My Jamaican mother-in-law made 'rice and peas', a tasty blend of long grain rice stewed with kindney beans and coconut milk, in Nicaragua it's called Gallo Pinto or 'speckled rooster' , it's pretty much a staple for all of Latin America.

See? I'm learning stuff!

I met the leader of the mission group who started the whole concept of aiding Nicaraguans on behalf of the Presbyterian church 12 years ago. They've designed a full two week experience that isn't limited to young, strong people. They welcome everyone who wants to help (and can earn the funds to go) from 12 years old and up. Some people go to do physical labor, others go to help hold and feed sick babies, teach music or sports to kids or help young moms. There's no end of work that can be done there or pretty much anywhere in the world. The organization is pretty grass roots but it's become a fairly sophisticated outfit over the years. I will have access to running water, shower facilities and flush toilets. My food will come from a supermarket and be cooked for me and my transportation and an interpreter will be provided. A huge luxury I'm already feeling guilty about. In order to cover the two week trip in one week we'll need to get to a lot of locations to acquire the video we need to tell their story.

The church group of fifteen is backed by an entire congregation. It's a small town church outside of Niagara Falls, Ontario but they are mighty fund-raisers! They applied their madd skillz and raised almost double the necessary funds to go. Not only will we witness three school rooms being built and painted, a recent hurricane caused the boy's orphanage to lose it's roof. This group is going to replace it. A teacher who has donated all his time so far will get a salary and there will is still money left to use there. Each participant had to raise their own $3000. to go and they will each try to fill two fifty pound hockey bags with donated stuff to take with them and leave behind.

I nearly cried when the group presented the cheque to the mission leader.

We don't see signs and wonders anymore?

I'd say a small group raising any money in this day and age is a wonder. A sign? I'm going to a third world country with my eyes wide open and not one ounce of my usual cynicism. That's a miracle. Then there is the wonder of Churros. How something so simple, fattening and delicious crossed borders, oceans, cultures and lifetimes to be enjoyed in many worlds? I'd put that in the wonder category.

New job, trip planning, proposal writing... some how S & J got neglected. Sorry. I know I was doing so well but the dog ate the URL! (Actually I'll blame the cat. Ella peed on it heaven knows she's peeing on selected sites a lot these days, like the ventilation grate. Have you ever found out an animal peed on your vent, usually vents are connected to vent work like ducting which travels under floors through bulkheads and eventually connects back to your air conditioning/heat making furnace? That was rhetorical. If you said 'yes' you'd know a cat with one less life. Let's just say the husband has renewed his subscription to HowToKillYourCat.com.

So much, no, too much is going on and my brain is in overdrive. I just received the final confirmation about the shoot in Nicaragua. NICARAGUA! Yes. I'm yelling. I started the first round of inoculations. Hep A and B times three rounds, typhoid just one. I'll say won instead because that one hoits! Full muscle ache. I have a prescription of Malaria pills you take for 5-6 weeks and cypro for the dreaded diarrhea. We brought the camera in to shoot the needle paraphernalia and the tropical diseases reference book and the fun part -the needles going into arms. I asked the nurse to show me where it would go in to the camera guys' arm, focused then looked away, just in case. I've also written a long proposal to ask for partial funding costs for our flights. Since we're not getting paid for our work and we're losing pay to be there we thought it was ok to approach various resources for grants. See? No online begging (I think that's tacky). So a micro-crew -just two of us will spend the best part of five days or more following a group of voluntourists as they build school rooms, visit women's shelters, orphanages, the city dump, to reach out with medical supplies, clothing, toys, and even just sing for the elderly to uplift their spirits.

Even with the warnings about diseases I think my biggest fear is not wanting to come home.

I hope to blog about the experience just to clear out my thoughts.

Kind of like a vent (without the cat pee).

Everyday I do the socks, runners and skort, skirt, long shorts, pant or jeans look for my daily commute.
Yes it's as attractive as that reads.

Every day before I leave I wake up the husband and ask him for spare change.

Every morning he gives me a dirty look and says, "NO!" or "Check my pants!" or "why can't you go to the bank?"

It's part of the routine.

I rifle through his shorts, pants, wallet, whatever, sifting, foraging, chewing on the big coins to make sure they're real. I'm grateful to have the luxury of loose change. Everyday I can purchase a cup of hot tea before I head into the office and change out of my tacky runners (and put on my tacky shoes). I never have to take out my wallet, break a bill and watch it disappear (the husband gets to do that!) just jingle the pockets for the buck fifty. It's only been a week but it's part of my day. My reward for 30 minutes of walking and 20 minutes of standing on the crowded (but air-conditioned) train.

