Out for lunch, be back soon.

Posted in Fun, Life, Travel by

Okay, I am off to Corfu for the week. Cheap accommodation in Kavos means no internet. Zsolt has plans for us to leave the ‘sleepy’ village of southern Greece (‘run from it’ might be a better phrase) and visit Corfu Town and Albania. Albania. The only thing I know about Albania is there was once a Simpsons character from that area.

But I would like to treat this as a proper vacation, rather than a touring trip with day-in, day-out excursions. There is a pool, there is a beach. I will bring my laptop in hopes of writing more of my generations story. I’m on the sixth generation and she’s just flowing from my fingers like maple syrup onto pancakes.

I’m looking forward to sporting my new bikini and trying something with feta. They do good feta in Greece, right? Ok, honestly the only thing I know about Greece is that the watermelons are larger than . . . than . . . Canadian watermelons.

So wish us luck. And I wish you luck as well with whatever you aspire for the week.

See you later, alligators!

Catherine

Scandal and the bikini boob

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fun by

Earlier this summer as we set to leave England, I spread my bathing suits and bras across the bed (accumulated over about six years) and began to say goodbye. Goodbye slippery pink cups, goodbye plain white t-shirt bra, goodbye your clever push-up, goodbye string bikini top . . . goodbye. Everything went in the bin (or the charity bag, depending on condition) except for my ancient O’Neil red string bikini – and not because I could wear it to the beach this summer . . . cause really, those triangles are small, but rather because of the memories.

Which was, if you consider it, what the pile of lingerie also was – memories. Memories of boobs. And the deed was done, I had myself a good cry.

But today was lovely. Today-today-today I bought a string bikini. Not a bandeau wrap across the chest, those they are nice too post-mastectomy (particularly since I bought two for eight pounds at Matalon, though I think, perhaps the price is reflected in the quality of my butt-in-bikini, which is why I was on the hunt today for a new, discounted, end-of-the-season quality designer suit.).

Oh, I feel so naughty. Girls with only one breast aren’t meant to wear string bikinis. At least, according to the post-mastectomy land of lingerie product catalogues we aren’t. And I can see the point. Firstly, if we could all get away without the false-breast pockets they would be out of business. Secondly, most women don’t have tiny boob(s), and the difference between right and left would be like staring at a single hill in the middle of a plain. Something like that giant red rock in Australia.

But after going shop to shop and not finding any bandeau style, I just said, “screw this” and tried on a few cuts I never imagined acceptable.

Gosh, I’ll tell you what. If I still had both boobs (say I had reconstruction, or old rightie magically grew back), I’d have scandalized Lake Balaton this summer with my risqué so-damn-near-to-the-nipple outfits of string and fling and bikini hotness, it would have been awesome.  And while that hasn’t happened, I have happily noticed that despite having a neat and tidy scar running across my right chest, it is, one year post surgery, less noticeable.

So I put on this striking blue triangular thing (O’Neil has such fine quality suits) where the area isn’t quite so close to the nipple (which is good, because I’m down one of those) and BAM – Sexy bathing suit Catherine has returned from her summer of cheap, Matalon frumping. My ass looks great; my eyes are popping; and best of all – BEST of all – my boob, while looking small, is not strikingly missing.

Okay, if you know it’s missing, than you aren’t going to miss the ‘missing’ness.   (Am I misusing the miss?)

And I know it’s not cool to brag. Hey, my body isn’t 22 anymore, so yes, I’m fully aware of those cellulite jiggles and mystery circles rippling out from my thighs. But fuck it. I feel pretty. I feel like all those stupid bras and bikini tops last May thrown into the bin (or charity bag) weren’t discarded because I can’t wear them . . . they were tossed because I’m a spanking new woman who needs flattering, lovely clothes.

After all, it never hurts to feel good about yourself. And I never imagined a triangle bikini would ever again make me feel so freaking good.

This post is so absurd. I know it’s all ‘me, me, me’ but I’m excited. It’s like being told you can wear miniskirts again after thirty five (not my rule, I took it from ‘What Not to Wear’ so if you don’t like it, please refer to Stacy and Clinton), if you’ve ever been inclined to wear miniskirts – which, to Zsolt’s disappointment, I’ve never been.

Anyhow. Maybe I look just like any girl on the beach. But Zsolt thinks it’s beautiful too, so there you go.

Happy days, and just in time for my trip to Greece. Boyah! Great stuff. Sorry for so much self-indulgence, but I really needed to cheer.

