Up to my socks

Wow! What a week. Let's take it one day at a time shall we?

Monday:
Thanksgiving in PEI. Being away from home for this holiday was a little heart breaking but I soon found a flourish of people folding around me inviting me to turkey dinners so I wasn't alone. On the Saturday before I was invited to a turkey dinner with some young adults from church, it was full of shenanigans and silliness complete with whiskey ice cream to accent the apple tarts I brought. The following Sunday my landlord inviting me to her families house for another turkey feast. I was so excited to get out of Charlottetown and spend some time in the open country. It was so refreshing to walk the grounds of her homestead and breath in the crust of autumn air and feel the crunch of leaves under foot. On Monday I decided to spend Thanksgiving pilgram style; outside! I packed a delicious lunch, a good book, and sauntered my way to the park. The weather was gorgeous! Sunny, breezy, and a comfortable cool. I sat on my favourite park bench, wrapped in my shawl, immersed in my book and savouring every bite of my turkey, summer saugage, lettuce, tomatoe and cheese sandwitch. Never under estimate the power of a good sandwich. On the way home I noticed the gate to the Govenors house was open. After looking for gruff looking guards and savage watch dogs and tip toed in. I soon discovered a sign that read: Pedestrian Traffic Welcome. I thought to myself, "I'm a pedestrian. I'm traffic. I'm welcome!" The gate house was renovated into an information center with maps and historical information so I grabbed a map and took a self guided tour around the grounds. It is a beautiful estate! I felt like I was in a whole other world. The house itself is breath taking and the grounds  inlcuded an ornamental garden, kitchen garden or more commonly known as a vegetable garden, a shrub garden, patch of birch trees, several tall and healthy maple, oaks, and willow trees, not to mention the 3 acre woodland and they even have a rose garden. A rose garden! A garden dedicated to roses! It was the most fantastic way to spend thanksgiving. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, stepping through the looking glass to find myself in the back yard of the Queen of Hearts. I could have spent all day there.

On the way home from the Govenors house I stopped by St. Dunsants Basillica and took the opportunity to take some pictures. There was zero tourist traffic so I had the santuary pretty much to myself, except for the occasional vaccuum. Vaccuums and 30 foot vaulted ceilings do not mix, the acoustics are a nightmare, the vaccuum sounded like a 100 swarms of livid bees. Despite not being able to spend Thanksgiving with my family I thought of them often, picking a favourite memory from multiple thanksgiving and pondering on them. Such memorable moments include: the time I broke my arm, the time I almost rolled my cousins car, and the time we had dinner on the front porch and every time a car past we would raise a glass and shout "Happy Thanksgiving!".

Tuesday:
I made 3 cakes in as many hours. Wow! We made sponge, pound, and our choice of a chiffon or angel food cake. All of the cakes except for the pound cake involved beating egg whites until they were meringue. I've never made merignue before so tuesday was very much uncharted territory, slightly nerve racking but each cake turned out more beautiful than the one before it. We had so much time left over that we attacked the kitchen with Mr. Clean enthusiam. You can eat off the kitchen floor it's that clean.

Wednesday:
Cake assembly hell. Chef took an hour to show us how to assemble our cakes probably. How to make butter cream icing, how to slice the cake, spread a crumb coat, and soak the layers with simple syrup to add extra flavour and moisture. Today was dedicated to craftsmanship and we started out assuming we had hours of time, which we did, but butter cream takes an unnessacary astronomical amount of time, and then you have to let the crump coat sit in the fridge for a bajillion years and then you have to ice and decorate it, and while all this is going on you are constantly reminded to take your time with your artistic design but to hurry up. With an hour left of class Chef constantly reminded us every 15 minutes that are cakes had to be done soon. The energy in the class broke into panic, will we get our cakes done? What if they don't look good? After the Chef announced the 10 minute mark until cake completion I nearly shouted at him, "I'm not a diamond! I don't work well under pressure, stop yelling at me!" The Chef just laughed and slapped my back and complimented on my cake and combination of flavours. Sigh. In hindsight that little bit of pressure from Chef was prepping us and encouraging us for friday. But at 10:00am all the cakes were done and not a single one was the same. I was amazed at the extend of creativity, they looked professional and Chef was beaming with pride and so were we.

