Bermuda = Oregon

Strange comparison, I know. Assisted suicide is not the link. No, it’s full-serve gasoline. Just like Washington’s neighbor to the south, Bermuda has no self-serve pumps. Gas pump jockeys will always have a job in Bermuda and Oregon.

The Christmas Pantomime

Every year the amateur theater group in Bermuda puts on a Christmas pantomime. This apparently is an English tradition. You can read all about it here – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_pantomime

This year’s was “Jack in the Beanstalk.” I talked to someone afterwards who’s seen 27 productions in a row year and who has been in various ones as well and she told me it was poorly done this year. Still, as a newcomer to the art form – I thought it was great fun and the kids agreed. In spite of the show beginning past their bedtime, they were completely riveted. It’s a rowdy event. There is hissing and booing of the villain – songs, slapstick, men in drag, a cow – played by two people, audience participation, a sing along portion or really a sing-off between halves of the audience. What’s not to like? The kids particularly liked the part where a character named Simple Simon starting shaking and getting nervous – the audience was instructed to shout “Steady Simon!” and wave the neon flashing wands that they purchased in the lobby prior to the show. This happened repeatedly to every child’s utter delight. Ellie clapped her hands and swayed to the music. Pete stared taking it all in. Afterwards, he said that the baddie turned to a goodie at the end, because he realized that goodies always win. The story was a bit convoluted, but he evidently got the point. There were local political jokes strewn throughout and some mildly bawdy humour that the grown-ups enjoyed. Something for everyone. I can see why it’s become a tradition.

It’s a small community and I was quite impressed with the quality of the production – even if they’ve done better. I can’t wait until next year!

The Christmas Boat Parade

A couple of weeks ago, there was the annual Christmas Boat Parade where nearly fifty boats of all types decorated themselves with various Christmas lights and paraded around Hamilton Harbour. We walked down to Darrel’s Wharf and climbed into Grandpa Tony’s whaler (which is habitually moored off the dock there) to watch the festivities. Our favorite (and the winning boat ) was a barge decked out with an enormous pirate . There was music blaring from the barge and when it was finished the parrot on his shoulder said “Merry Christmas!” In addition, there were people dressed as pirates engaged in sword battles with neon light sabres. Very cool. Most of the other boats had more traditional Christmas themes. We had seen all the boats by 8:30 and walked home. Fireworks followed, but it was bedtime – really past bedtime.

On the way back, I looked up at the stars. It was a clear night. I realized that I hadn’t really looked at the stars since I’d moved here. Way out in the ocean, with only the light pollution of a small town to block the starlight, the night sky looked amazing. Just as I remembered it as a child. Sad really. But also amazing. I need to look at the stars more often. In the middle of the ocean, they are spectacular.

Bad Blogger

Hey! I haven’t been blogging for a while – very bad. I’ve just been busy with school, getting ready for Christmas, taking care of the kids, and cooking, cleaning and grocery shopping. I know it sounds lame, but by the time I put the kids to bed, clean the dishes, make their lunches, fold the laundry, and do the millions of other things that seem to pop up before collapsing into bed myself – I just don’t seem to make it to the computer to put coherent thoughts together. I have two weeks off now – so I can catch up with all the Christmas in Bermuda goings on of the last few weeks.

I think I’m turning Canadian, I really think so!

When I first moved to Bermuda, I thought there might be a danger of picking up a Bermudian accent or maybe even an English accent – with all the British people milling about. What I didn’t realize is that Bermuda is inundated with Canadians and Somersfield Academy in particular. All four of the upper elementary classrooms are taught by someone with Canadian roots. The two founders are Canadian and all the Montessori teachers are too as there is no training program in Bermuda. I guess the lure of a milder climate is too tempting for those good-natured northerners.

It’s hard to say a bad word about Canada. They are a lovely people. But let’s face it; the accent is not their best attribute. It certainly should not be a top export. So it was with great dismay that I noticed Torontonian inflections creeping in to my speech. I started hearing myself say words like “shout” and “about” in a very regrettable manner. What bad luck! So I’m now on double-guard against accent influence – must keep the Canadians at bay!

Good news for Ellie – her nursery school teacher is British and she has taken on a slight British inflection, especially with short o sounds – turning towards the longer British vowel sounds. I must say it’s quite cute. Pete’s got a little of the Bermudian/British thing going as well – not too noticeable though.

Hitting the Wall

Last Friday night, I was woken up suddenly by Ellie. She needed to go the bathroom. Groggy, it took me a few minutes to realize where I was. I had fallen asleep on Ellie’s bed. I had no idea how long I’d been there. Paul later said it was 11:30. A few minutes of snuggling had turned into hours of snoozing. This is what I call “hitting the wall”. It’s when all the nights of too little sleep and hectic days catch up with you.

Last week was exhausting. I had to get my progress reports filled out on Monday. Wednesday was parent/teacher conferences which ran late. I invited my neighbors over for Thanksgiving, which is no big deal, except we don’t get the day off here. This meant Tuesday and Wednesday nights, I was up late making stuffing, pumpkin pie and apple crisp. All the things I could pre-make before Thursday. On top of all this, I couldn’t use our car. It’s too complicated to explain, but our car was not available to me – so I had to arrange taxi rides to and from school for Pete and me. It was just too much and by Friday – it all caught up with me.

