Oceanic Adventures

Well it has been almost three months since I have written in my blog.  I have been uninspired and side tracked by my little buddy's illness. We had a very bad scare and almost lost him to a rare type of canine cancer.  Now one major super expensive surgery later, along with daily glucometer checks, a special diet and medicine he is doing much better.  For now he is happy and healthy and we believe we have bought him some time and it was worth every damn penny.  He also has two new babysitters who visit daily while I am at work and who love him and recognize that he is no ordinary dog but something very special.  This picture was taken last week by one of his sitters during a walk.  I can now focus elsewhere for the time being since things at the Hurley house are back to normal. 

Last week I accomplished an amazing feat (for me).  I became PADI certified.  It is something that Mr. Jeopardy had been pushing me on for the past 15 years.  I guess I finally just got tired of listening to him.  I simply have never felt the desire to be one with the aquatic world. To me it should be obvious to everyone that human beings are just not meant to breathe underwater.  This particular pastime also violates one of my cardinal rules for adoption in that it requires a heavy bulky apparatus which is a necessity to breathe.  It reminds me of another pastime which I am not fond of but Mr. Jeopardy loves and insists I just need more practice in- skiing.  Both of these pastimes are potentially dangerous, require more skill and courage which I do not have and heavy, burdensome equipment is a necessity.  The last time I dived was with an instructor in the Maldives earlier in the year.  We did not go past 10 feet and I never let go of her hand while I was paralyzed with fear the entire time.  My husband does not give up easily and signed me up for the online bookwork as soon as we returned home.  I am assuming pretended ignorance of my fears will keep up until I kill a small child on the slopes barreling out of control or die an agonizing death by a pulmonary embolism from a panicked ascent during diving.  Please someone if I die tell him I told him so.

Of course I would tell him anything he wanted to hear in order to get to a warmer climate and out of the perpetual grey, cold, misty November weather of London with only 7 hours of sunlight (if you can call it that).  The London weather had been dreadful prior to our trip to the Seychelles last week.  The Seychelles are home to a group of beautiful islands in the Indian Ocean including the island of Mahe which is the largest and where we made our home base.  We would never be able to visit the Maldives or the Seychelles while residing in the States and so we were determined to make hay as they say.  Mr. Jeopardy and I stayed at the Hilton which was 5 minutes from our chosen dive shop Big Blue.  It is the smallest Hilton in the world with only 40 rooms.  The weather, food and hospitality were wonderful and it was only made better by the Navy ship that was docked in the harbor of Victoria.  I was delighted on our second evening at the hotel to hear American voices and after a few minutes of eavesdropping I quickly deciphered that they were members of the good old American Navy who were running anti-piracy missions off of the Somalian coast.  I was so tickled that I made my beloved husband buy them drinks and express our appreciation for all they do.  He happily obliged but drew the line when we went to dinner at a local Creole restaurant and the boys were all stacked up at the bar.  "If you think I am buying the entire fleet lemon drop shots you have another thing coming" he told me.

NAKED SAILORS WAHOO!

One of the highlights of the trip was driving home that night along the Beau Vallon beach road which was normally quiet and dark except for a small handful of beach bars.  As our jeep cruised passed the ocean front the headlights picked up 20 or so sailors in various stages of undress whooping and hollering as they ran into the waves.  Stop! Stop the car! I cried.  "Oh no", my beloved said.  "I am not stopping this car."  Honey, I need pictures for my blog.  Mr. Jeopardy glared at me and continued to drive up the hill to the hotel.  Honey, those boys are far from home and all alone.  I won't get out I promise!  Just turn around so I can get some pictures of them.  "Forget it."  Our family and friends would love to read about this in my blog and to do that I need pictures for authentication purposes, I argued.  "No one in our families wants to see pictures of naked sailors."  Renee does I said immediately thinking of Jeff's step mom who loves a bit of mischief like myself.  Jeff stared straight ahead at the road.  After a pause he said, "well, Renee may appreciate the photos but that does not mean I am going to take you back there.  I am taking you back to the hotel and you can have a drink."  Two white Russians later my mind was still on those poor boys far away from home and in a strange country.  I tried to explain my concerns to my beloved.  Maybe we can just drive by and I can hang out the window and sing "Anchors Aweigh my Boys".  Wouldn't it be wonderful for them to hear a supportive American voice?  "Those boys are drunk and on leave on a beautiful island and they are dancing around without clothes on the beach.  The last thing they need is your moral support".

DIVING SKILL DAY
The next day we visited Big Blue Divers our chosen dive center for the week.  My sweetheart had signed me up to complete my PADI certification and I was scheduled for a morning full of "skills mastering" where I would need to show I could do 21 basic skills needed to becoming an open water diver.  Unfortunately for me the vast majority of these skills required me to be under the water.  The girls at the dive center felt that the ocean was extremely choppy and was not due to improve throughout the day.  We opted to go to the community pool in downtown Victoria where I would not get knocked around by waves and the visibility was much better.  Of course like pig pen and his trailing cloud of dirt a black cloud hung over me that day.  When we got to the swimming pool we learned it was closed for the next six months for renovations.  The owner Elizabeth had the intriguing idea of dropping us off at the little cove next to the swimming pool as it was close by and more sheltered from the waves.  Of course since there was no key access to the cove we had to climb through an opening in a wire fence and transfer the tanks through the small opening you see in the "breaking and entering" picture above.  I looked at my husband in amazement expecting him to speak up and tell them we would simply wait until the seas calmed another day.  My husband however was in sight of his long held goal- to get me scuba certified and leapt out of the truck offering to carry the tanks for the girls.  "This is funny material for your blog honey isn't it?"  Unbelievable- I thought as we made our way to the cove which was indeed calmer but definitely not clearer as the boats had kicked up a great deal of silt in the water as well as some petroleum fumes in the air.  Mother of God,  I thought to myself.  Can this get any worse?  Apparently, yes indeed it could as we slowly, very slowly made our way through the 21 skills.  The man I had foolishly chosen to spend my life with yelled support as he paddled around the three of us eliminating any escape routes.  My dive instructor Tamara who was perhaps 25 years old shouted "AGAIN, AGAIN!"  as I failed face mask flooding over and over.  My throat burned, my eyes were stinging from the salt water and I could not reach any happy place in my mind.  Tamara was a certified search and rescue diver which meant she was even more foolish than I in her quest towards certain death.  She was certified to go after troubled divers like myself and bring them back to safety.  Surely, she would recognize that I was not cut out for this nonsense.  Nik, the dive master in training at least had a sense of humor.  "You can do it!  You can do it!" she shouted.  They both clapped and shouted their approval after every single completed skill.  I, in the meantime bitched and moaned the whole time throughout the exercises.  Jeff rooted from the sidelines- "almost there" he said with encouragement.  I was tired of breathing in salt water and dizzy from the petroleum fumes.  I could not see anything under the water due to the silt.  I had to blow my nose and I was silently cursed my husband who thought I was the female version of James Bond.  Many hours later I had exhausted myself and my instructors.  Am I the worst client you have ever taught I asked Tamara?  "No we had one lady who cried non-stop during the certification process."  Hah!  There was someone more miserable than me!  For my last skill I had to swim 200 yards and tread water for 10 minutes.  My beloved accompanied me as I moaned the entire time.  Why do we need to tread water if we are scuba diving?  Why bother carrying a heavy tank of oxygen if you plan to tread water?  Doesn't that defeat the purpose?

