a famous Cape Cod chain that serves lobster bisque AND broiled lobster.  It was fluorescent lit, counter service, and full of children/old people  Ick.

 So I made us go to another establishment.  This one was ridiculously expensive without lobster bisque (which was now on my brain).  Then I dashed across the street to another restaurant (see the annoying pattern here?) which was worse than a Red Lobster.  It was decorated with large red lobsters, smelled of Lysol and was empty.  No go.

Everywhere else?  Closed.  It’s a family destination and 8pm is bedtime.

Back to the first restaurant because I was having my damn bisque.  It wasn’t so bad.  It smelled good.  And we could sit outside. 

After eating though, the only good thing about this place was the red lobster pager that lit up when my food was ready.

The platter itself was enticing (note the colour – we are the ONLY people to order broiled seafood, everyone else is all about the fried) but it lacked, well flavor.  The bisque?  It had hearty chunks of lobster (which were yummy) but had the consistency of mayonnaise.  Ummmm.  Wrong.  I think I ate a pound of butter in my four bites.  Bites and lobster bisque do not belong in the same sentence.

The Engineer and I agreed to eat our next meal at the Vietnamese place in town.  Sure Pho isn’t exactly Cape Cod but it is going to be delicious.

 But was it open?  No.  So I made us drive to the Thai place.  Closed.  Then we did a repeat of the night before.  Except we covered two towns.  TWO!  We passed several large eateries touting the lobster but they all looked . . . pedestrian. 

See?  There it is.  My horrible, annoying habit.  I am a food SNOB.  SNOB!  I just can’t stand run of the mill restaurants with food prepared by cooks getting paid $8/hour.  I am not a fan of plastic booths and paper place mats.  I’m just not.  What is the point of eating the calories and spending the money on bad food? 

I will search out for hours or not eat at all.  We did end up at another Thai restaurant and it was the first meal in Cape Cod that made me feel satisfied, not like I was going to die with too much cream and fried fat. By the way, I like cream and fried fat, if done well.

We topped it off with a round of mini-golf and some incredible ice cream.  At least the Cape does that well. 

 The Engineer?  He told me that my annoying habit didn’t annoy him.  And he was happy to find somewhere to eat that would make me happy. 

 Am I lucky or what?

The Dog Traveller

Traveling from Vancouver to New York has now made me an expert with how to prepare dogs for the plane.

If you have been reading my blog, you know that it has taken some practice. Well, now I got it right.  Almost.

First:  don't give your dogs gravol bought off the shelf at the pharmacy.  That stuff is the NON DROWSY gravol.  So for the past year, I have been feeding my dogs pills that don't do a thing to put them out.  Whoops.  I finally discovered that for the knock-out drugs, you've got to ask the pharmacist.  Feed them half a tablet each in cheese

Second:  walk them plenty before flight.  Best thing to do?  Off-leash of course and let them go crazy.

What is the result?  Mr. Mop was so tranquil going through security I had to WAKE HIM UP!  That never happens. Usually he pants and whines.  This time?  His eyes would barely open when they shoved the 'probe' into the kennel to make sure I wasn't smuggling cocaine.  

Then you will get off at other end, and your dog will still be asleep.  In fact, he will be so drowsy it takes him two days to get the gravol out of his system.  

Lesson here?  Don't feed your 15LB dog the same amount of gravol as you would an 80LB child.  Yup, dogs only get a quarter of a tablet.  Again, whoops.

I'm almost there though, just a few more flights and we will all be pros!

And FYI, West Jet really is superior to flying pets.  Go with them if you can.

Princess Dog Walker

I live between two cities.  Between two coasts.  And I am really trying hard to see the light in each city, and appreciate their differences and qualities, rather than wish I were in the other while I was in one.

 I bring my dogs with me everywhere I go, and if there is one big difference between New York and Vancouver, it’s what you can do with your dogs.

 The boys love New York.  What dog wouldn’t?  The streets of Brooklyn are lined with innumerable smelly ‘treats’ putting this concrete jungle on the map of doggie wonders.  On our walk the other day, Mr. Mop ate a soggy napkin (the whole thing, I looked down and there he was, strutting and munching away), a chicken bone (of course, these are everywhere, I am now adept at wrestling them out of his clenched jaws), a wet nap (what soggy napkin meal isn’t complete without a wet nap?), and an unidentifiable object I would rather not think about.

 The hard part about New York – obvious chicken bone dodging aside – is that we aren’t super close to a big park.  And the parks here are only off-leash before 9 am and after 9 pm.  It’s a fair walk to the park, so by the time we walk there, the boys are too tired to wrestle the other dogs.  I could take the subway, but it’s too hard holding both of them as they FREAK out over the loud noise that is the F train.  And I don’t have a car.