And to top off this lovely day. Zsolt found a brand of clothing that suits his tall, lean frame and actually makes him look like . . . like a man. Like, a hot man. Like I could just grab him with both hands and sweep him away to never, never land. His outfit, in my opinion, is money well spent.

(Whew! Just had a wee scare. I had dropped my computer-drawing pen and thought it fell behind the radiator, so started groping the ground underneath and stuck my hand right through a thick spider web. Gross. Thankfully, with a second look, the pen actually only fell behind the computer screen. But still, my hand is totally grossed out. And I bet the spiders aren’t too pleased either.)

Captain Super Bucks

Posted in Canada, Finding Home, Life by

Zsolt and I are playing a waiting game. Well, at this very moment we are sitting by the lakeside of Balaton – Zsolt on my Acer with the LCD screen half blacked out, me on his tiny Samsung hoping his patience holds out till this is posted – but we are, despite the appearance of beach bumming, waiting.

What for?

Two things.

Moving to a new country involves so many details, there is the visa, the shipping, the accommodation, the job-hunt, the unsettling upheaval, the anticipation of new things . . . and then there is the money.

Six years ago when we first moved to England, Canadian/UK currency exchange was at about two to one. For each two Canadian dollars you’d get one pound. Not a glorious exchange, but it did suggest that when (if) we ever moved back to Canada our one UK pound would be worth a brilliant two Canadian dollars.

Then the recession hit. Whi8ch still wasn’t all that bad, because we reckoned we’d stay in the UK regardless so no exchange was necessary. Then cancer came knocking.

And so plans changed and – as you know – we’re off to Canada at the end of this month. What money we have (used to have far more before one year of treatment plus Zsolt writing his thesis, but nevertheless I think we’ve still managed to get away with a reasonable chunk of savings. Certainly we could have lost far, far more if we’d been studying/treating in say, the US.) is now worth less than it might have been six years ago.

So now we are watching and waiting. First we need the card reader – a nifty device provided by the banks so that secure transactions can be conducted without coming into the branch. The card reader looks like a calculator. But beyond that I know nothing, because while we’ve order the card reader maybe two weeks ago, it still hasn’t arrived.

Card reader is essential. Without this, we cannot move our money to Canada.

Second we are waiting for the exchange to improve. Unfortunately, the only way the UK exchange with Canadian dollars can improve is if Canada puts out some negative reports on the economy, or if the US goes bizerk. I’d rather neither situation happen since we’re moving there. Cause, seriously, with a strong economy we can earn way more than our current savings . . . but nevertheless we are watching the exchange.

It’s like watching a horse race. With every advance of the exchange we cheers. With every drop we groan. Overall I’m still hoping that Canada stays strong strong strong, but when it comes to watching your money shrink or grow, sometimes it’s hard to look beyond the end of my nose (aka bank account) and into the future of ‘potential earnings’.

Maybe this is a bit boring. It’s actually rather exciting, the freaking exchange is high right now, at least, higher than it’s been all year, but our hands are tied until the card reader arrives. Every morning we’re checking the mail box, and ever afternoon we’re looking at the dollar, the business news, and trying to create some make-shift amateur forecast of what the dollar is doing.

Alternative. The exchange could work in our favour not because Canada is suffering, but because the UK is doing great. That would be nice for everyone, except the Canadian exchange students.

Anyhow, enough about money. Things not to talk about during polite conversation: politics and money. But I figured this blog isn’t always so polite, so it wouldn’t be a problem.

Now, back to the horse race. I am, quite honestly, curious to see what happens.

(And back to the grassy beach. Zsolt said to me the other day: “Anyone who wants more than this is crazy. We’ve got a beautiful view, beautiful water, beautiful weather and here we are together. Can’t get any more perfect.” To which my mind began to image how else our lazing on the beach could be more perfect . . . but you know what, all that other stuff is speculation. In that moment Dr Samson was correct. We’d be crazy to want anything more. We’d be crazy to alter that picture with any wishes or wants. It was, as it is right now, a very lovely time on the beach.)

(PPS. Speaking of Zsolt. He is totally hooked on the game ‘hearts’. That’s good news for my Dad. Finally he’ll have someone willing to play round the table after dinner. Add on the fishing to come, and Zsolt’s like the perfect son-in-law.)

(PPPS. Man, I love it here.)

(PPPPS. I realize the title has almost nothing – or rather, entirely nothing – to do with the post. But I thought it was fun.)