Star-bucks struck

Everyone has obsessions. For some it is a certain celebrity, or reality show. Others obsess over clothes, cars, games, sports teams... For my father, I would say it is airplanes. Ever since we were young, my dad would drop everything and stare into the great blue sky every time he heard the roar of a plane overhead. I'm pretty certain that from the age of four onwards, I believed that every object above my head was a twin engine beaver. I'm not sure if my mom had any real obsessions, but perhaps cleaning conch shells will be her new love. I digress, the point of this blog is to discuss my husband's loyal love and obsession for Starbucks and how he has coped without it for the past 15 months.

Blake's love for Starbucks began well before I met him. If you ask him straight out when he began to fall for the wavy haired little siren in the green circle, he is unsure. He guesstimates it was in 2005. In an effort to stay awake during long study sessions he became more and more dependant on his cup of Italian dark roast. By the time we met, he was frequenting Starbucks on a near daily basis. I am convinced that is why we are still paying off some student loans! He tried so desperately to initiate me into his Starbucks cult with luring cups of Caramel Macchiatos and Mochas, but he had not yet discovered my deep dark secret. When trying to convert me failed, he moved on. Joel became his next target, which he is proud to say was a success. He moved onwards, converting those he worked with, and even trying to entice my parents in to Starbucks Stops when they visited.

As a result of Blake's dependance on a grande cup of coffee, we have visited Starbucks all over the world. I know many people who collect Hard Rock Cafe T-shirts from vacation destinations, well we collect photos from Starbucks worldwide. Having effortlessly covered all cities and many towns in western Canada- one on our very own wedding day (with me in my massive gown!), our first international Starbucks venture had us visiting the Kuta location in Bali while on our honeymoon. Known for Australian surfers and a laid back vibe, four cafes were scattered around the beaches. After nearly 2 days in transit from home, the relief in Blake's eyes was palpable when he first entered the Kuta Starbucks. Our next stop was Tokyo. Although the menus were written in Japanese, the coffee still tasted the same. Our third and fourth international stops were in Denver and Miami (with Miami actually becoming our "local" cafe, since I am certain we know the exact location of every Starbucks in the Miami International Airport as well as all those on South Beach). We have also spent some time in a Costa Rican Starbucks and nearly 10 hours camped out beside the Lima Starbucks waiting for our flight. With our recent trip to New York booked, Blake has already planned our outings around Starbucks runs.

Moving to the Cayman Islands saw a new challenge for Blake. There are no Starbucks on island, so instead he suffers with the local blend, or the odd tin of Tim Horton's that gets imported to the supermarket. Each time we head off island he dreams about placing his first order of the day in Miami, and then following up with whichever destination we have chosen. We stock up on Starbucks VIA when the opportunity arises, and both Cheryl and Dave have sent up care packages from Canada. We aren't entirely sure that Dave didn't go bankrupt sending us nearly 5 pounds of VIA with a shipping cost upwards of $50 for Christmas. We are still drinking it!

The only downside to Blake's addiction is me. Since I can remember my dad always used to jokingly ask me if I wanted a cup of coffee every morning. As the years flew by, I think he anticipated that one day I would say yes, like Melinda did. That day has still not come. It is not that I don't find the smell alluring (because I do!) and it isn't because I don't like the taste (because it has grown on me), but there is something far worse that keeps me passing on the coffee. My caffeine sensitivity is out of this world, and just a cup of coke or some chocolate can keep me up for hours. I have grown to enjoy lattes, and Blake has taken to making me some, but I pay the price of sleepless nights, heart palpitations, nausea, extreme giddiness, painful headaches and twitchy eyeballs every time I succumb to the temptation. Sometimes the sensations I get from just one cup makes me nervous that it has been riddled with speed or some other drug. Blake can always tell when I am on a high, because he can't get a word in edgewise and I begin a full scale cleaning of the house. Anyways, despite my "disability" when it comes to coffee, I enjoy the odd Cinnamon Dolce Latte (decaf, of course) and look forward to more worldwide Starbucks visits.

Above: Dave's starbucks xmas present; me in Miami Starbucks, Blake in South Beach Starbucks where we saw David Caruso from CSI, Blake outside Kuta, Bali Starbucks, Blake waiting for flight to Tokyo with Starbucks in hand.

A Dirty Mess!