 Which is what gives Vancouver a nice A++.  I have a car, and off-leash parks are in abundance (both walking distance and driving), and there are no ‘hour limitations’ to letting the hounds off-leash. 

 I love off-leash.  I just love unclipping their leashes and that moment of freedom when they motor as fast as their little legs will let them.  Brooklyn is especially cute because he is so little it sort of looks like a bunny mixed with a galloping mouse.

 But here is where I have a hard time mixing New York and Vancouver:  the clothing.  New York is, well, New York.  I fit right in this summer with my selection of dresses.  Vancouver is a much more casual affair.  Where you can wear yoga clothes all day long, and to the opera if you so choose.

So what happens when I walk my dogs in a Vancouver park in New York clothes?  Princess Dog Walker.

 I especially love going to Lighthouse Park.  Even if the parking lot is full, you rarely run into people on the trails (something that never happens in NYC where the population is roughly equivalent to that of BC).  I go often.  And usually I am in my runners, yoga pants and puffy vest.  But this last time, I happened to be in a sundress and flip-flops.

I was ridiculous.

It’s ridiculous enough that everyone who walks at this park have big dogs, like Labs, Retrievers, and Border Collies.  I show up with a 9LB Yorkie and Mr. Mop. 

 So there we are, wandering through BC’s rainforest coast, minding our own business, when the worst thing happens:  we get lost.  I thought I was following a path, but low and behold, the path was suddenly gone.  I let Mr. Mop lead me (big pack leader mistake) hoping he can sniff out the trail.  And by the way he was strutting, I felt like he knew where he was going. 

 But he didn’t.

 Brooklyn was trying his best to hop over logs and I was traipsing through a forest wearing flip flops, a little sundress and holding my iPhone above my head trying to get a signal.  Mr. Mop turned back and looked at me hopefully. 

 Finally, we break out of the overgrowth back to the main path.  I literally have cobwebs stuck to me and bugs all over my hair.  Of course, this would be the perfect time to meet up with one of those people that we never see in the park.  And we do.  What did those two rugged hikers think of the girl who flew out of the trees, in a pink dress, yanking bugs out of her blonde hair with her two tiny dogs? 

 I looked like an idiot.  Like a Princess dog walker.  They looked at me with raised eyebrows.  Well, whatever, if I can hike in flip-flops through a forest, clearly I am tougher than I look.

 This doesn’t happen in New York.  Then again, Lululemon is brand new here.  Give it time.

Hot Sarah in the City

I am back on the Big Apple side of North America.

And boy oh boy is it hot here.  I mean HOT.  Not Vancouver heat wave hot.  This hot is like a whole other hot I've never experienced before.  The Engineer states that it's like being behind the exhaust pipe of a bus, ALL THE TIME.

Heat induces laziness, hence the lack of blog entries of late.  I have just about enough energy to drag the bed directly in front of the air conditioning and then type three words.  The rest of the time is spent asleep.

What does one do for fun in such a hot city?  There are no pools, no nearby lakes, no beaches I would feel comfortable swimming off of.  What have we been doing?

Watching movies outside.

Clearly this is the new 'it' thing to hit cities across the continent.  Every one loves to watch an old movie from the comfort of a beach blanket in the great outdoors.  In New York, it's an art.

Bryant Park is the birthplace of the outdoor movie.  Thank goodness for reviews on Yelp, otherwise I would have had no idea what to do.  The grass is available at 5 pm.  The movie starts at 8:22 pm.  And people start camping around the grass at 3:45pm.  We opted for 4:20.  It was enough time to grab some iced coffees then claim two chairs on the border around the grass.

At 4:48 pm, the border around the grass was full and everyone was standing up.  I started to get nervous.  At 4:52 pm, everyone was shaking out their blankets to make sure they could 'run and drop'.  My heart was doing flips.  Like when I was a kid at track and field, waiting for the gun to go off.  At 4:58 people were stepping onto the grass and getting yelled at by police and the loudspeaker lady who was eerily like Big Brother.

The Engineer and I had a plan.  I would run with the blanket and claim some grass - but I would aim for center field.  He would attempt to go straight, diving between the hoards of crazy movie-goers and throw himself into a starfish on the ground if he found a good spot.  We would then see who got the better deal.

At exactly 5pm, the lady called 'enjoy the show' and MASSES of people ran into the grass.  I was practically hyperventilating.  I dropped as soon as the people in front of me did.  I literally had to drape myself over my blanket with my whole body so that other people did not try to crowd me out.

And for the next three and a half hours we read, ate, and ordered pizza.  It was fun.  It was crowded.  I was two inches from the person next to me.

I have to laugh at people who are idiots in these types of situations.  Clearly, hundreds of New Yorkers know to get there early and come prepared.  But there is always that one loser who shows up at 8:20 and asks the girls next to us if he could sit on the corner of their blanket where their shoes are.  They tell him no.  He moves over a few blankets, to FRONT ROW CENTRE, shoves himself between two men and then is joined by two girls, one of which is carrying 6 shopping bags.  RUDE!  And stupid.  I was glad that the people around them didn't give them any space and they were forced to sit hugging their knees.