ALMOST FINISHED The next 2 days we were on the Big Blue dive boat in a quest to complete the four dives necessary for Open Water Certification.  The big blue crew consisted of four female dive instructors and one dive master boat captain whose name was Allain.  I pride myself on my intuitive observations of human behavior and it quickly became apparent that Allain chose not to dive because the only quiet time he ever experienced is when the four female instructors and the clients were under the water.  When I shared this observation with him he admitted- "they make me more crazy than I already am!" It reminded me of the holidays where the men retreat to the TV room and isolate themselves for the duration.   As part of the certification process there is a great deal of fuss around preparing your own equipment and checking various gauges and tubes before diving in order to ensure your equipment does not malfunction resulting in an accidental drowning.  "Marjorie, check your gauges, is your equipment ready?  Did you check your vest?  Did you check your secondary?  Did you smell your air?"  I alternated between wanting to strangle my husband and wanting to just jump off the damn boat.  When I think of relaxation I do not think about checking gauges, needing a compass, a mask which leaves a 3 day imprint on my face and worrying about how my air smells.  I pushed ahead knowing how happy this was making my husband and hoping to get the entire affair over with so I could get back to the pool and my paperback.  Jeff chronicled my endeavors with his underwater camera circling around me like a proud mother hen bursting with pride behind his scuba mask.  When we finally surfaced after our last dive and climbed aboard the boat the other divers congratulated me on making it through the certification process.  My sweetheart was elated.  We had seen an octopus, several morays and fish that appeared illuminated under water during the past two days and my husband was already speaking about upgrading our camera so that he could snap pictures faster with better resolution.

Tamara, my young instructor was very proud.  "Congratulations, your doing great.  You just need to keep working on your buoyancy control."  What she meant was that if I did not learn to control my fins entire coral reefs might be wiped out during our stay on the island. "You guys should come tomorrow, we are diving at my favorite spot Dragons Teeth it is simply amazing. If the water is anything like today you will be able to see some amazing things."  I looked at my sweetheart whose  face was full of hope.  Alright, one more dive while we are here and then pool time OK?  Jeff was beyond thrilled and tipped Tamara handsomely before we left.  "What is this for?"  You put up with allot this week he said gesturing towards me.  This is the thanks I get for trying to do my best I thought to myself.


MAN OVERBOARD
The following morning started off with a bumpy 25 minute ride to our dive site.  You didn't tell me this was a long distance dive I said looking at Jeff.  "Well, it will be fine honey don't worry." The water looks a little choppy out here I said as I squeezed his hand.  "OK, everyone back to the rear of the boat for our briefing" yelled one of the dive instructors.  We all headed towards the back of the boat while the instructor started
reviewing the usual instructions and rules for the dive site.  Hmmm.....that's strange I thought as I looked down and noticed water sloshing over my feet.  "We have a problem" Alain shouted.  Yes the boat indeed seems to be leaning at an awkward angle I thought.  "Off the boat!  Off the boat!  Everyone off!" hollered Alain.  Off?  What about life jackets?  Shouldn't we have life jackets on I said to no one in particular.  "Off!" bellowed Alain.  I was the last one off of course jumping into the choppy water towards the 14 other lost souls on our dive boat.  My husband swam toward me and grabbed my hand.  "Put my snorkel mask on and stay next to me."  The dive boat was speeding off away from us.  Where is he going? I asked.  "He will try to drain the water off the back and come back for us.  Everyone lets stay together and get a head count" yelled Tamara.  "Honey this is good material for your blog."  I looked at my husband's head bobbing in the waves.  No, I sputtered as another wave hit me in the face.  Naked sailors are good blog material!  This is a prelude to a drowning death.  "This is exactly why you need to know how to tread water" said my husband smiling.  "Stay away from the rocks, away from the rocks" yelled Tamara.  I slowly dog paddled my way over to her.  Has anything like this ever happened before?  "Yes, once about a year ago we had an actual hole on the boat and we had to jump off.....but don't worry emergency services came and rescued us."  What kind of two-bit outfit did we sign up with I thought to myself while continuing to bob up and down in the water.  What seemed like ages but was probably 10 minutes later the boat circled around to pick us up.  "I got some of the water off but I will need to finish draining it back out after I drop you off for the dive" said Alain as he helped me on the boat (I was the first one on!)  The friendly German tourist and his wife climbed on board last.  He dragged his underwater camera and strobe light back up the ladder to the deck.  Were you treading water this whole time with that camera I asked.  It must weigh at least 10 pounds!  "Oh yes, I was not going to leave it on board to get swept out to sea, it was a very expensive camera he replied."  Those Germans are always so darn practical I thought.

 

"I am not so sure I want to dive I said to Jeff as we pulled up to the dive site for the second time.  It will be fine honey. I will be right next to you."  Jeff was my dive buddy for my first dive without an instructor.  "Ok everyone, we need to get your equipment on and off the boat as we still have too much water on board."  We need to get you all off fast!"  What about the safety checks?  What about the equipment preparation?  It was mayhem on board as everyone scrambled to get their equipment on and back roll off the boat in a hurry.  The water was definitely getting choppier and the boat was rocking where we were anchored.  Jeff and I were two of the last divers off the boat.  As I made my way to my equipment the boat rolled with a wave and I went down skidding to a stopon all fours next to my fins.  I managed to scramble into my vest as I saw Tamara help Jeff do his roll off the boat and into the water.  I looked into the ocean and my dive buddy was there waiting for me.  This is nuts I thought as I did my back roll into the water hoping that my equipment was working properly.  Alain sped off to dump more water as our group split into two and followed our respective dive masters into the depths. 

 