And to top it all off I walked to Bibly study tonight. It was a good hour walk but it was such a beautiful night and I wanted to take in the sunset. Now to get to Bible study I have to walk across the bridge that connects Stratford and Charlottetown which is a 4 lane highway. I felt like a fool walking across the bridge in evening traffic carrying a bag of apple tarts. Plus I was dressed nicely, if I were dressed like a hobo people would understand why I would be walking around, but who walks across the bridge in their favourite sweater and scarf with apple tarts. This is ain't no Grimm fairy tale. I felt selfconcsious and silly. About half way over the bridge I finally said to myself, "I am allowed to walk across the bridge with apple tarts. I am allowed to go for a walk and enjoy the sunset. I am allowed to be me!" It was so refreshing to speak those affirming words to myself and silence words of judgement and belittlement. I saw so many amazing things on my walk; a blue heron, a sea bird stretching his wings sillouetted agains a vanilla sky, a cruise ship lit up like a Christmas tree leaving the harbour, and a glorius sunset. I even enjoyed the smell of the ocean. Plus I was the first one to Bibly study and I walked. That makes me feel pretty darn good. 

Thursday:
Instead of waking up at 5:00am we were able to sleep in until 6:30. Glorious! All morning we discussed the flow of rotations and what was expected of each department. The chefs made it clear in the first five minutes of class that if you are late for class for any reason at all you are not allowed in the kitchen, and you have to come to every class unless you are dead. So in essence play time is over and the real work begins. There are 6 different departments in the pastry arts program. Cafeteria, bread, and lunch for Lucy Maud dinning room are scheduled in the morning from 6:15 to 10:30. Chocolate, functions, and dinner for Lucy Maud dinning room are scheduled for the afternoon from 12:20 to 4:30. We are broken into departments and stay in that department for 2 weeks and then we rotate so we get a well rounded experience in the pastry world. Thursday was a lot of mapping out menus, discussing fine details with the chefs, ordering supplies and prepping recipes. I went to bed early that night.

Friday:
Armegeddon. All the dessert we made today went straight to everyone but us. I am in the cafeteria department for my first rotation which means that along with my group I have to make 3 different desserts everyday that will be distributed to the cafeteria at lunch time. We also have to prep 3 different desserts for the next day which means we are essentially making 6 desserts everyday. Example: today we made apple crisp, pumpkin cheese cake pie, brittle, caramel sauce, blondies, devils food cake, and sponge tortes. Phew. And it was all accomplished in 4 hours. I am so proud of my group. Cafeteria is going to be a great department to be apart of. The morning was stressful, but it was a good stressful and everyone in class accomplished what they needed to, Chef was on top of the world.

Saturday:
Slept in until 8:30am, mmmm, had laundry done by 11:00am and spend the rest of the day at the park. Praise Jesus!

Sunday:
Apple picking with the church in the rain. Glorious! I came away with twenty pounds of apples for $9.00!!! I'm making a ridiculous amount of apple sauce and apple crisp with that.

So to recap:
A very eventful and joyous week.I was stretched academically and spiritually. I learned so much, and I built relationships. The whole week seemed like a good novel sitting by the fire place. I tingle all over with gratitude. And if and when I have a series of bad days I will know they will pass and there will be a fresh 7 days to be grateful for again.

                                                             Mocha Hazelnut sponge cake

                                                            Charlottetown at sunset

                                                                           Apple picking!

Brioche, apple band, hurricanes, oh my!

This past week was an adventure. First of all class was dizzy with more trial and error baking, mishaps, successes and proud acheivments, but it was also the week that a hurricane came to town.

Now when I say hurricane I don't actually mean a hurricane, although from the way islanders treat bad weather you wouldn't be able to see the difference between a hurricane and a tropical storm. In Ontario if a hurricane were to blow through, windows would be boarded up, bottled water would fill houses, and people would be preparing for the apocolypse. On the island hurricane preparations consist of cracking open a Rickards or Hieneken, slipping on your warm fuzzies, putting your feet up and watching it blow by.

For three days Charlottetown was attacked by heavy winds, rain, hail and for a good hour, even snow! But would you have noticed? Not at all. Islanders went about their business, shoulders hunched more than usual, protecting themselves from the torrential rain. Coffee shops and liquor stores had slightly more business, soup and stew was a popular dinner item and people lived their in sweats and fuzzy bunny slippers. For me this hurricane experience was exhillerating. I'd never been an Maritime storm before. I woke up to the sound of rain pounding on my window at 4:00am and a shiver of excitement wriggled down my spine. The air was cold and fresh and the added lullaby sound of rain made sleeping glorious. In such aweful weather walking to school was an obvious mode of transportation rather than biking. But it was too to windy to hold an umbrella so I folded the collar of my coat up to my ears, bent my hat down just above my eyes, burried my hands in my pockets and trudged to school in the rain, wind, and hail.

When the hurricane had finally blown itself out, the clouds dissipated and the sun came out in golden glory and smiled on drenched Charlottetown. Finally having a dry enough bike seat and roads, I indulged in an evening bike ride. The air was so crisp and sharp, the smell of autumn swirled around me and the faint aroma of wood burning fire places settled warmly into my lungs. It is true what they say about the calm before and after a storm.

