Dwindling Memories of a Lovely Home on Grand Cayman

by Camille Posted on May 12, 2009

When we were visiting Grand Cayman last week, Poor Kyle and I discovered the most amazing house we’d ever seen in real life (as in, not a fake house from a movie, of which we have seen many).  {And actually, I shouldn’t call it a “house”—it was more of a mansion.  Or an estate.}  I still think about it today, and we’ve been off the island for almost a week..  Pictures of the place make my glands salivate, just like the way they juice up when I bust open a brand new jar of kosher dills.  The house is beautiful, and someday it will be mine.

Our friends told us a little history about the sprawling home on the huge lot—they said it is owned by the Thompson family, who pretty much have a monopoly on home improvement stores in Grand Cayman.  So maybe the Thompsons got materials for free and a smoking deal on labour, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is, hands down, the most stunning colonial/Gothic-looking home I have ever seen in real life.

I have decided that when, not “if,” I become a famous billionaire adventurer, I’m going to move to the island, buy it from the Thompsons, and live there the rest of my days.  It’s going to be amazing.

Shall we take a look around?

First up, here’s the movie we took while driving by on our last day.  It’s the best way for you to get the full effect of the place.

In this movie, I say, “I totally wanna meet the people who live there,” but what I meant was, “I totally wanna meet the people who live there and boot ’em out so I can have the place to myself.”  Greedy much?

The Thompson Family Fence

The Thompsons' Estate1Passersby are first met with a wrought iron gate that encompasses the entire grounds.  It’s an impressive sight, but what’s better is that the Thompson family crest is emblazoned in each segment of the fence, for all the world to see.

Thompson Family Crest in Wrought Iron FenceI can’t decide if we should leave the crest when we move in, or change it to our own “F.”  There’s something so lovely about the symmetry in their “T.”  I think we’ll probably leave it.  Fs are too off-balance.

Thompson House in SepiaThe house on a whole bears a striking resemblance to the Gothic Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.  We put this photo in sepia tones just for a little creepyness.

haunted-mansion-modelHere’s a model of the real Haunted Mansion.  Image from here.

Mansion Name PlaqueEven their entry plaques look alike.  And really, who doesn’t want to live in a Haunted Mansion?  I know I do.

haunted_mansion-disneylandBy the way, I am totally craving a trip to Disneyland now.  You?  Who’s up for a day trip?

Every detail of the estate is breathtaking.  See the gazebo?  Or is it a gable?  Or a terrace?  I need to brush up on my architecture, obviously.

Gable Facing EastIt’s amazing, no matter what it’s called.  It’s amazing and I want it.

Mansion Terrace in Cayman Island I’ll take my tea on the terrace today, Geoffrey.  Thank you, dahling…

Anybody who has read Anita Stansfield’s Gables Against the Sky series should agree that this house is exactly what I pictured the Davies home to look like.  It’s everything I ever wanted in a grand estate.  Look at those details!

Decorative Woodwork on MansionDecorative wood trim adorns every straight edge and flat surface…

Gable of Mansion on Grand CaymanIt’s the details that make it so stunning.

Amazing Mansion on Grand CaymanWhen all the fancy little details unite in one amazing feat of residential design, a life-changing home is born.

It’s all in the details… At least, that’s what they tell me on HGTV; I, personally, wouldn’t know.

But someday…

***Like I said, this is one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever had the good fortune of seeing.  But I have heard mixed opinions on it.  Some people I talked to didn’t really find it all that special.  What do you think?  Am I losing my mind?  Is this really as amazing as I’m making it out to be, or is it just “meh?”  I need to know, and don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear—I need the truth.  I probably won’t be mad if you disagree with me.  Thanks.***

Posted in Overall Good Things, Pretty Things, Travel | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

The United Blog Order Meets for the First Time Ever and I Live to Tell the Tale.

by Camille Posted on May 11, 2009

I have decided the reason I don’t like meeting new people is because I don’t have a very good filter.  I’m always worried I’ll speak without thinking. I tend to be an idiot more often than not, like when I talk about not wanting kids in front of someone struggling with infertility, or when I say “I wish I was dead” in front of people who have recently been faced with loved ones dying.  In other words…no filter.