Jeff and I started to follow our dive master Grace.  On the boat ride out to Dragons Teeth Grace had told us there was a good chance we may see some black tipped reef sharks.  "When I make the sign signalling I see a shark paddle as fast as you can towards me."  Towards you?  Why would I swim towards you? I asked her. Well they swim so fast and are quite skittish so you have to be quick to see them.  Well, don't look for me if you see a shark Grace as I will be swimming hard in the other direction, I said.  Jeff smiled and reminded me to always stay in front of him during the dive so he could keep an eye on me.  You are my buddy, how will I know if you need help?  "Don't worry about me.  I will be right behind you" he assured me.  Although the visibility was not the best we were able to see the two eels pictured here as well as tons of beautiful corals.  My biggest complaint would be Grace could best be described as nonchalant in looking after our group of divers.  She floated over the various corals looking like a shopper perusing over the sales racks.  She never looked back behind her to ensure the group was following.  I did my best to keep up with her, kicking my fins and fighting the current in the event any black tips sharks were circling.  When I had just 60 bar left on my gauge I saw Grace and the other members of our group slip through a narrow opening in a massive coral.  I had lost my buoyancy and was floating too high above the group.  I started to panic immediately.  I could not swim through that.  My tank would catch and I will be trapped there to die.  I turned around to see Tamara behind me.  She signalled that I should go through.  How stupid am I????  I thought to myself as I tried to descend and swim into the current.  Tamara was pushing me down from above trying to help me through the opening.  We struggled for a bit and I had long lost sight of Jeff my beloved dive buddy.  Just as I thought I was not going to make it against the current Tamara gave a big final push and I felt myself slide through the opening.  I finally made it to where our group and Grace were waiting for me.  I looked around searched for my husband who was nowhere in sight.  I felt myself start to hyperventilate and saw Tamara gesture to Grace to go back to look for him.  I swam around the area looking as far as I could into the distance.  There was no Mr. Jeopardy in sight and we were all low on air.  Tamara grabbed my hand and we made our way to the surface.  Above the surface the waves were worse than ever. Tamara started to reassure me.  "You did great down there the current was just too strong.  Did you feel me push you through?"  Tamara! I yelled.  Where is Jeff, help me find Jeff!  Tamara looked at me and said- "Turn around it looks like he is on the boat."  I swung around to see Alain steering the boat our way.  In the front of the boat was my sweetheart waving both arms above his head at me.  My heart lifted and I started to swim towards the boat.  As I climbed up the ladder Jeff was waiting for me shaking his head back and forth.  "What happened to you?  What is the first rule of diving with a buddy?  If you lose your buddy then search for one minute and resurface."  For once I was speechless as we made our way to the front of the boat.  Due to the remaining water on board we were forced to distribute our weight and sit where the cold waves hit us for the long journey back.  The ocean waves kicked around us as we endured a very hard and bumpy ride back to shore.  I held on to Jeff and when I had recovered from my trauma well enough to speak told him that I had no desire to dive anymore during our vacation and that never again would I forget the buddy rule.  "I think we have both had enough for one trip" was his immediate reply. When we finally pulled up to the beach Tamara walked up to us both.  "I guess today was not the best day for your first independent dive.  I am really sorry.  There is no way we are going back out today.  The ocean has really kicked up."  "I think we are going to take it easy for the rest of the trip anyway.  We have had enough adventure for one week" Jeff replied.  After our near death experience I made sure to only stray from my lounge chair to the hotel pool and back again never letting my beloved out of my sight.

Until next time.....

The Second Wave Hits

Well, family and friends I have finally found the time to write a few words about my parents visit last month.  Work has kept me busy and that is a good thing if you ask my husband.  If I am busy I have no time to complain or pester him allowing him to flow through life freely without being troubled by my constant demands.  I do not begrudge him this as he was an absolute saint during the two weeks my parents were here.  My beloved was friendly, calm, gracious and a delightful host.  This is something that I have never been able to achieve on my own during my parents visits so kudos to my sweetheart- Mr. Jeopardy (he who knows all).

My parents have never been outside the States before and my father often stated he had no desire to ever leave.  It was six months for my father to stop being mad at me because I moved to England.  It took a solid year of pleading, coddling and bribery to get him on the plane to visit.  He had told me and anyone else who would listen that he had no desire to go abroad since he had "seen it all" during his stint in the United States Navy.  I guess a few days of drunken debauchery on the southern coast of Spain when you are 19 years old is enough for a man as unique as my dad.  My brother and sister had made bets that my parents would never make it onto the airplane so when the entire plane had finally debarked at Heathrow I started to panic and made a call to Delta to confirm that they had indeed made it on board.  Yes, they had boarded the plane, no there were no medical emergencies.  The agent advised me that perhaps they were being held up at customs.  I was panicking and pacing the terminal positive in my belief that my father had said or done something to rock the boat with customs or the border patrol agents.  Anyone who knows him would agree that this could be a very real possibility as no one can say for certainty what will come out of his mouth at any given time. My father was not much into self censorship.  Finally, they both emerged through customs looking none the worse for wear.  "You can thank your mother for this" were the first words out of my fathers mouth.  I looked at my mom who was beaming at me just happy to have finally arrived.  "Oh, well I thought you would meet us in baggage claim" she said as she gave me a big hug.  Mom, I told you I would meet you after baggage claim.  I have phoned the airline twice and have been worried sick!  I cannot go into a restricted area.  Did you not notice that everyone was picking up their bags and heading out through customs and that their were no people going in the other direction?  "That's what I told your mother!  That damn currency exchange machine fleeced me when I tried to call you" my father exclaimed.  "Look this is what I have left out my $5.00 dollars."  My father pulled out a £1.62 in coins from his pocket.  Oh boy, I thought here we go.  "I haven't been in this country more than an hour and I have already been ripped off!"  I quickly herded mom and dad to the car. I was grateful that they had made it safely and that my fathers temperament is the one true constant in life.

Once home my parents were overjoyed to see the dog who they love and adore.  The dog in turn recognised them at once and their was a major love fest with a few dog treats thrown in.  There is a part of me which believes the primary reason my father finally relented to a visit was his fondness for our dog and not the fact he missed his oldest child.  Ater they had toured our little rental home and declared it suitable my father said he was tired and was going to bed.  He was thrilled to find his bedroom on the 3rd floor away from the hub bub of the rest of the house.  This was a big hit with my husband as well as my father could be sequestered!  Within 30 minutes of arriving he was fast asleep with the dog faithfully by his side.

My mom was delighted to be here and was peeking into cupboards and closets while asking me a million questions about our upcoming itinerary to Spain.  Mom are you not tired I asked?  "I finally get to see my first born after six months Marjorie Allison!  I am not going to bed yet."  I could only hope that she would settle down before my husband got home so that he was not overwhelmed by my mothers loving overabundance of attention.  My mom was quite excited about our upcoming trip to Spain.  "I have several new outfits for our trip but I did not bring along any American shirts."  American shirts? I foolishly asked.  "Well your father and I have a few American flag t-shirts but we decided not to bring them.  We don't want to stand out as American tourists" mom added.  Mom, I think that in Spain you and dad will not be confused for natives regardless of what you decide to wear.  "Well you know your father....he didn't want me to bring anything that might point us out to any terrorists in the area."  I think you will both be fine mom I said with a smile.

The next day we were back off to Heathrow to fly to Seville.  We were planning on spending five nights in the Andalucia touring Granada and Cordoba as well.  I did a last minute check in the car.  Passports? Yes! Tickets? Yes! You don't have any liquids in your luggage do you mom?  "Well, I have a bottle of water in my carry-on".  Mom, what part of no liquids did you not get?  "A bottle of water will last me three days said my dad."  My husband looked at me in amusement and we were on our way to Spain.

I will share with you some brief highlights of our trip.  Suffice it to say we had an amazing time and I have to say my parents did too despite my fathers initial misgivings. 

