Judd is back on the trail

Don't think I can sustain two blogs.  Will be helping Judd with the other one:

http://juddandmelanie.blogspot.com/2014/07/deja-day-1-vue.html

WoW!

WoW! I've been saving those cut out W's since February. They ended up in Quebec for a while. In April they finally made it to the Virgin Islands. 

Practicing at home with windowsill sea dollars

Quebec in February- "The Carnival Poutine Special" (what is it?)  "oh, it's just regular Poutine."

60th Annual Winter Carnival -Tim Horton Ferris Wheel- High of 19 degrees 

The St. John Virgin Island dilemma - which beach today?

The water really is that crystal blue

White sand instead of white snow in April -- I'll have that.

I meant to do that.

Plan C

Storm Pax was followed by Storm Quintin.  After all the on-hold angst we were re-booked to depart Boston on Sunday for the Virgin Islands.  Judd, being the new bookie, got the phone text saying "due to severe weather, your flight has been cancelled."  Yes, it happened in the comfort of our living room on Friday night. We weren't already en route to Boston in severe weather. We weren't lazing around Logan Airport at 9pm, looking for a way home.   We hopped right back on all the phones/computers to start asking for refunds, canceling hotels and car rentals/dog-sitters.  We did this virtually with the Thibodeaus, everyone too exhausted to walk next door and commiserate together THIS TIME.  But somewhere around midnight, Judd said, "Want to go to Quebec?"  and I said, "YES!" So miraculously, it was still the last two nights of their Winter Carnival and we found an  adorable auberge a block from the Frontenac with reasonable rates.  (MY suspicion was two folks from North Carolina just had THEIR winter vacation to Canada cancelled by severe down-south Pax and Quintin.)  We texted Carol and Omer to repack for a road trip at 7am.  It was after midnight.

At 7am when we called and woke them, they were not up for the sudden reversal in latitude.  We secured BACK the dog-sitters and hopped in the car.

I had visited Quebec summer 2009 with three kids in tow to meet up with Susanfriend and her husband and twins for the International Fireworks Contest.
http://internationaldesfeuxloto-quebec.com/en/historique/historique.aspx
It had been August, 90 degrees, polar bears wouldn't get out of the water at their aquarium. But this trip, it was February, minus 10 to positive 10 degrees, all the roads and sidewalks covered with layers of snow, ice and slush. We did a good job of re-packing with triple long underwear, the hot-hands packets from the kids' stocking stuffers, hats and hats and hats. 

By day, we walked the streets of the Old City and the carnival proper up on the Plains of Abraham.  By night, we did it all over again, the ice fortress and snow sculptures all lit up. We downloaded the ap on our phone to follow the parade route.  We waited an hour lined up on the curb for the parade. We were okay that we only say the mini-beginningist of the parade and got cold and went back to the hotel. 

At dinner at Aux  Ancienes Canadienes, described on the travel reviews as, " This restaurant exemplifies traditional French-Canadian, aka cuisine Québécois. This is Not a French restaurant.  It is a restaurant showcasing the unique foods of the region. "  and  "very meatcentric."
Judd ordered the farmers plate and had about 8 kids of meat: meat pie, pig knuckles, foie gras, I can't even say what else.  At Le Petit Chateau, we had breakfast crepes the size of my bistro table. Everyone is very polite about letting you practice your baby French and then answering you back in impeccable English.

We shopped for trinkets and when we went to get a friend a cigar the young salesman apologized for stumbling on his English.  He couldn't flawlessly come up with words like "distinguish" or "reduce."  We told him it was okay -- he was speaking our language for us.

We stayed at Hotel Chateau Bellevue which was just a block from the Hotel Frontenac.  Nice window overlooking a park that overlooked the Saint Lawrence. The lobby had an amazing feature where you put in a card and it poured a glass of wine for you. 

One highlight was taking the ferry to Levis across the St. Lawrence.  Judd was stunned that the water was carry mini-icebergs in one direction part of the day and in the other direction later forgetting that it was tidal water.  The ferry took about 20 minutes to get across and another 5 minutes to align itself against the current. Judd was also a big fan of the Musee du Fort - a tiny museum with a ginormous diorama with small theater-seating.  You sit and watch the tiny lights go off on various ships and battlegrounds while a slide show plays for 15 minutes.  It was very helpful orienting us to the geography (and the history.)