See, believe it or not, Archives of Our Lives is my filter.  I censor each and every post I write, because I am terrified of offending people like I have on more than one occasion.  I write and rewrite, and for particularly controversial posts, I’ll even have Poor Kyle and my sister proofread for me.  {It’s quite the production to bring new posts to you five days a week.  I hope you’re grateful.}

Anyway, I usually take my time with my posts in an effort to keep people as un-offended as possible.  But (and there’s always a “but”), in real, one-on-one conversations with actual human beings, I can’t exactly hit DELETE when I say something stupid.  {And I say stupid things a lot.}

Needless to say, I was kind of a little terrified to attend the United Blog Order get-together that Busy Bee Lauren and I instigated.  In my uneasy state, I updated my frightened status on Facebook™:

Facebook Status Updates

Poor Kyle talked me out of jumping ship, though.  He said if I didn’t go, I’d look like an idiot and then all his hard work on my website would be for naught, and I hate when things turn out to be for naught, because it’s wasteful.  So I went.  I picked up RatalieNose, and she even coached me with some breathing techniques to calm me down on the US60 (the freeway made me nervous because it was drawing me nearer to the restaurant at 65 mph).  Breathe out fear, breathe in courage.  I think that’s how it goes.

Anyway, we did it!  We survived the meet-‘n-greet!  We met and we gret (oh, how I wanted that to rhyme!).  Good times were had—four hours of good times.  I walked away feeling like I had made a lot of new friends, and that doesn’t happen to me often {I’m sort of anti-social}.

There was a group of “earlies,” the four of us who got there 30 minutes prior to the actual meeting time:

The Early BloggersL-R: Crissie, Geneva, and RatalieNose (+me, behind the camera).

After that, people started arriving in droves and I didn’t get single pictures of any one person, so I’ll post the pictures and write a list of everyone in attendance who left her name/URL.  Here goes, in no particular order:

-Busy Bee Lauren
-Lauren C.
-Chelsie A.
-Chelsea S.
-Jami
-Hillarie (no blog)
-Niki
-Maren M. (no blog)
-Malia
-Crissie
-Shawnda
-Geneva
-RatalieNose
-Shesten (who came prepared with amazing bookmarks for her website—everyone go check it out!)
-and Me, but we already know that.

Table 1 UBOJust picture me sitting at this table, between the two blue-shirt-girls.

Along with meeting and greeting each other, we also had a bunch of silly draws for door prizes.  We gave away things like silly string and bendy straws, all of which were purchased at the nearby Dollar Tree™, but it’s the thought that counts, right?  Right?  To make myself feel a little less cheap, we also had a grand prize draw of a $25 gift card to Target™, which Niki won.  I sort of wanted to win it myself, but that might have been a little tacky…

Table 2, UBOI think these lovely girls were sisters…

Some of the girls I got to know better than others, but I’ve visited everyone’s blog since that day, and they all look like wonderful, amazing people.  I had a really fun time despite myself.  Poor Kyle knew that I would.

Table 3, UBOChelsea from Table 1 got her face in this picture, and I didn’t even notice until now.  Funny, Chelsea!

Anyone up for round two?

{Just kidding.  I might need therapy to work up the courage to do that again.  It really was scary at first.}

Posted in United Blog Order | Tagged , | 22 Comments

Snotty Noses and Air Travel Do Not a Happy Blogger Make.

by Camille Posted on May 8, 2009

Oh, you guys.  I have so much to say, but so little energy with which to say it.  I’m sorry that a good post will have to wait, but maybe I’ll go a little crazy and post on Saturday.  Heck, I might even post Sunday, too, to make up for it.  I struggle with guilt on a regular basis, you see—if I feel like I’m gypping my blog and its readers, I can’t rest until I make things right.

Sadly, after 12 hours of traveling on not much sleep from the beginning, I am sort of disheveled and, well…tired, quite frankly.  I look bad, which is not what you’d expect considering I’ve been lounging on a tropical island for the past week, but that’s how it goes:

Weary Traveler (12 hours of traveling)You know it’s getting bad when I start sprouting a mustache and the shadows under my eyes are so dark that I don’t even need sunscreen anymore because there’s enough shade there to last me for days.

The last time I looked this bad was during finals…

The Horror of Final Exams

…but I promise I am much happier now than I was back then, runny nose or not.  I’d take a terminally snotty face any time over the misery of finals week.  Gah!  The horror…

One tiny aside: If ANY BLOGGER is even REMOTELY INTERESTED in attending the first ever United Blog Order party this Saturday, May 9th, in the Mesa-Phoenix area, please email me at camille@archiveslives.com for details.  You couldn’t be shyer than me, and I’m mustering the courage to go, so there.  It should be fun.  There will be door prizes and raffles (cheap ones, but raffles nonetheless).  I might even infect you all with the Swine Flu, and wouldn’t that be nice?  Then when I’m a famous writer, you can go around telling everyone you know that I snotted all over you once upon a time, and very nearly killed you.  It could be your claim to fame.