On preparing for mixing with the locals- My father was never without the English-Spanish dictionary which I had bought for the trip.  Whether we were at breakfast or touring a mosque he was looking up words and phrases to translate for us.  "Ed, he said to my mom Edwina- remember the word socorro.  Socorro he repeated S-O--C-O-R-R-O."  "What does that mean Bob?"  "Help, it means help.  It is a good word to know in a foreign country."  "Socorro, Socorro, Soccoro"
my mom would repeat.  My husband would do his best to help translate at meal times but my father preferred guessing what the word might mean and then looking it up in the dictionary.  "Hoy, H-O-Y, Hoy.  Guess what that means Ed?"  I have no idea my mom replied.  "Hoy means today.  Now who in the hell is going to remember that?"  My father enjoyed interacting with the Spanish cab drivers, none of whom spoke English.  He would take the passenger seat while my mother, my ever-patient husband and I sat in back.  Although they did not understand one anothers language my father and the taxi drivers always managed to communicate well with one another.  When a motorcycle would cut in front of the taxi my dad would throw up his hands.  The taxi driver would throw up his hands as well.  When we were caught behind some slow moving buses my father would yell "push them out of the way!"  He would then make pushing gestures with his hands and the taxi driver would shake his head and agree laughing and waving his hands in front of the steering wheel.

On Spanish Tapas-  The first night we had our nicest dinner in a recommended tapas restaurant.  It was absolutely delicious.  We feasted on olives, shrimp, meatballs, fried cod, marinated artichokes, Spanish ham and manchego cheese.  The next day after we had another delightful lunch of tapas my father asked if there were any Mexican restaurants in Seville.  "You don't like the tapas?" my husband asked.  "Well it would be nice to have something different."  I looked at my dad.  He had been on his best behavior thus far and he was trying his best to be diplomatic.  My saint of a husband dutifully found a restaurant for dinner which served Spanish style Mexican which could best be described as interesting to say the least.  On day 3 we were enjoying a lovely tapas lunch in Cordoba of fresh seafood and other delicacies and discussing where we should go for dinner. My father suddenly burst out with- "No, no more tapas!  Where the hell can you get a slice of pepperoni pizza around here!"  My father was not known for gourmet tendencies.  He knew what he liked and tended not to stray.  Jeff was able to find our little group an Italian restaurant in the heart of Seville which was quite good.  My father ordered his favorite- spaghetti bolognese and had a big smile on his face the whole evening.  My sly husband discovered a TV in the chefs kitchen and snuck back to watch the world cup periodically.  With my dad  happy with his food he did not seem to notice.  On our last night we were wondering around Seville looking for a restaurant that everyone could be happy with.  It was almost 11 pm and we were tired but could find nothing we could all agree upon.  Finally, we found ourselves on a familiar street by the Italian restaurant we had eaten at previously.  My father was delighted and told the waitress that he would have the spaghetti bolognese again because it was "so damn good" the previous night.  My beloved leaned over and whispered to me that if mom and dad visited the following year he was taking them to Italy!  "At least your dad will find food that he likes there without needing to canvass the city." 

On our Accommodation-  We had checked into a four star hotel in a great location in Seville.  My parents were not accustomed to the little idiosyncrasies of the European hotels.  Not even ten minutes after checking in my dad knocked on our door and announced his air conditioning was not working.  Although it was almost midnight the entire floor of our hotel was feeling quite muggy and we ended up sleeping poorly with our windows open.  The next morning my father had a one sided conversation with the front desk personnel and came back to our breakfast table announcing that a technician would be fixing it shortly.  Jeff and I looked at one another knowing that customer service can be quite different abroad and it was best to just ride it out.  That morning was the first time that my dad became obsessed with the hotels bacon.  The hotel had a large breakfast buffet with two trays dedicated to the American tourists.  In one tray a very runny scrambled egg dish sat and in the next some undercooked bacon.  My husband was explaining that most Spanish just have some bread and cheese for breakfast or occasionally an egg tortilla.  "Well that means that they do not know any better that's all.  I need to tell them that we like our eggs and bacon cooked a little more."  Good luck with that one dad I said.  That evening my dad was back at our door.  "Does your toilet flush ok?"  Yes dad. "Well your mother and I are changing rooms.  I think that shower head is getting ready to fall off."  Dad, do you need some help?  "No, we just wanted to tell you we were moving up the hall."  My husband was shaking his head with amusement.  "What is wrong in their bathroom?"  Don't ask I said.  The next morning my father told us that the air conditioning in his new room was so cold that he had to turn it down not once but twice!  We pretended not to look when he put his bacon through the toaster oven.  My mother looked at me and said that when my father walked up to the reception desk for the 4th time in 2 days the staff seemed to scatter.  On day three my father had another sleepless night where their air conditioning was on the fritz.  Well be grateful it is 10 degrees colder than normal this time of year I told him.  "I think their damn air conditioning is whatever the hell they say it is"  my father said angrily.  I could sense a storm brewing and was grateful that we had an early start that day so that another confrontation with the hotel staff could be avoided.  Each day the story of the air conditioning changed.  On day four there was a large wedding party at the hotel and the air conditioning was running perfectly.  My dad insisted to anyone who would listen that there was a conspiracy afoot going on to only run the air when the hotel had a big event or when there were a great deal of complaints.  "They are trying to save a buck or two at our expense."  Dad glared at the reception staff upon check out and advised them in no uncertain terms that they needed to get their air conditioning fixed and learn to cook their bacon properly.

My mom and dad had a great time in Spain.  They were already talking about coming back next year much to our surprise.  I think I would like to see Italy my dad admitted. Well at least you can find bolognese there I told him.  His good mood lasted upon our return to England.  We took them both to Windsor castle, the Churchill museum in London and they experienced their first trip on the London tube.  When I asked him if he would like to visit the Buckingham or Kensington palace my mom and dad said maybe next year.  "If you have seen one palace you have seen them all right?"  Ahhh... right dad.

Towards the end of their visit the cursed, washer/dryer combo unit finally broke down for the last time.  I was secretly relieved.  That does it I told Mr. Jeopardy.  I want a real washer and a real dryer- not some cooked up combo unit which is against nature and all common sense.  My husband was sick to death of the washer/dryer complaints.  "Well order yourself a dryer then!"  We have no room for it I replied, where will we put it?  Put it in the closet upstairs.  I ran to the phone and quickly made a deal with the landlord.  He would buy me a proper washer and I would spring for my own real live tumble dryer.  I delighted in sharing my happiness with my mom who was overjoyed herself after a go around with the dreaded combo unit.  Mom, I asked- what was your initial experience with the washer/dryer unit in England?  I will put it in my blog.  "I don't have much hands on experience with your machine here other than taking my wet clothes out of it since it does not seem to be working.  You seem to really need a good back-up plan living here in this country.  If I lived here I would have a good strong clothes line and a drying rack in every room!"  Mom, most households do but I am getting a brand spanking new dryer I yelled out with glee. 