Starting next week, I'll probably start making tea when I get to the office, bring bags and a mug in, mark my territory in the kitchenette. I'll save $7.50 a week! It's only been two weeks so I may be creating a false economy.

"Look honey", I'll say,

"I just saved you $7.50 by not begging for change! See How I'm saving our pennies?"

See? Good working wife.

My head snapped around at the noise and instantly my death ray vision was engaged.

The dog looked up and slowly backed away from the drapes.

Why haven't I engage my death ray vision before? I'm trying it on the nine year old when he wakes up.

Just for fun.
Mwahaha.

Ice cream cake.
Chocolate fudge center.
(Seconds. Thirds.)
I don't even like ice cream.

Over the next couple of days he slowly turned into a light skinned brown infant and finally opened his eyes. He no longer looked Chinese but he still looked 'puffy'. I'm glad he doesn't remember his sister trying to get a hold of him as he rolled out of his receiving blanket out of her arms.

He's a tall, gangly-limbed boy now. All muscle and front teeth. He's starting to cop the attitude that goes with flipping the bird, but he's still young enough to feel the effects from be punished for it. He desperately wants the Indiana Jones Lego video game which is being released on his birthday. He'll get that plus a summer wardrobe that I hope he won't outgrow before summer officially arrives.

He can be sweet and affectionate, goofy and thoughtful.

He was my 40th birthday present and he continues to delight and surprise me.

I'm so thankful I get to be his mom.

Week one on the job: Complete.
Fun? Wow.

But just as the nine to five training period ended an amazing opportunity came up that would be a huge complement to my repertoire of work, my body of work, my long list of credits in the world of television.

I have a chance to go to Nicaragua and shoot a pilot. Who for you ask? ME.
My project (with a partner). How much money have the investors put forward for the project? None.
Who's paying for this? Well, this is the year of the 'REnovation AFtermath' or as I like to call it 'After the Lovin'.
Broke doesn't begin to describe what I am right now. But I am working now and getting a paycheck and even though it has a list of people standing with their hand out for payment from that check, I'm still going to make the trip happen.

Some people go to Disneyland, some go to Nicaragua. (Hey I can use that line in the promo). Not to give too much away but the pilot will be about transforming lives by sending 'the privileged' to work beside the underprivileged. Transformation? You can bet on it.

Here's how I plan to do it.
This is what I sent to my brother in an email

Heading: Because I care about...

Love you mean it.

Who says you're too old to step outside the lines and make things happen? Is that person rich now? Would they like to make a donation to a meaningful cause in a way that will resonate for years to come? Have their people call my people. Thanks.

It's a fun job with the train commute to the train station where I get out and follow the other condemned men to the cubicle farms. If I didn't get to walk through one of the most interesting parts of the city (including a huge fresh food market) everyday I can see how people would end up looking like the walking dead.

The main train station is very close to the central business district so many of the commuters are going into sky-scraping bank and finance towers. I power pace in my jean jacket, back pack and t-shirts, passing on the left or right, literally running circles around the masses. It's just not in me to conform. Or act my age.

I turned 49 yesterday. Not 50. 49. Three heterosexual office mates (the office is mixed, after all it is a television design show) all under 35 years old were shocked. Maybe I look older? Don't judge by the heavily photoshopped picture up above, the one where I'm sans makeup, in the third day of a raging flu but had a fluky good hair day. That picture is a lie. Unless you think I look younger than 49.

I give full credit to fear. Fear comes from having a younger husband, a death-defying eight year old and a huge mortgage. Fear of dying keeps you working at being young, active, vital. It can also age you so you have to be careful of that precarious balance. I think at some point soon I'm going to have to dress my age, probably even act my age. But it's just not in me to conform.

That will be my motto.

Until I turn 50.

(Beyond husbands, politics and education)

It didn't seem obvious to me when I started visiting gossip sites. I found the information intriguing, funny, rude and light. What harm could there be in adding a few to my blog favourites? It's just harmless gossip, right?

Wrong.

I had to read three sites (TMZ.com, E-news and the Awful Truth, NY Post) at breakfast time, then after nine AM I'd start random clicking onto Lainey's site for updates throughout the day. By noon Crazy Days and Nights would start adding posts from the West coast, and I'd visit Perez throughout the day, too. I got hooked on the Tom Cruise vs SS saga at sentenial gatekeeper (sic) and numerous other Blind Item depots. All this instead of writing proposals, one pagers or even entries. I'm not sure why I didn't see it as a handicap. I was all about the entitlement to the information. Plus it's free and makes me look knowledgeable (to no one else but me!)

So in honour of 'going back to work' day tomorrow I decided it was time to clean house, not my actual house (one vice at a time, people, all things in moderation) but this box of a house that distracts my brain.