My favorite thing was The Hotel de Glace, not in Old Quebec but 20 minutes outside of town which we visited on our way home. I CAN NOT imagine actually sleeping there, but I sure liked going room to room, each with a theme (Easter Island, Mayans) The overall theme was mythology and they had sculpted snow and ice in other rooms. One entire room was devoted to the Disney movie Frozen (which we have yet to see) and a mom there with her kids sliding around said it was fabulous. 

The Ice hotel slide show 1.7 minutes. The whole trip one is long (7min?)--I'm still working on how to edit it.

p.s. Carol helped us re-book while we were gone and we are slated for St. John in April!! Back to a new count down calendar........

Winter Storm PAX

en.wikipedia.org 

I've been counting down the days since September:  163 days........154.........95.......75......
....46......23.....9..8...7...6...5...4..3..2..1..... and today, day zero, on depart-for-St. John-Virgin Islands-Valentines-Day,  I'm sitting in my kitchen watching Judd snow-blow 12 inches of snow and freezing drizzle because my flight is cancelled. Sure, everyone else's flights from North Carolina to Canada are cancelled too.... but ours was special. This is our first adult only vacation in 26 years, going with the neighbors, Carol and Omer, to a tropical island, renting  a cottage (i.e. NOT camping.)  









I've been watching the daily temperature, looking forward to going from -6 to 84 degrees in one day.

I've been rolling our quarters and pennies, $210 dollars worth of coinage!

Then yesterday afternoon, we got the message of the flight cancellation. Carol and Judd and I spent, literally, hours on hold last evening trying to re-book the cancelled flights/reserved rooms while Omer cooked us consolation-comfort foods. The on-hold music (on three different phones) was the most obnoxious, rinky-tinky din--it's like they wanted us to give up and hang up. 





This morning, Judd is STILL blowing and shoveling. I'm keeping him company from the kitchen bistro table, keeping my eye on the Boston weather for tomorrow.

Burn's Night

People get desperate in the dead of winter. January, "high" of 20 degrees, broken trees everywhere from the ice storm,  is pretty dead winter. We decided to have a spontaneous dinner on Saturday so googled what day January 25 was internationally.  It was a GREAT day to celebrate:   Burn's Night in Scotland  honors their most famous poet: Robert Burns. We made it the theme for the dinner party.  Judd made haggis. That was pretty desperate.  We found that US FDA does not allow butchers to sell much of the required meat, so Judd made do with a lamb, beef liver, suet. He couldn't stuff it in a mammal stomach, so he made little cheesecloth sacks. Lots of oatmeal helped soak up the suet (and I will roll the rest of the suet in birdseed and hang outside for the birds.) Thank goodness for the lighter fare: roasted vegetables, ahi tuna steaks, clementine cake (stayed tuned for the Secret Life of Walter Mitty cake reference in another blog.)

 I made a quick kilt from a Goodwill-purchased skirt. It took no arm twisting at all for Judd to wear a kilt.  (he says they're all the rage on the Appalachian Trail.) The guests were very good sports. We read a few poems aloud in varying degrees of fake Scottish accent.   One friend commented that our relatives used to entertain each other  by reciting poems for each other. I only have ONE friend who still regales me by reciting poems.  (A shout out to Dr. Bindu!)  We did end the evening honoring Burns by singing  Auld Lang Syne.

Next Dead-of-Winter holiday (besides Valentine's Day):  Open That Bottle Night (the last Saturday in February!)

look up:

Ode to a Mouse
Ode to a Louse
Ode to a Mountain Daisy

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis

Address to a Haggis Translation

Fair and full is your honest, jolly face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour wipe,
And cut you up with ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm steaming, rich!

Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive:
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by
Are bent like drums;
Then old head of the table, most like to burst,
'The grace!' hums.

Is there that over his French ragout,
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On such a dinner?

Poor devil! see him over his trash,
As feeble as a withered rush,
His thin legs a good whip-lash,
His fist a nut;
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his ample fist a blade,
He'll make it whistle;
And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off
Like the heads of thistles.

You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,
That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But if you wish her grateful prayer,
Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!