And that’s enough of that.  As you were.

Posted in health and vitality, on the road again, quickies, Travel, United Blog Order, woe is me | 13 Comments

Confessions of a Young Married Couple

by Camille Posted on May 6, 2009

***Today’s guest post is brought to you by Katie, my good blogging friend who I hope to meet someday.  I found Katie all by myself several months ago, by Googling™ the phrase “cupcake truck.”  That’s how awesome she is.  I highly recommend her website, and invite you to check it out for a good time.  Take it away, Katie!  —Camille***

Hi there.  My name is Katie and I live over at Confessions of a Young Married Couple.  I am so excited to be guest blogging today for Camille.  Archives is one of my favorite blogs and one that I read every day, so this is kind of surreal.  Like stepping into one of your favorite sitcoms.  Now, if only Zack Morris was co-writing with me, life would be just about perfect.

On a normal blog post at Confessions, I generally would complain about my husband or my pregnancy (did I mention that I’m eight and a half months pregnant?).   But today is special and so I will change things up a bit.

Today I will complain about both my husband and my pregnancy AT THE SAME TIME.  Mind boggling, I know.

As I mentioned, my husband, Chris, and I are expecting our first baby in a few weeks.  Chris has been super excited about the Bean’s arrival, but he has this fear that once the baby is here, we will never see civilization again.  I have tried explaining that it’s a baby, not the bubonic plague, and that our friends will still come visit us and we will (eventually) be able to go out and see them again.  But to Chris, a child symbolizes the ending of an era for he and his close group of guy friends.  And so he has been on a goodbye tour for the past three or four months.

Most of our close, childhood friends live about an hour train-ride away in New York.  We see them about once a month when they get tired of the city and they flock to our suburban home like homeless people, looking for food, shelter, showers, and a Nintendo Wii.  I gotta tell you—I love it when they come.  Our house becomes a small, unorganized bed and breakfast.  We leave the windows open so that we can shout to each other from inside.  We all cook big meals together.  There are pool games, dart games, croquet games all going on at the same time.  Someone usually has a Frisbee to throw in the back yard.  It’s like camp for adults.

But the more pregnant I have become, the more these weekends take out of me.  I really need the weekends to recover from my full-time job, which keeps me on my feet all week long.  I need to be able to nap when I need to and to kick my feet up periodically.  And as capable as the guys are when they are here, as a Southern Belle, I just can’t be a hostess with my feet kicked up in the air as I snooze on the couch.  It’s just against my breeding.

I first mentioned this to Chris a few months ago when I started noticing that it was taking me a long time to recover from these weekends, and I suggested to him that instead, maybe he should head down to New York for the weekend.  Then, he’d still get to see his buddies, but I wouldn’t have to put on my hostess apron.  So, he heads down to New York for this Last Night Before the Baby Comes celebration.

Since that weekend, the guys have been up to our house three more times.  And each weekend is a celebration of the Last Night Before the Baby Comes.  It’s like Hanukkah.  And I keep saying to Chris, “This is the last celebration weekend, okay?” and he keeps getting all sentimental and gazing out into the sunset as he replies dramatically, “Yes.  This is the final celebration weekend Before the Baby Comes.”

And then the following weekend, my house is full again.

This weekend, the boys were here again for another Last Night Before the Baby Comes and I sort of lost my cool.  Sort of.  Might have.  Could have.

Yesterday, the guys hung around all day doing what guys do.  The plan was to have a late dinner around 8:00, which would require a trip to the grocery store.  And the guys had very kindly agreed to go for me so that I could keep my feet up.

Too bad they didn’t leave for the grocery store until 7:30 PM.  And too bad they were gone for an hour.  By the time they got home, it was 8:30 PM.  And I was already starving.  But we still had potatoes to bake, salads to make, and steak to grill.  In the hour and a half it took them to prepare dinner, I became irrationally angry at, who else, but Chris.

I was so hungry that I was about to eat my own arm.  Hungry to the point where I couldn’t even speak.  Or make eye contact.  I just sat on the couch in a blind rage of hunger.