All the gossip sites have been deleted from my blog favourites and I'm going to make a conscious effort not to visit any -ever. It shouldn't be as difficult as quitting smoking or following a food plan but there will be withdrawal symptoms. Even though the information garnered from the sites is just passive detritus in my head I still obsessively clicked on to the sites to fill my brain. Why any of that ever mattered is beyond my comprehension. Who cares. But I didn't even try to stop -that's the weird part. From now on my brain will focus on work, family and staying in touch with the lives that matter most and ... all the other junk I've let the empty reading distract me from.

Gossip will always be fabricated, my real life, not so much.

I've had my mid-afternoon reflection time (crying spell) after working the food bank and a spontaneous tailgate party with the neighbors... now it's time to cook dinner. But it's more interesting to be distracted by neighbors talking about perennials, plantings, hockey and baseball while attempting to shovel the maple tree junk off the driveway and sip a cool glass of Pinot Grigio (South Africa's Flat Roof Manor).

I've missed my neighbors. It's so nice to sit out and watch the kids wreck gardens playing football. The big boys are talking about tonight's big game ('Hockey?', I asked) which will be followed by an outdoor gathering around the fire pit.

I love my neighbors. So much is unspoken and lovely. We cherish each other, our differences and our acceptance of those differences. Tonight we will amalgamate food wine, beer, other, in celebration of the big 'game'. Kate's assembling spicy salami, a variety of cheeses and cherries onto a platter of consumable goodness. I've retrieved the two extra pounds of roast pork, sliced, spiced and diced into a formidable partner to the crackers.

We'll eat, laugh, wait for the children to reappear from their trip to Mickey Dee's and it will be summer in our hearts. The chimenea is lit, the game is on, the guys are watching while the women avoid the game and we're a community once more.

My lilac tree is just about to burst into a riot of purple flowers. I thought it was a miracle considering the tree had to withstand three physical moves last year. Then again any old abandoned farm house usually has a lilac tree thriving somewhere outside of it. I recently read lilacs and rhubarb pretty much outlive everything, and probably would survive a nuclear holocaust. So, yeah, the rhubarb has riz and I've stored some in the freezer already and I'm ready to decorate with the lilacs when they fully bloom. Even the herbs that weren't supposed to last another year have returned and look amazing. The peonies are getting taller, ready to burst and the new service berry trees have tiny white flowers all over, set against the sage-y green house the effect is spectacular.

So the point I'm trying to make is after a SAD winter and a seemingly endless two year adjustment to crack varietals and a life devoted to sardonicism, I can finally see colour and take joy in what's around me again. This only works if you don't look at the dog's footprints on the recently cleaned wooden floor and the cat hair/dust balls in the sunlight. You have to look beyond that stuff toward the outdoors through the glass with your eyes squinted up so it's just wonderful blurry colour.

Now if we could just get the outdoor temperature up so we can put away our woolies and turtlenecks and not fear a killer frost it would feel like an authentic spring awakening.

But I get this weird feeling when I shoot. I can't stop grinning. I love capturing images and telling a story through visuals. I love special effects, black and white cinematography and the graininess of super 8 to express strong dramatic content.

But that's not what I do for a living. Nobody wants drama in my end of TV unless it's completely manufactured to take place right before a commercial break. Tell me you didn't think that was a coincidence. I spend a lot of time looking for manufactured cliff hangers designed to bring the viewer back after raiding the fridge. It's called story editing and I spent most of my winter doing just that. Raiding the fridge, yes.

Working on a creative piece with creative people who are creating original music and original 'moments' is an incredible gift for me. It happens rarely and the only way I get to play is when I'm between contracts and I do it for free. I love these chances to explore the creative side of images to invoke emotion. It's the hardest thing to do without getting kitschy or too cliche. You have to pull back at just the right time before it' 'embarrasses the viewer'. As grace would have it I'm doing this for a church. It's a very creative church with lots of people willing to take risks and try knew ways of serving the gospel.
I'm excited about the videos we're producing and it's so much fun to get my neighbors and friends to be part of the vision. It's an incredible challenge and I wish it were my full time job so I could do it forever.

That's not going to happen though, I only have the rest of the week before I start my next contract. There's something about a regular paycheck that makes it all ok. For now.

But my issues with food are meaningless compared to the greater need to feed hungry people in my own neighborhood. I needed to get over myself and do something. The church I now attend, the one recently placed at my doorstep hosts a Daily Bread Food Bank every Saturday. An invitation to come and volunteer was issued and I had no excuse NOT to help.