The next morning my new washer arrived.  The delivery men rolled it into the kitchen and asked if I would like it unpackaged.  "No she plans on doing laundry with it still in the box" my dad barked out.  The delivery boys glanced anxiously at him.  Dad, let them do their job.  They took my beautiful, shiny new washer out of the packaging and set it gently on the kitchen floor.  After they left my dad unhooked the hose to check the connections.  A small stream of water streamed from the hose.  "What the hell is this?" my dad wondered aloud.  He started shaking his head in disgust.  "This damn thing has been used and sent back.  They re boxed it and sold it to you."  Dad, I think they probably just tested it before they shipped it from the warehouse.  "Bullshit, you have been shipped a used machine."  My mom whispered to me- "he thinks everything is a conspiracy anymore, it's all those sniper books your fathers been reading."  "I cant see a damn thing here my dad continued.  Get me a flashlight."  I handed my dad our ten year old energizer with the fading fluorescent lights.  "What the hell is this?  This isn't a flashlight!  Don't ever call this a flashlight!  Jesus Christ, what would you two do if there was a power outage?"  Well, I guess we would just use candles.  My dad looked at me with disgust.  "Ed, get Margie and Jeff a flashlight for her birthday."  My mom had her little memo pad out.  She was a huge list maker.  "Flashlight, she repeated.  Any certain kind Bob?"  "Yeah one that works" he said with sarcasm.  "We will get you one for Christmas honey" said my mother who was delighted to have an idea for a Christmas gift already.  My dad continued to mutter while looking at the machine and back to the manual.  I knew we were on dangerous ground here.  My dad and appliance installations are a dangerous mix with a checkered past.  Dad, do you want me to call Jeff and ask about the connections?  Maybe we should just wait for him since I need to get to work.  "Do you think he wants to be bothered with this shit?  Leave the man alone.  Get him a flashlight if you want to do him any favors."  Margie, go on to work and let your dad calm down.  My mom ushered me out of the door and I was glad to leave the looming danger behind.

When I got home that evening the scene had altered slightly in the kitchen and my husband was now in the mix attempting to install the washer.  Mom has dad been working on this all day?  "No he gave up midafternoon and took a nap" she assured me.  Within minutes my dad and my sweetheart had it connected and in place.  "Well, your washer is in but it doesn't fit my husband said.  The landlord will need to refit the cabinet skirting."  I don't care, it is in and it's staying in!  I had a load in the wash before my husband could change his mind.  "Margie, listen my dad told me if that dryer gets here before we leave I will put it in for you."  My mom stood behind my dad miming a cutting motion at her throat.  Thanks dad but it should not arrive until next week.  My mother added that I could call the States and my dad could advise me over the phone.  "It would be safer that way anyway" she added.

My mom and dad left way too soon.  I cried as they went through security.  "Honey, we will bring them back next year" my sweetheart promised me.  "Your dad can eat spaghetti for weeks on end".  A few weeks later I received a card in the mail from my mom.  It had £20 enclosed in the envelope.  I found this in the bottom of my purse when we got home my mom had written.  We had a great time and we love you.  It was signed "The International Travelers."

The First Wave Descends

(Right, my father in law Bill recovering from his flight)

It has been several weeks now since the first set of parents have left England.   My own parents just left last week after wreaking havoc and overfeeding the dog.  Indeed it has been a whirlwind but Mr. Jeopardy and I are now halfway home.  Looking back we have no idea what we were thinking at the time.  Three sets of parents in 3 months, all staying for 2 weeks at a time.  We wanted our parents to be able to experience Europe while we were here on work assignment and to put it simply the frequent flyer choices are just not what they used to be.  It is now for the first time that I have found the opportunity to sneak away and reflect on Bill and Renee's visit.  This was their second time visiting England and Mr. Jeopardy and I felt we were prepared.  We had wine and Belgian chocolates in the 3rd floor bedroom.  We felt they would be well sequestered with plenty of space.  We had a 4 night cruise planned from Southhampton and the second weekend planned to view Bath and London historical sites.

The Potential Terrorist Package
Jeff's dad and step mom Renee were due to arrive on the first flight of the day from the US.  The day of their arrival started rather auspiciously.  As I arrived at terminal 4 at Heathrow I noticed a small travelers case on a trolley in the parking deck which had apparently been forgotten.  It looked like the type of small carry-on that people used for medications and other personal items.  I ever so helpfully picked it up to take it to the Heathrow Lost and Found.  Upon entering the airport I walked the bag over to the Information desk.  The woman behind the desk blinked rapidly and appeared panicked as I explained the situation.  "Oh dear, wait right here while I phone security."  I did not have to wait long before two men from airport security arrived looking rather disgruntled.  One immediately took charge of the travelers case and left to scan the bag and check it for explosives.  His partner proceeded to launch into a lecture on anti-terrorism safety and common sense.  The gist of it was as follows-"Ma'am, the next time you see an unattended bag outside of the airport PLEASE do not bring it into the airport!"

After that embarrassment I ran over to the arrivals area worried I would now be late to pick up my in-laws.  Luckily, customs was running at their usual sleeper pace and I waited another hour for their arrival.  They emerged from the double doors looking dazed and exhausted after their long trip over the pond.  Renee had on dark sunglasses as if she could not bear the thought of sunlight and Bill trailed behind with a trolley piled high with suitcases.  They were bringing me precious goods- high thread count sheets from Macy's and Crystal Light powdered drink mix.  God I miss those Macy's white sales.  The same sheets in England would cost double at a minimum!  How was your flight I asked?  "Water, water, I must find water" said Renee.  Yup, got some in the car I said as I quickly shepherded the exhausted travelers onward.

Arrival at the Hurley House

I brought them home to sleep and recover from the long flight.  Shadow our easily manipulated Sheltie was overjoyed to see them both.  He remembered them fondly as worthwhile food targets.  After their arrival he was stuck to them like glue, especially Bill who was always good for sharing his meals with any four legged creature.  After a rest and enough coffee to jolt a horse they were up and about feeling much better that evening.  I am not sure what it is but my parents are the same way.  They can drink coffee all day long and never suffer the effects of sleeplessness.  The coffee grinder worked endlessly during the two week stretch. 

The 3rd Floor Boudoir

Bill, my father-in-law was fast at work installing our network code to run his laptop.  Give this man wireless, a couch and a sandwich and you will never hear a peep out of him.  He will usually never complain and is very low maintenance when it comes to being entertained. The second day I came downstairs to find Renee up early drinking coffee.  Is Bill up I asked?  Yes, he is in watching TV.  I walked into the living room to discover my father-in-law pointing the remote at the TV and clicking buttons without success.  Bill, why didn't you holler upstairs and ask me to fix this for you?  "Oh, I figured one of you would show up sooner or later".  I did manage to shake him up however when I explained to him that their bedroom was on the 3rd floor.  "The bathroom is on the 2nd floor?"  Yes, I said.  "There is no bathroom upstairs?"  No, but you will have this bathroom all to yourselves I replied brightly.  "Hmmm, well I will need to cut back on the salad" he said matter of factly.