I have come to the conclusion that my cleaning habits are not conducive to living on a tropical island. I am the first to admit that I am a clutterbug. Blake is so patient and kind, picking up after my daily whirlwind, or more often than not, leaving every item where it has been deposited, lest I not forget where I have left something. Although I am a bit messy, I am a firm believer that cluttered and dirty are two very different things. I do not enjoy living in a dirty house, or working in a dirty atmosphere. Messy I can deal with, but not dirty. However, since our move, I have been fighting an uphill battle with dirt. In Canada, we had carpet. What a marvellous invention! Not only does it trap the dirt, but it also has a great way of hiding it! The vacuum cleaner was also wonderful, sucking up all the little things that you can't see. The year round cooler temperatures also helped with infestations and insect life. Cleaning back home was a cake-walk compared to here. First off, everything is white tile. This means that an hour after I have swept, swiffered and mopped (you have to do all three to make any difference at all), I can literally walk around the house and find whatever room Blake has visited based on curly brown hairs on the floor (don't get sick people!) This hairy situation can actually be beneficial should our house ever get broken into. I would have instant evidence! It is also useful for remembering which guests we have had throughout the week. Ah! A long curly blonde hair and a brown wavy strand means the Cornwell's have visited. Orangey ringlets and blonde lengthy hairs mean that Brett and Sarah have come over. I am also able to gage the recession of Blake's hairline based on the collection I can accrue by the week's end. If hair was the only battle then I would be content, but with white tile that is impossible to keep clean, and a habit of hanging out on the porch with wet pool feet we often find dirty foot prints in all corners of the flat. Should we happen to get some water on the floor from the kitchen sink, sweating water glasses or a shower then our floor will reflect our every move, footprint by footprint. Since our arrival over a year ago, I have probably also amassed enough sand in this place to make a considerable dent in the filling of a child's sand box.
The floors are not the only issue I have. The garbage is also a nasty situation. Since there is no recycling on island, we are forced to throw out everything (or come up with some creative re-usable ideas, like my Planter's peanut jar Iced Tea pitcher.) This means that we are constantly having to walk the garbage nearly a block to our massive bin. The problem with this though, is when we forget to take out the garbage each morning. In an effort to go green and save money, we leave the air conditioner off when we are out and about, unfortunately it can heat up to nearly 30 degrees inside. This means, at the end of a long work day, we come home to the haunting smells of juicy cantaloupe gone rancid mixed with old eggs, sour milk and last night's fish. An odiferous experience awaits us most days. As such, I have become quite adept at deciphering mouldy, musty decaying smells. I can pinpoint most any scent and name it's original source; now if only there were a game show for this!
The final contender is our sugar ant infestation. I am please to announce that the thousands strong ant colony has actually migrated from our kitchen counters to our bathroom. What wonderful attraction they have found there, I know not, but I am glad that we are no longer having to bleach our counters on a tri-daily basis. The sugar ants have actually become a morbid fascination for us. When having a relaxing bath it is rather interesting to watch them crawl dizzily about the tiles with no apparent purpose. In fact, I realize now that I have passed more time than I would like to admit pondering the lives and habits of these miniature creatures. Sometimes we play a game, where we follow the ants to try and track their food source or home lair, but let me warn you, this generally ends with a feeling of nauseousness and the sad reality that you have just wasted the better part of an hour watching one of life's simplest forms (what does that say about us??? yikes). I will never forget the successful ant-hunting fest we had a few months back. The ants were out in a full army formation, and we were able to follow them all along the walls of the bathroom, up to the roof, down the side of the door and around the corner into our supply closet, where we discovered our old stash of aluminum pop tins (the ONLY recyclable thing on island). It was like Pay Day. Out came the bleach and an ant genocide ensued. All hope of eradicating the entire population for good was dismally dashed the following day when the remainder of the colony mocked us by zig zagging across our floor, never leading us anywhere. Anyways, I would welcome a sugar ant infestation any day, especially compared to the insects I find in my classroom on a daily basis, but I will save that delightful thought for another entry. We are having guests over tonight and I must begin my war on hair and odour!

Please note!!!! The sugar ant photo is NOT from our place! Give me a break, I don't let it get that bad!