“How could Chris do this?” I silently seethed.  “Doesn’t he know how hungry I am?  Doesn’t he know that I have a person growing inside me?  Doesn’t he know that it takes food to grow this person?  Why doesn’t he love me anymore?!?!?”

By the time we sat down to eat, I was almost inconsolable.  I’m sure the guys all noticed because I sat down, inhaled my food, and immediately stood up, announcing I was going to bed.  I don’t think I had even swallowed my last bite yet.  But I couldn’t help it.  I was hungry and tired and no part of me could be polite even if the Queen Mum had been sitting on that back deck.

This morning when I woke up, I felt a little guilty for the silent temper tantrum I had thrown.  I don’t want people to ever feel like they aren’t welcome in my home, especially those people.  Cause they are, like, my people.   Maybe I’ll apologize to them this morning for my very pregnant, hormonal, irrational reaction to a late dinner.

Then again, its already 9:30 AM and none of them are awake and its getting awfully close to my next feeding time.  If I miss breakfast, the world may end.  And by world, I mean their world might end.  My world, of course, will go on just nicely covered in pancakes and bacon and cheese grits.  My world rocks.

Posted in guest posts | Tagged , | 19 Comments

I’m Gonna Soak Up the Sun (and maybe a little Dristan™ for good measure).

by Camille Posted on May 5, 2009

Well, I’ve gone and come down with the dadgum Swine Flu.  Actually, that’s a lie.  I don’t have the Swine Flu—of the list of Swine Flu symptoms, I’m only experiencing one, but it’s a lousy one: snot.

I do not know where all the snot came from.  I just randomly woke up Sunday morning with a snot head, and I’ve been battling it (and losing, mind you) ever since.  I haven’t been this snotty since I was six years old and didn’t understand the concept of blowing my nose {it seemed so worthless back then—“What’s the point?” I used to think.  I hated blowing my nose as a kid}.

Dristan™ Nasal Spray

Finally, Poor Kyle convinced me to buy a nasal spray (Dristan™) from the nearby grocery store, and then he convinced me to actually use it.  Hello, scariest day I’ve experienced since the time I thought I was getting raped on a university campus.  I do not like shoving stuff up my nose, and I really don’t like spraying stuff up my nose.  It was pretty bad.

Dristan™ Nasal Spray Directions for Use

The good news is that Dristan™ actually works.  The bad news is that the “12-hr nasal spray” only works for about two hours; according to the Directions, I’m not supposed to re-squirt more than once every 10-12 hours.  Which, of course, is a rule I completely disregard {can’t be walking down the beach with snot running down my face, now can I?}.  Instead, I shoot up the Dristan™ every time I feel a slight sniffle coming on, which may or may not be every hour on the hour like clockwork {but you didn’t hear that from me}.  Dristan™ has become like crack to me—today, during a brief lapse of mental clarity (a side effect of my newfound drug problem, no doubt), I accidentally left my Dristan™ in the car on a venture out for pizza, and within an hour, I felt the shakes coming on.  So now I’m walking around high on the dadgum nasal spray.  What a way to spend a tropical vacation, eh?

Ignore the WorldAnyway, it doesn’t matter because I’m ignoring my snotty nose and I’m ignoring the Dristan™ rules/regulations, and I might even be ignoring YOU (just kidding, I would never ignore my readers—not in a million years).

Inasmuch as I’m only here in/on Grand Cayman for one more full day, I’ve decided to juice my last few hours for all they’re worth.

Starting now, the only things I’ll be paying attention to are the sun on my face…

Sun on My Face in Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands

…the greasy sunscreen on my feet…

Sand on My Feet in Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands

…and the sand on Poor Kyle’s bottom {which seems to be sending me a message—can you see it?}:

Heart of Sand on BottomPlease tell me I’m not the only one who sees the impression of a heart in sand on Poor Kyle’s poor bottom…

But then, that’s how things are here on Grand Cayman.  Sure, it hasn’t been a 100% smooth-sailing holiday—bad things happen here just like anywhere else.  But through the balmy lens of island perspective, our lost wallet and my snot clots just…don’t seem so bad.  Here on Grand Cayman, there will always be sandy beach bums sending messages of peace and love for all the world to see.

I’m really going to miss this place—this cheerful, wonderful, Cayman Island place. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank Shalynna and David enough for their unbelievable hospitality.

Joyful Grand CaymanThis picture can’t begin to signify how much we have enjoyed ourselves.

Thanks, you guys.