Those are the same people who show up late to a movie on opening weekend, like Harry Potter, and then ask if the three seats next to you (in prime viewing space) are available when the rest of the theatre is full and the only seats left are the front row.  Yeah right, wank-head, these prime seats that I got here early for draped with sweaters are definitely free for your lame-ass, clearly, as the rest of the theatre is full, you numb-butt.  

Wow, I get really mad at that.

Anyways, we watched "Close Encounters of the Third Kind".  It was fun.  Central Park had a movie last night, it was great.  Not at all crowded and I was able to watch George Clooney AND the lightning bugs darting in the trees.  How awesome is that?

It's no Brohme Lake, but New York in the summer ain't so bad.

No time to travel the Canada Line?

There's no excuse.

Just about everyone who's tried out Canada Line since its opening last week has been full of praise for the project.

If you REALLY don't have the time to try the service for yourself, here's your chance to travel from Downtown Vancouver to Richmond - and YVR - and back, all in a couple of minutes.

Just CLICK on the image above to start the ride!

What is it you do again?

I have a terrible habit, or problem, of not knowing exactly what my friends do for a living.  Granted, in this day and age it isn't so simple to say:  my friend makes horseshoes, or my friend owns a brothel.  You know, it's not 1885.

I have a couple of friends that are easy.  They are teachers.  We all know what they do because we have all experienced their work.  I have a friend who is a doctor.  Easy peasy.  But then I must delve into more difficult territory.  For example, I never really knew what the Engineer did before he was a student.  

I know it involved spreadsheets, and making power lines talk to substations. Exactly how he did that I never knew.  Maybe he told me once but I probably stopped listening when Friends got back from commercial.  Currently he works at a big investment bank.  I know that the bank is really famous and gets positive nods from people when I proudly tell them where he works.  But what does he do?  Umm, I think it involves calling people in Brazil.  And something to do with money.

One day my friend was visiting from Hong Kong.  She asked me if I knew what she did.  I said, "you convince big companies to use your bank".  She burst out that 'she was not a teller who stamped bankbooks!'.  I know that!  I said that!  She gets bigs companies to use her bank and works in marketing.  T repeated what she did.  I still think what I said sounds like what she does.

Another friend is a geologist.  I know that means she likes rocks.  She digs wells.  She digs in rocks for oil.  Pretty easy to understand right?  Somehow I don't think so.

It isn't that I don't listen.  It's just that I don't really understand.  But do I need to know more than what company you work for?

What I do is easy.  Well, to me at least.  

Once at a family gathering of the Engineer's, his uncle and patriarch of the family was speaking to me.  I must premise this with the fact that the Engineer is Chinese and comes from a large, traditional Chinese family.  By traditional I mean, highly ambitious, highly intelligent, highly hard-working DOCTORS.  The Engineer is an oddball.  So anyways, Uncle Patriarch (and doctor) asked if I was also an Engineer.  Oh no, I quipped, I am an actress.

Uncle took in a deep breath of excitement and said how wonderful.  I felt this was an odd reaction for a 70-year old Chinese uber-successful doctor.  And then he asked:  what insurance company did I work for?

Oh. Oooops

I had to correct him:  not an actuary, an actress.  But I am in an Aviva commercial if that helps?

He quickly ended the conversation and walked away.  Soon to be replaced by another uncle who was fascinated by my field.  Thrilled to know a real-life actress (you can insert freak here), he wanted to know what it exactly was that I did.

Me:  Have you ever watched TV?

Uncle:  Yes

Me:  You know those people on TV?

Uncle:  Yes

Me:  That's what I do.

Simple simple.  He was still quite perplexed though.  Understandably.  Why on earth would anyone want to face daily rejection, instability, and long periods of unemployment when one could be a doctor?  

Really, why would we do that?

Anyways, friends, I do know what you do.  I just know what you do in Sarah's terms.

www.bridesmaiddiaries.com

They're Not All Bad

I must make an amendment to yesterdays rant.

As much as the customer service in New York stinks to high heaven, I am surprised on a daily basis how nice the non-having-to-sell-stamps population is.  There is always a New Yorker willing to help out a tourist  - I've seen it with my own eyes.  Often scary looking men will approach the map bearers and point them in the right direction.  Cute because the map bearers think he is going to mug them.  In dealing with the people of NYC, they are always lovely and do smile.  Even more than those in Rainy City.  No comparison to the likes of the friendly Prairies but I want my New York readers to know that I think you're nice.  Just don't go to anyplace selling or serving wares and you might even mistake this place for Oz.  

And then you'll step in garbage or urine . . .