It was Mother's Day weekend (a great conversation-starter) and my job was to help people repack their boxes of food into bags, carts or buggies. Instead of a gloomy scene, the place was lively and hopping -well at least I was. A smile and a laugh is the same in any language and if you've ever seen me pack groceries -well it's pretty sad, but hysterically funny to some people. For the most part the canned goods ended up on the bottom and the eggs on top and in all only one egg was sacrificed in the packing, ok two!

I got to be a mom, a clown, a friend, a hand, a nag,
"You will eat all your fruit and vegetables" I commanded to a young boy helping his mom. His mother just grinned while we packed the carrots and onions into her cart.

"You will get big and strong so you can carry ALL the groceries" I said handing a bag to him. He showed me how strong he was lifting the bag up to shoulder height, smiling.

"Excellent! You're so strong!" I cheered.
"Don't forget to wish your mom a happy mother's day tomorrow!" I whispered.

"You're obviously a mom." a man of about 60 said to me. He had a detailed system of packing his black duffle bag.

"I shows, huh? Hey, it looks like you learned precision packing from my mom. I was away that day." I joked.

Children often have the responsibility of interpreting for parents, they pick up the language quicker because they're taught English via ESL classes in most schools and then get integrated into classrooms.
These children are precious, they know the weight they carry for their parents and it makes them seem much more grown up.

"Happy Mother's Day" I said to a young Spanish speaking mom from Columbia.

"Happy Mother's Day" she said, smiling back at me.

"She knows what that means!" her son said, excitedly.
"I made her a surprise for tomorrow!" he whispered to me just in case.

Social workers are there to register new users, Olga (who looks exactly like she sounds) keeps a watchful eye out for new people (she's been doing it for 9 years at various locations) and calls out the numbers for people to get into the grocery line like she's calling a game of Bingo. Everyone listens to Olga. Welfare recipients gain their volunteer hours manning the food distribution stations but you wouldn't know it until you see them collecting their own food at the end of the day. Church goers, social service workers, translators and recipients blend together. The economic blinds come down and we are all just people helping each other. We are respectful, kind, patient, loving, and funny.
Everybody served receives a week's worth nourishment, a smile and a "God Bless You" and what I get back is immeasurable.

This is a great essay.
http://thisibelieve.org/dsp_ShowEssay.php?uid=44482&topessays=1"

Have you heard the one about the eight year old who worked hard to get OUT OF playing the concert hall? Not yet.

For months we'd heard that the third-graders had the opportunity to play at Roy Thompson Hall with the Toronto Symphony. We greeted the news as any proud parents would, we gushed.

"That's incredible! You're going to accompany the Toronto Symphony! That's BIG!" we shouted.

"I don't care I don't want to", the eight year old said flatly.

We just brushed it off as nerves.

The campaign to NOT go began in earnest.

"There will be people there watching, listening. I don't like that at all", he railed.

"That's the fun part the audience is one of the reasons we perform the other reason is that we love to play", I encouraged.

"But I don't really like the recorder and I don't like playing it and I don't like playing it with an orchestra in a big concert hall and I don't want to go there", he retorted.

"Honey I support you and everything you do and this is a great opportunity to feel what it's like to perform in front of a large crowd and hear the applause and fantasize that you are Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz singing in front of the whole world and the whole world is cheering because the whole world adores you", I thought, but realized that was MY childhood fantasy. He just wants to be the cool kid on the skateboard trying to kill himself on wheels in a variety of ways.

"But honey I support you and everything you do and once you are playing you'll see what a great experience it is", was what I should have said.

"You're going", is what came out.

We got a sneak peak at his school's music night. First we had to listen to the fifth grade string players. My elbow was firmly planted in the husbands side the whole time so I could hold his laughing out loud hostage. I have great sympathy for anyone learning a stringed instrument, especially the violin, the learning curve is out there for everyone to hear and it is usually cringe-worthy to have to listen. The husband plastered a wide grin on his face but I know if I let my elbow relax we would have been in trouble. The husband has a wee bit of a cruel streak which comes out in the form of loud laughter especially if someone unexpectedly trips and falls within eye shot. After the last note was almost played, the third graders came out and presented three musical selections including the one that will be accompanied by the TSO. It was pleasant enough. Most of the notes worked together. One or two were obviously faking it, but it didn't ruin the experience. I kept an eye on the husband every time a sour note sounded but he was still feeling the affects of the elbow in the gut and remained well behaved. The eight year old had a great smile on his face. He really did enjoy performing in front of an audience.

Today he was packed up for the school trip. He had his lunch, too-short pants on, too short socks on and a blue button down shirt. The husband gel-d his hair as I buttoned his shirt.

"I feel famous", he said.

The husband cracked up.

It's going to be a memorable day for him with many more to come in his life whether he's performing for an audience or just going to school. But I wish for him to always have music -everyone needs a soundtrack for their life.