That night we enjoyed some nice wine, long missed company and Chef Jeff's famous Bolognese recipe which I swear takes him 7 hours to make.  I got a kick out of Renee asking for the recipe as she loves the dish.  Jeff  swears the recipe calls for beef, pork and lamb however we only use the beef and pork out of fair of bodily harm when Renee is around.  Renee is an animal rights activist which I have tremendous admiration for.  Jeff and I do however eat lamb and veal so I feel obliged to confess that yes there was lamb in the bolognese.  I feel quite safe admitting this as Renee is safely 5500 miles away and it was a very old sheep which I am sure wanted to be put out of their misery.

No Frito's in England!
Renee wasted no time laying out her plans for some recipes she had brought with her.  She loves to cook (God Bless her) and being that I only know how to microwave I give her and anyone else free reign in the kitchen.  As she rattled off needed ingredients to her planned recipes I started to feel apprehensive.  I knew she was about to be disappointed but forged ahead.  Renee, I don't think you are going to find your necessary ingredients here.  "Well, why not she asked."  Well, I have never seen Frito's, ranch mix, pasta shells ...."Oh I am  sure if you can take me to a large grocery store we can find them."  She said this with the conviction of an American who was blessed to have their mega stores.  I tended to agree, no Frito's?  What store on this earth did not carry Frito's???  Well England does not have everything we have in the States I reminded her.  Remember, how you asked me to buy cheese crackers for Bill?  Well they have lots of cheese and even more crackers but they do not have cheese crackers.  She looked at me with skepticism.  It's true, while they have an entire aisle devoted to tea England does not carry powdered Nestea for instant iced tea.  I believe the English would consider powdered instant tea the ultimate sin.  "Well I am sure I can find some suitable substitutes" said Renee.  So off we went to the large Sainsburys the next day.  I would say we were in the store maybe 20-25 minutes max.  I shopped quickly picking up items that I knew other people could cook for me or that I could microwave for myself.  We had agreed to meet at the front of the store when we had finished.  There stood Renee with an almost empty cart looking disgusted.  "I gave up after 5 minutes, they do not have anything I need for my recipes."  Well, I replied we do have an extensive stock of sausages, tea, chutneys and beans.  Cheer up I said we will order pizza tonight! 

The Scotch Egg!

No one in their right mind would confuse England with the gourmet countries of France or Italy.  While we have had many nice meals in London they are priced quite high compared to the great food and wide variety you can find in the States.  There is however one delicacy which I shared with Renee which I found quite delightful.  No, it is not mushy peas, not bangers and mash, not black pudding or bubble and squeak...... it is the Scotch eggs!  Our office manager Jane here in England has told me of her well loved Scotch eggs and the preparation that goes into making them.  A scotch egg is a hard boiled egg covered with sausage meat, spices and bread crumbs deep fried until golden brown.  Jane was kind enough to make me one with her last batch and I picked it up during my in-laws visit.  It was the size of an ostrich egg and Renee and I stared at in amazement.  "Are you going to eat that whole thing she asked?"  I am going to give it my best shot I said as I cut the monstrosity in half.  I decided to add a little bit of ketchup since it smelled to me like a sausage mcmuffin with egg and because if in doubt I tend to add ketchup.  After my first bite I was a fan for life.  It tasted just like a sausage mcmuffin with egg!  I gave Renee a bite.  "Hey that's pretty good".  Darn right, it took a while but I have found a good English delicacy.  Well maybe it is technically a SCOTCH egg but I digress.  Later, Jane asked what I thought of the scotch egg.  It tastes wonderful just like a McDonald's sausage mcmuffin with egg!  "A what?"  I put a little ketchup on it and it was delicious.  "Ketchup?  You put ketchup on it?"  I sensed by the shock in her voice I may have desecrated the famous scotch egg.  It was scrumptious I repeated hoping that this was not the last egg I may ever receive.

The final insult...
The first weekend we had beautiful weather and headed out to Bath in Southwest England to see the Roman Baths.  After the long drive and the 30 minutes it took to find parking our little party of four sought out a cool libation before heading to the historical sights.  We easily found a pub (one of 100) in Bath and ordered a drink to give ourselves the strength needed to brave the crowds and the heat.  We had a wonderful time in Bath that day and after a good dinner we headed back to the Hurley house.  On our way out of Bath I looked over to see a woman wearing an attractive long skirt and matching tank.  Renee, look I love that outfit.  I think that would be perfect for me I said excitedly.  It was hard for me to find clothes which I liked in England.  I still have not discovered the right shopping areas.  "No, you don't have the butt for that" Renee replied seriously. Time stopped in the car.  I saw my husband anxiously glance at me in the rear view mirror instantly on high alert.  What do you mean I said as I looked at Renee with narrowed eyes?  "Look, I'll show you" she said as she got out her i-phone.  She had snapped a picture of me with my back turned in the pub while I was ordering a round of drinks for us.  What were you doing take a picture of my butt I exclaimed!  "I wasn't I was was taking a picture of the bar and your butt was in the picture."  I looked at her incredulously.  What is wrong with my butt?  I have been working out hard I will have you know!  "Well, keep working and maybe you will get there."  "I would recommend not wearing white if I were you."  "It does not flatter your butt."  I saw my beloved glance at me in the rear view mirror again to gauge my distress level.  Renee is known for her deadpan honesty and up until this moment I had always admired her for it.  I looked at the picture in disbelief.  My butt did not look at it's best despite my numerous squats and dead lifts.  I was leaning into the counter causing my butt to look flat and spread out.  Later on I showed Bill the picture.  Bill what do you think I asked?  He looked a little confused before blurting out "well,  it was probably just a bad color for you" he said trying to be helpful.  I could not believe it.  With family like this who the heck needs enemies?  Wisely, Mr. Jeopardy remained dead silent.

Later that week I saw my personal trainer John and relayed the story.  My usually stoic trainer laughed for a good long time.  You need to do something I told him!  Increase my weights, push me harder!  My butt needs to lift up and out I told him.  John looked at me for a long minute.  "I will do my best he said."  He did not fool me, I knew he meant he was no miracle worker.  Unbelievable.



Cruising
I somehow managed to contain myself regarding the butt picture and pushed it out of my mind as we prepared to leave for our cruise.  I had never been on a large cruise ship before so this was a new experience for me.  Bill and Renee were cruise veterans and were looking forward to showing us the ropes.  I would just need to be very careful never to turn my back on Renee for any butt shots which could be used against me at a later time.  All in all it was a very nice experience.  I will summarize my thoughts on cruising and then discuss the highlight of our trip which was the visit to Cherbourg and the D-Day museum.  Positives:  endless food prepared by someone other than myself (also can be a negative in lieu of the butt situation), no driving or flying required......in fact no mental exertion whatsoever and finally the flexibility to do something or do absolutely nothing each day. Negatives:  endless streams of people running for the buffet all at once, the announcements in our cabin informing us of where we were and what was going on (where was the off switch?) and lastly the many formal nights after a busy day of activity.  I think we will definitely cruise again perhaps in lieu of an assisted living home for my beloved and I in our later years.  It would be cheaper than a nursing home and we would be well fed with someone to always clean up after us.