Posted in fiascos, health and vitality, It's All Good, Married Life, Recreation, Travel | Tagged , , , | 21 Comments

Archives of Our (Almost) Parallel Lives

by Camille Posted on May 4, 2009

Hi guys!  It’s HeatherPride from Riding the Short Bus here to entertain you while Camille goes on bloggy break.  I’m so excited to have the run of the house while she’s out.  (Just don’t tell her who drank her Diet Dr. Pepper, okay?  We all know I’ll never be invited back if she finds out…)

AoOL was one of the first blogs I started reading regularly when I joined the blogosphere last summer.  I was intrigued by her story right away because I was *this* close to living her life at one time.  No, this has nothing to do with some sordid past between Poor Kyle and I.  Let me explain…

A long, long time ago, before I ever knew there was a Skipper (my husband) in my future, there was a certain Canadian that entered my life.  We’ll call him….Poor Bud.  Poor Bud and I dated for about a year back in 2000/2001 and we got pretty serious about the immigration thing.  So you see, every time I read Camille’s blog about being an American living the Canadian life, I think – wow, that was almost me!

Poor Bud lived in Edmonton, Alberta, and I visited there quite a few times during that year.  For the most part I found it pretty easy to forget I was even in another country.  I mean, our people look very similar.  The stores look the same….until you spy the ketchup flavored potato chips.  (seriously?  ew.)  The roads look the same….until you pass the road sign in kilometers.  The t.v. shows are similar….until the weatherman comes on screen in June and announces the day’s high of 23.  (Celsius!  Duh!)  It was always interesting to me how the little stuff can throw you off in a big way.

One thing that struck me about Canadians is that while their winter weather is a real downer (I don’t really think I could ever have been expected to live in a place where you have to PLUG IN your car to keep it alive in the winter!), once the weather warms up I have never seen a more active group of people!  EVERYONE is outside.  ATVs are buzzing, hikers are strapping on backpacks and lacing their boots, and everywhere you look people are playing sports, running, cycling….I’ve never seen anything like it.

Which brings us to the day Poor Bud tried to kill me.

With a mountain bike.

It was Memorial Day weekend and I was up in Alberta.  The weather was beautiful, and Poor Bud brought out his mountain bike and suggested we take a ride.  I protested, since I hadn’t actually ridden on a bike since I got my driver’s license waaaaaay back in [mumble, mumble], but Poor Bud fairly insisted that I hop on his roommate’s bike to go for an “easy ride.”  Not wanting to be a spoil sport, I grudgingly obliged.  I hopped on the bike and by the time I got to the end of the block I was riding pretty smoothly.  Feeling proud of myself, I pedaled fast to keep up with Poor Bud, who was already a block ahead of me.

I knew I was in trouble when we came to an intersection with no handicapped ramp and Poor Bud’s bike leaped into the air over the curb and landed smoothly on the sidewalk on the other side.

“You can do that, can’t you?” he called over his shoulder.

I ran my front tire directly into the curb and my bike went one way while my body went the other.  Fuming, I dusted myself off and reminded Poor Bud that it had been several years since my last biking adventure, and would he mind taking it a bit easy from here on out?  “No problem,” he said.  “Sore-y.  We’ll go to the park.  There aren’t any curbs there.”

“Fine,” I huffed.

We made our way to the park where there was a nice, paved bike trail awaiting us.  Finally!  Just as I settled in at a nice pace, Poor Bud flew off the trail to the left and appeared to jump his bike right over the edge of a cliff!  Scrambling, I pedaled over as fast as I could go, trying to remember all my first aid training and the ins and outs of CPR as I approached the side of the cliff my boyfriend had just tumbled over.  I reached the edge and peered down the tangled growth of a steep, steep hillside.  And what did I see at the bottom?  Why, Poor Bud of course, standing there and encouraging me to come on down myself!  What happened next I’ll spare you the details of, but let’s just say that it involved me flying over the handle bars and landing flat on my back on top of a tree trunk, having the first and only asthma attack of my life, and spending the next three days picking weeds and sticks out of my teeth and hair.

So to Camille?  I salute you!  I salute your status as odd American out!  I salute your willingness to live outside your Mother Country!  I salute your bravery and your adaptability!

But if Poor Kyle ever comes home with a mountain bike?

Girl, you best be on the first Air Canada flight back to Phoenix!  Trust me.