A Diving Nightmare

One of the activities that Blake and I really enjoy doing on the island is diving. There is an amazing feeling associated with navigating through the water, many feet under the waves. I think the closest reference for those that don't dive would be flying. You feel like you are soaring above coral reefs, while hundreds of fish are zipping in and out of the coral heads and sea fans below. You can dip down low, you can turn yourself upside down, you can dive on your back and watch the waves dance along the surface. It is the closest to flying one can ever get. Although many people think that the heavy tank and weights you wear to sink yourself to your desired level must burden you, but they don't. You still feel weightless and so much in control of your movements. Blake and I have had some amazing experiences while diving in Grand Cayman and Little Cayman. We have seen neon fish, majestic angel fish, small eels, sting rays and eagle rays, lobsters and crabs and large loggerhead turtles. With the Cayman Islands being located in the middle of the Caribbean Sea we have also been awaiting our inevitable shark encounter. I, on one hand, am excited to have our first shark sighting. On the North wall there are hammerheads, and reef sharks as well as tiger sharks can be seen from time to time around the island. If you dive long enough, you will see a shark. Blake, on the other hand, is not so keen for a sharky visit. I understand the fear. I can imagine how it would feel. Everyone who dives has something that they fear. For some it is running out of air, for others is claustrophobia inside of small underwater spaces. There is also the fear of large drop offs, currents, sharks, eel attacks... you name it, someone fears it.

The point of this story it to relay my diving nightmare, which actually occurred this morning. I must preface this story by admitting that Blake and I had not been diving in four months. With a combination of cold water, work schedules, cold fronts and parental visits we had not been able to find a time to visit our underwater playground. We finally made a pact that this Saturday morning would be perfect. Oddly enough, on the drive to meet our dive partners, Brett and Sarah, I mentioned my largest fear and described how I would be paralyzed in a panic state, should this ever occur. Shivers ran down my spine just thinking about it. Once at our dive locale, Sunset House, we set up our dive kit. We should have seen the omens then. Sarah's BCD (an inflatable jacket worn to keep you buoyant at the surface and when needed) was self-inflating; not a good sign. Once she rented a functioning BCD we headed to the ladder. Just before we got in, Blake's tank fell out of his jacket. Luckily we were able to strap it back in. Once we got into the water and swam out we were ready to descend. As soon as we began our descent we heard a high pitched whine in the water. We looked around for boats, but saw nothing. Once on the floor of the ocean we began our dive. It wasn't long in, that I could feel my tank inching down my back. Thankfully I realized it had fallen out of my jacket! Blake and Brett were able to put it back in with little time wasted. On we continued. Eleven minutes in, Blake grabbed my hand. He indicated that something was wrong. Panic shot through my body. He wasn't out of air, which was a good sign. We couldn't shoot to the surface, as we were 60 feet underwater and that could give us the bends. Instead he indicated that he wanted to turn around. I was able to understand through his gestures that his head or ears were bothering him. As we headed back, he signalled that he was fine. He did not want to ascend, he would like to explore the reefs at the shallower depth we had reached. We were all satisfied with this and began scouting out some coral heads. I was off in my own world, watching miniature fluorescent purple fish dart in and out of dead coral pieces, when I felt a hand grab my arm and yank. I turned around expecting to see Blake, but instead saw Brett. I immediately assumed that I must be hovering perilously above some fire coral, and was about to receive a nasty burn. I looked below me and saw none. I then looked around to find Blake and saw both him and Sarah slowly moving backwards, their gazes fixed on something in the distance. When Blake caught me looking at him he indicated I should move back. Fear was already creeping into my every limb. I looked ahead and saw nothing, which wasn't surprising granted the visibility was not that great. I began peering to the right and left when all of a sudden it emerged from the dark blue like a giant shadow. My heart leapt into my throat and I knew there was no way I could escape it. It moved much too quickly. How had it snuck up like this? As it floated towards us I tried every trick in the book to calm myself. I could see Sarah was a little distressed as well. Blake and Brett remained fixed in their spots. As there was no chance of out swimming it, I realized I would just have to stay, hovering above the coral head as it made its way past. When it was within twenty feet of us it appeared as big as a semi trailer. The stray beams of sunlight from the surface glinting off its shiny body. It was then that I realized I would be alright. The massive blue and white submarine was fifteen feet from the four of us, but it would not come any closer. People waved through the windows. I was numb from the shock, but managed to wave back. I was just beginning to get used to the idea that it would not run me down, when it instantly switched directions and turned. The ever dreaded source of my fear was edging closer to me. I could see the propeller whipping through the water. I used my hands and feet to move back as quickly as I could, and the submarine slunk away into the distance, disappearing from view as fast as it had approached. All eyes were then turned on me, as propellers, boat bottoms and most importantly, submarines, are the source of my diving nightmare. I smiled and gave the okay sign. I had survived my first, and hopefully last meeting with The Atlantis Submarine!