Our Day in Normandy
On our last full day of the cruise I had made plans to tour Bayeux including the D-day museum and major sights with a highly recommended tour guide.  Our tour guide was to meet us at 9am sharp on Memorial Day.  I had high hopes for some fine memories for us all.  Bill had served in the Navy and now devoted most of his free time to volunteering at the USO in the Charlotte airport.  I was sure he would highly enjoy this tour.  We emerged from the ship to find our guide in a highly agitated state.  He was an Irishman who lived in Normandy and specialised in military history.  His Irish personality was on show as he was actively complaining about the new rules the French had made about tour guides meeting the cruise ships.  He stormed off to his van and we followed along obediently.  No sooner had we started to pull out of the port to begin our trip to Bayeux when we were we stopped by a burly french officer who proceeded to interrogate our tour guide for several minutes.  "This is why I hate the French"  Renee began saying  Shhhh!  That's all we need is to be stopped for mouthing off to the port authority!  After a few moments our guide informed us that "things did not look good as he did not have the correct transport papers."  He then advised us that it looked like the police were not going to allow him to transport us anywhere.  Sigh.....

(The evil French authority to the right)

We filed out of the car and my beloved immediately took charge.  He as many of you know is a take charge kind of guy.  This is a good thing as Renee and I probably would have been happy to return to the ship for a nap.  He marched us off to the taxi line and spoke just enough French to the first taxi in line to broker us a deal.  "He will do it for half the price and will take us to all of the big military sites in Bayeux."  Does he speak any English I asked?  "No, just get in the car." The taxi driver turned to my father in law who was sitting in the front passenger seat.  He spoke for two minutes in French while pointing to various points on the map.  "Sounds good" said Bill.  The taxi driver nodded and spoke to Bill for another minute.  "OK, yup, yup" Bill replied.  I looked at Renee.  Does Bill speak French?  "Not a word" she replied and rolled her eyes in exasperation.  Mr. Jeopardy again took charge and told the taxi driver in French that we would like to visit the American D-Day museum, Pointe du Hoc and Omaha beach.  Before we knew it we were on our way with the taxi driver continuing to chat in French to my father in law and Bill nodding his head.

When we arrived at the D-Day museum we were awed and humbled at the crosses and the new museum.  I could have easily spent many more hours there.  We were all quite moved as we viewed a military procession and salute in honor of memorial day.  I think everyone would agree it was the highlight of our trip.  We also saw the Point du Hoc where 225 rangers stormed the cliffs of the Pointe to take out the German Omaha beach and Utah beach guns.  Only 90 managed to survive and of those 90 many walked away wounded.  We enjoyed a fantastic seaside lunch and treated our wonderful taxi driver Michele who did a stupendous job despite the language barrier.  He even escorted us to the sites and did his very best to explain what we were seeing.  Of course Mr. Jeopardy was the only one who half understood but that was OK.  It was a wonderful day and one I won't forget.

The Mayfly Invasion of 2010

We came home to relax after our cruise and to enjoy our last two days together.  We planned to BBQ and enjoy the nice brief bout of England sunshine.  We opened the doors to the patio to allow in the breeze and soon the walls were covered with little flying insects which we have named the Mayflies since they usually appear in May here in England.  Last year we had them at the Hobbit house but never to this extent.  Soon it appeared that there was a plague on the house.  We quickly shut all the windows and doors.  "My God there are hundred of them" yelled Renee! The only one who was not upset was Bill who had managed to fall asleep on the couch despite the bedlam going on around him.  The Mayflies did not bite or buzz around lights they simply clung to the walls, drapes and anywhere they could alight.  We vacuumed up what we could, ate our dinner inside and watched some TV before my beloved announced he was headed to bed because he had an early day.  A minute later he came traipsing downstairs.  "Where is the vacuum?" he yelled.  What do you need the vacuum for?  "There must be 1500 of those damn flies in the bedroom.  I handed him the vacuum.  It must be really bad, I told Renee.  I have never seen him vacuum in the 11 years we have been married.  Normally I would have gotten up to help him but I was too exhausted and thought that the time with the vacuum would help build character.  Later Renee and I walked upstairs.  Bill was still fast asleep on the couch.  "They have hit the 3rd floor!!"  I heard her yell.  She came back downstairs.  "Why do you people not have screens?  How can a country as old as England not have screens? What is wrong with these people?"  I had to agree.  It is one of the many idiosyncrasies of England.  I figured it was because the vast majority of the year it was too cold and rainy to open a window.  For now the saga of the Mayflies continue and we are soon headed into July.

Too soon the first set of parents had left the UK after an eventful and  memorable trip.  The dog did nothing but sulk for several days after realising his treat resources had vanished.  There was no one to let him in and out the back door hundreds of times a day.  The house was quiet and empty for the first time in weeks.  The Mayflies were our only visitors.  We enjoyed a brief respite before the second wave hit.  Tune in for my next blog on the adventures with my parents.  We miss you Bill and Renee!

Fighting Forty

I turn 40 on the ominous date of 9/11 this year.  I have been dreading this birthday since I turned 39 knowing the death knell ringing of 40 was right around the corner.  Since I have not blogged for awhile and since D-Day is fast approaching I have decided to broach the topic which is ever increasingly present in my mind. 

My mom says "Marjorie Allison, 40 is the new 30, you have nothing to complain about."  Mom, where did you hear that?  "Everyone says so, the magazines, TV......"  Mom, I said please tell "everyone" they are full of shit.  I was still considered a hottie when I was 30.  Now I am going to be 40 trying to look like a 30 year old hottie.  "Everyone" is kidding themselves.

Sure, men still compliment me but they typically fall into the 60 plus category and hold an AARP card while eating their dinners during the early bird special from 5:30-6:30 pm.  Where has the time gone?  Now I find myself shopping with my husband and saying things like- Oh, no honey that outfit is too young for me.  God bless him, my husband still thinks the less clothing the better is the way to go.  I refuse to be one of those women who are of a "certain age" dressing like a teenager.  I see these clueless souls out on the street occasionally and just wince with embarrassment for them.  I want to grab hold and shake them, how can they not see that they resemble a Cumberland sausage trying to explode from it's casing? 

I however am grounded in the ugly reality of the situation.  Sure, I can still wear a size 4-6.  My pants from 5 years ago still fit just fine.  However my 40 year old body does not resemble my former 30 year old body underneath aforementioned pants.  Again, 40 is the new 30 is a load of malarkey.

Seeing the writing on the wall I requested that my beloved treat me to a  10 visit package with a personal trainer for my birthday last year in order to motivate me and "get me on track".  My 39th birthday was an impetus to DO SOMETHING in order not to let gravity take hold and drag me and my ass down with it.  My husband and I were weekend gym attendees since our personal gym equipment was stored in California along with all our other worldly goods.  "Why do you need a personal trainer?" my husband asked.  "You have a monthly gym membership here to a facility which houses a hundred fitness machines.  You know how to exercise and you know what to do.  Why do you need to pay someone to tell you to do it?"  For the life of me I cannot understand why this man continues to try to reason with me using logical arguments.  After almost 11 years of marriage does he not realize logic means nothing to a women who has her mind set on something?