***From Camille:  Thanks HP!  Isn’t she a hoot, you guys?  I highly recommend her blog; it’s a place where humour happens on a daily basis.  Go visit her, and tell her I sent you!***

Posted in Canada, guest posts | 18 Comments

{For My Mom, on Her Birthday}

by Camille Posted on May 3, 2009

Today is my mother’s birthday.  If any single person has had the most influence on my life up to this point, it would be my mother.

Camille and Family

There are two ways my mother has influenced my life: intentional and non intentional.  I’m sorry to admit it, but it’s true: I am the sort of daughter I would hate to raise. I was not an easy baby, child, or teenager, and I know it.  If someone tells me to do something, it is very likely that I will go and do exactly the opposite, simply because I don’t like being told what to do.  This is one way my mother has influenced me.

For example…I think it would be brilliant if I could be a paid, professional, published writer.  I’ve thought so for a while.  My mom thinks so, too, but I find it incredibly annoying when she says I should submit my work to newspapers or magazines, because then, if I do make it big in the writing world, she might think it was all her idea in the first place {heaven forbid I give some credit where it’s due}.

It’s ridiculous, I know. (I said I wasn’t an easy daughter to raise…)

But there’s another, gentler way my mom has molded me into the person I am.  She has taught me, by example, the sort of woman I’d like to be.  My mom has never been shy—when I was a little girl, I would accompany her to her classroom on a regular basis (my elementary school was where she taught adult education for years).  She would introduce me to her students (all adults, mind you), and treat me exactly like one of them—with respect.  She was always so proud to be my mom…so proud to introduce me to her friends, her coworkers, her students.  I was a handful, yes, but I knew I was loved and cherished.  She didn’t feel the need to apologise for her children (and trust me—I was off-the-wall hyper), and therefore, I learned I didn’t need to apologise for being a kid.  She taught me self confidence, simply by showing me that I was important.  I can’t count the times she has told me, in letters or to my face, that being a mom is all she ever wanted, and my sister and I are her greatest joys in life.

Can any kid be so loved and not feel good about themselves?  I submit it is impossible.

Of course, I know my own limits—I know I have many faults.  But I also know I am a good person, and that putting on a confident face, even when I am terrified inside, will get me places.  My mom taught me that.

And even though I know I’m not ready to be a mom *yet*, I know what kind of mom I want to be when the time comes.  I want to be patient, encouraging, empowering, supportive.  I want to be a mom like she is.

Mom, I’m sorry I skipped out of town for your birthday, but I know you’re happy that we have the opportunity to be here.  {After all, you were the one who taught me to love travel, and to value experiences more than stuff.  [To this day, I will always choose an awesome trip over a fancy-pants new car or gadget.]  Thanks for teaching me.}

I’ve been thinking a lot about you on this visit to the Cayman Islands, because I know how much you like tropical places, and I know you’d love to be here now.  Since you aren’t here, I’ve been gathering pictures of places I thought you’d like to see.  {Poor Kyle isn’t always thrilled to stop the car for photo opportunities, so you can be sure this has been no easy task.}

library-5465There was this amazing restaurant, Papagallo, which was so amazing at first sight that I pleaded with Poor Kyle to turn the car around so I could snap a picture.  It’s only open for dinner, and I don’t know if we’ll get to eat here, but Mom, if you and Dad were paying, we totally would.

Flowers at Cemetery in Grand CaymanThere was this flowering bush and white picket fence surrounding a serene, beachside cemetery.

Vines on Power Line in CaymanThere was this power line with vines growing all the way up it.  I thought you’d find it interesting.

The Shoe Tree, Grand CaymanThere was this random tree by the beach—Poor Kyle and I have dubbed it “The Shoe Tree”—where people have nailed their shoes.  I don’t know why, but I thought you’d think it was funny.

Start Tans in Grand CaymanThere’s this picture of my arm next to Poor Kyle’s, for documenting purposes.  I might come back home with “a little colour,” like you’re hoping.  We’ll use this picture to judge the progress (although, I have been using SPF 50 sunscreen quite faithfully, so there’s really no guarantee that I’ll come home any tanner than I left [curse that Canadian winter]).

There was this steel drum band set up in the street yesterday.  You would have loved it.

LDS Church, Grand Cayman, Cayman IslandsOh, and also…we went to church today.

LDS Church Building, Grand Cayman, Cayman IslandsHappy Birthday!  I love you, Mom.

I promise your Mothers’ Day gift will be more…tangible.

Posted in family, on the road again, Travel | Tagged , , | 18 Comments