I’m proud to say that Thanksgiving turned out surprisingly well. At 38, it was my first Thanksgiving where I prepared the whole meal. I had to send Paul home early to clean and put the turkey in the oven, but besides that invaluable assistance, it was all me. It’s good that I don’t always prepare the same dish for our family Thanksgivings. I’ve had responsibility for mashed potatoes, butternut squash and apple crisp before. So it really was the turkey and the stuffing that was brand new. And the gravy – my mom always makes the gravy. I’ve never really successfully made it before. But it worked – no lumps. My mom called a few minutes before I needed to make it and gave me the lowdown.

Anyway, this week should be much easier, which is something to be thankful for. I’m hoping by Friday I won’t hit the wall yet again.

For the Birds

Being a working mom is for the birds. I’ve been substituting full time in the upper elementary of Pete’s school for a month and a half and it’s hard! It’s hard to get the kids and me out the door on time. It’s hard to get housework done. I wake up at 5:45 every morning so that I can fit in exercise. After getting the kids to sleep at night, I rush around cleaning the kitchen and making lunches for the next day, before collapsing into bed. I knew it wouldn’t be easy and as it turns out – it isn’t! I feel like I’m always rushing and never doing anything particularly well.

There are things I like. I like earning my own money. Last week, I went shopping for myself without guilt for the first time in forever. I like having something other than housework and my own kids to think about. I like feeling that my days are filled with important, worthwhile tasks. I like that my days are structured. I like that the kids see that I have a job too. So…it’s not all bad.

My plan has been to go back to work when Ellie’s four. She’ll be at Somersfield all day. She, Pete, and I would all be in the same place at the same time. I still think that’s a good plan. I want to work for all the reasons I’m enjoying it now. Even so, I find myself counting the days and weeks, until my life isn’t so hard! I feel guilty about it – but I’m looking forward to a calmer, less hectic existence.

Chicken?

During our trip to Seattle, Erika asked Pete how school was going. He replied, “Well, they call me chicken. Not the animal kind of chicken – the person chicken.”

Poor Pete. The cautious boy is being made fun of at school for his “Safety First!” attitude.    Don’t feel too bad for him – he seems to love school. He has quite a lot of friends and finally seems to settling in to the routine of the classroom. He’s excited to be getting a lot of work done and especially enjoys French. “Fille means girl and garcon means boy,” he tells me.

Rotten tomatoes

A big concern in moving to Bermuda was the quality of the grocery stores. I knew that there was one good one in town, Miles – but I was worried about the rest. I had been grocery shopping here before, so I knew that they weren’t horrible. It wouldn’t be like what my sister-in-law experienced in the Bahamas – with dead rats laying on the shelves.

Still, I’m a grocery snob. I shop at Whole Foods, PCC, local farmer’s markets when I can. I spend money on food. I may not have an updated wardrobe, but my family and I eat well.

At first I was pleasantly surprised; I could get everything that I could get in Seattle in Bermuda. Even at our local grocery store, they have organic cookies and crackers, whole wheat pasta – everything. They even had Earthbound Organic Lettuce – but here’s the thing. Local produce is sparse. There are farms in Bermuda – I’m sure there’s more than one – I definitely know of one. But not enough to supply the island. Food has to be flown in. That lettuce travels a long way and I’ve noticed by the time I get fruit and vegetables home, they’re on the way out. I try now to buy local lettuce, but I can only get it at Miles and not every day.

Grocery shopping is tricky. I know I should be buying seasonal vegetables, but even those aren’t plentiful.

Paul isn’t big on vegetables and when I probe him about this – he mostly cites his mother overcooking them. But I wonder if the quality of those veggies was so poor – it probably didn’t matter too much how they were cooked. He likes peas, corn and carrots – the typically frozen varieties.

When I was home over Halloween, I visited Whole Foods the day before I left. There were the most beautiful, fresh, crispy-looking carrots – a bunch with the leaves still attached. I bought them, even though I knew we wouldn’t eat them all. In fact, we only had one. But I couldn’t resist. I hadn’t seen carrots for a few weeks. For some reason, they weren’t stocked. And the ones I had bought before that were in a bag with most of them rotten and inedible.

It’s not terrible. It isn’t. But Whole Foods is missed.

Traffic

There is one main town/city in Bermuda – Hamilton. There are three roads that lead there. Bermuda limits the number of cars on the island – one per household. Scooters are another matter and the roads are teeming with them. Still, the traffic is bad. And I say this as a Seattleite. The problem is everyone heading to the same place on small narrow roads. On a normal day, it takes me at least half an hour to get to work in the morning. With no traffic, the same trip takes ten/fifteen minutes. If something goes wrong – an accident – it’s a disaster.

Last Wednesday, I made a concerted effort to get Pete out of the house and into the car early enough so that I could get to work at a reasonable time. It’s lucky we’re going to the same place. I really don’t know how people do this all the time. But that’s another story. Anyway, big effort, big planning, got up early, etc. Ready to go, so I can get to school and prepare my lessons.

Traffic is stopped. Just stopped and there’s nowhere to go – no alternative routes to take – nothing to do. A telephone pole fell on Harbour Road. We were in the car for an hour and a half! Poor Pete. He was so good, but at the end, he really needed to use the bathroom.

Another teacher (one of the three Mrs. Outerbridges) takes the bus from Somerset. Usually, she gets on at 7:10 and arrives at school at 8:00 – maybe 8:10. She walked in the door at 10:10. She was on a bus full of kids for 3 hours! Can you imagine? That’s a case of post-traumatic stress syndrome right there.