Why does anyone feel the need to pay an individual to stand over us barking out orders for an hour and ensuring you sweat, groan and don't cheat on the 12th repetition of your assigned exercise?  What happened to my internal drive chip motivating me to exercise?  Oh, that's right- never had one, not likely to develop one.  In short, I drag myself to the gym bitching and complaining the whole way.  My entrance into the gym resembles a prisoner on their way to the gallows.

Because it's my birthday I answer.  My beloved looked at me for a long time saying nothing.  Plus, I hurriedly added- I could be in danger of not fitting into my wardrobe.  All it ever does is rain here.  It's depressing and I cannot walk Shadow every day like in California.  You could be in jeopardy of having to buy me a whole new wardrobe!!  I could quickly see him doing the math in his head.  "Alright, go ahead then" he said at last.

This is how my personal trainer John came into my life.  I had been mulling this over for awhile while scoping out the possibilities at our health club.  There was no shortage to choose from.  I knew right away John was the one for me after observing him in action.  He had perfect posture, a military bearing, seldom smiled and appeared to be always focused and on task. Later on after we had known each other for awhile I found out that John was a perfectionist just as I suspected.  We would be in the middle of an exercise and I would catch him gazing across the gym at a clueless gym member who was incorrectly using a fitness machine.  He would start shaking his head and grimacing often unaware that he was doing so.  John, I would ask why don't you just go show them how to use the machine correctly?  It is obviously bothering you.  "No Marjorie, I would be a rich man if I had a 5 pence for every time I corrected someone who was using the equipment incorrectly."  This was his standard answer but I would still see him gazing over at the unsuspecting fitness wannabee looking like he was sucking lemons.

 Oh and yes he was very easy on the eyes.  I have to argue in defense that no one is ever motivated by an ugly personal trainer. No one loves an ugly baby.....but I digress.  I automatically dismissed the younger trainers who I knew I would be able to manipulate and run roughshod over.  I needed someone who was not easily intimidated and who would not put up with my nonsense and allow me to cheat and wiggle my way out of the exercise routine.

"What are your fitness goals?" John asked me when we first met.  Well...... to fit into my current wardrobe, gain muscle tone and lose weight.  "Hmmmm.. gain muscle?  Well that will be refreshing.  Most women hate the idea of gaining muscle."  Oh, not me I said.  I happen to be exceptionally fitness savvy and understand that the more muscle I have the more calories I will burn, thus allowing me to eat more.  "Well we will need to incorporate some cardio into every workout then" he added.  Well actually, I hate cardio.  John's face showed the first signs of concern.  "Right then, let's try the stepper to begin with."  I can honestly say, almost a year later that my first session with John was the first and only time we used the stepper.  If I remember correctly, I made it to 5 before my legs gave out and collapsed.  I told you I am not good at any cardio I complained to John.  "Yes, well I can see we have our work cut out for us he replied."

John has also discovered the hard way that I lack two basic talents necessary for half of the exercises he would like to see me do- namely, balance and coordination.  I have to hand it to him though, he stubbornly continues to add them to our weekly regimen knowing that it is probably bad for his rep at our gym.  My favorite exercise which demonstrates this lack of balance and coordination is the "Twist and throw the medicine ball".  As John constantly points out this is a super "core" exercise.  When you prepare to turn 40 you realize that your core (abs, back and pelvis) need all the help they can get.  This exercise consists of me twisting from one side to the next and tossing the medicine ball across to John.  It only takes a minute and no more than two throws to see other nearby gym members nearby start to create more space and begin to back away from us.  I believe this exercise keeps John on his toes as much as I as he often has to leap and make mad grabs in order to keep the ball from hitting other gym members.  This always adds some much needed frivolity to our exercise routine.

I have learned a great deal about John in the past 9 months and I am confidant he has learned more about me than he ever wanted to know.  I asked him not too long ago if any of his other clients complained and carried on the way I had a tendency to.  "No, Marjorie they are all British and do what I tell them to do" he replied.  Even if they are sore and in pain from our previous session they tend to soldier through it."  Poor John, I guess he drew the short straw and got stuck with the whiny American woman.   No one has ever told him that being my personal trainer is like having a therapist for an hour.  He is constantly redirecting my attention to the task on hand.  One of my favorite things about John is that he speaks perfect "Queens English".  John is Oxford educated and has the best grammar of anyone I know.  He is a former Biology teacher before he left it all behind to become a personal trainer.  "Hup, hup!" he will say encouraging me to hurry along faster than my normal turtle pace.  John, is hup hup the same as tally ho?  "Yes indeed Marjorie, good use of the Queens English and proper context as well." 

John has also learned to motivate me through proper translation of the specified exercise.  For example, straight legged dead lifts are now translated to an exercise which works lower back, BUTT and HAMSTRINGS.  Well why did you not just say "do this and it will help your butt lift up?"  Those are the two magic words..... butt and lift in the same sentence.

John is 51 years old and does not have an ounce of fat on him.  It is hard to find a sympathetic ear when your trainer often reminds you that he did not start his "heavy lifting" until he was in his 40s.  John was looking over my shoulder while I weighed myself at the gym scale and bemoaning the fact that I had not lost the desired 10 pounds.  "Well what have you been eating that you shouldn't be?" he asked.  Well, I gave up the french fries! I said indignantly.  I only eat whole grain carbohydrates....ok, it may be the wine I admitted.  Or it could possibly be the rare kit kat bar.  I have switched to the dark kit kats I sputtered.  Those are much more healthy right?  Oh, and I never have wine and a kit kat on the same day.  John looked at me with a smile on his face.  "Marjorie, do you always remember you ate the kit kat when it comes time for you to enjoy your wine?"  No, not always I admitted.  "Hmmmm...well that could indeed be your problem." 

When I first started seeing John I showed him a picture of my very good friend Karen.  She is three years older than I and has a body to die for.  Karen, who is a friend and a mentor is also a body builder in her spare time.  She is a single professional with a high powered career and who has managed to win professional body building contests on the side.  She is my idol and a born over achiever (see attached picture).  John looked at the picture and then back at me.  "Marjorie, do you know what your friends diet is like?" he asked.  Sure, no alcohol, fish, chicken, vegetables, ummmm water?  "And are you prepared to eat like that?"  I paused for a moment in true reflection.  How about we shoot for a happy medium instead, I asked?  I was treated to a rare smile.

Most of you have probably cottoned on to the fact that my visits have far exceeded the original planned 10.  When my sweetheart asked- "Have you not completed your package already?"  Yes, but I decided to re up for an indefinite period I replied.  "Oh really and what made you decide this on your own?"  Well, I believe my butt is lifting I told him.  My husband stared hard at me.  I had him in a trap and he knew it.  There was no way he could say my butt was not lifting as that would mean more trouble than he wanted to buy in to.  If he agreed he would only reinforce my decision.  He sighed and I took that as a sure sign of defeat. 

So, John and I continue our weekly journey towards supreme fitness.  My goals being to fit into my existing wardrobe and look "30ish".  His goals much simpler- simply to survive another week with me.