Amidst all this excitement the art of pastries carried on and every new day in the kitchen seemed like a storm of its own. This week I learned how to make puff pastry, brioche, savarin, creme anglaise, and choux paste. Puff pasty is the most versitile of all pastry doughs, not only can you fill tiny brochees with whipped cream and hazelnuts but trade whipped cream for cream cheese and substitute hazelnut for sundried tomato pesto and you got an irresistable appitizer. The most challenging dish I made with puff pastry this week was apple band. (see below photo). In its unbaked state my first one looked deformed, sad and lonely. I looked at and wailed, "It looks aweful! I have no future as a pastry chef!" My classmates encouraged me with their laughter. But when my little apple band was pulled from the oven it was love at first site. It was beautiful, golden and crisp, flakey, and begging to be eaten. The next day a classmate and I teamed up and finished off as much of our puff pastry dough as we could, we were making apple bands left, right, and center and they all looked beautiful! Between the two of us we must have made at least 10, Chef Richard was beaming and commented, "You guys are machines. Oh my goodness. Wow!" We were so proud of eachother and it was a very good day in the kitchen.

Brioche and Savarin are two types of dessert breads that are best served with a drizzle of creme anglaise and coffee after a salmon dinner. Choux paste is the base for cream puffs, eclairs and profiteroles all of which I got to make this week. Looking back it was a very full and adventurous week in the kitchen with only 2 mishaps. First I messed up my savarin ingredients and had to start over, but thankfully I caught it soon enough that there wasn't a huge loss and Chef Richard didn't see. Second an entire bag of milk had gone sour, but we didn't realize until six of us were crammed around the stove top stirring butter and milk when we noticed all of our milk had curdled. I felt so bad, even though it was nothing I did, I still felt bad that we had to through out all that milk and 16 batches of choux paste. I was more upset for Chef than for myself. But he shrugged it off, made a note in the shipping log, and told us to start over. The second batch of choux paste, for all of us, was perfect.  

If there is one lesson I learned this week, one golden peice of advice that would make the world a better place, it would be this: rubber boots are essential. Strapping on a snazzy pair at 5:50am make walking to school a joyous occassion. You don't have to avoid big puddles or tip toe down the street to keep your feet from getting wet. Rubber boots are not only an obvious foot attire choice but empowering. With rubber boots and apple band we can save the world.

                                                                 Apple band

                                     I had to cut up a bajillion apples for the apple band.

                                                                       Brioche

                                                                        Savarin

                                      Cream puff with butterscotch ice cream and nutella.

The Inside Chef

I have just completed my first week of kitchen time in the pastry shoppe. I cannot begin to explain how amazing it feels to be up to my elbows in flour and butter, to have blue berry stains all over my apron and to come home at the end of every day smelling like bread or carmalized sugar. It is a tremendous opportunity, one that I dive into a little more every day. I will do my best to describe the sheer joy of kitchen life in the pastry shoppe.

Wednesday was the first official day in the kitchen and it was a mad house! I have never been so confused, stressed and so over come with joy at the same time. Chef Richard gave us a run down of how the ovens opporate and vaguely told us where everything was. His intentions for us that day were for us to hit the ground running and learn how to get to the finish line on our own. After giving us a mischievious and giddy smirk he said, "Ok guys, go make bread." Somewhere an inaudible starter gun shot off and we scurried through the kitchen like aunts trying to reasemble their hill after it being kicked. Mixers were flying off shelves, people crowded around flour and sugar, and we all got lost in the dry ingredient storage closet. I took a moment to stop and look around at everyone and we all looked like a herd of deer caught in head lights. General conversation consisted of, "Where is the cocoa? Have you seen the lemons? What does this do? Am I supposed to mix the egg in the flour before the yeast? Where is the Chef? WHAT AM I DOING?!" I burst out laughing! Of course we all knew what we were doing, and we all knew when to mix the egg with the flour, it's before you add the yeast in case you are wondering, and we eventually found the cocoa but in those first 30 minutes of glorious confusion we felt like babies learning to stand. Wobbly but adrenline rushing with the anticipation of the goal at hand. As the morning went on we found our groove, got into our element and the energy in the shoppe shifted from terrified to comfortable. Between mixing flour, measuring vanilla, and kneading dough we found moments to encourage and tease one another and slip into comfortable conversation. An air of comradery and support wafted through the shoppe, mixing with the fresh aroma of bread.

Chef Richard is excellent teacher. His enthusiam makes the kitchen an enjoyable atmosphere to work in. If you should make a mistake or mix up the steps he doesn't scold you, rather he "over zealously corrects" you. I was the recipient of such correction when I began kneading my danish dough after it had rested in the frigde. Chef Richard saw my mistake and said, "Ah! Stop! Your danish dough is a baby, don't knead it, or you will have to let it rest again and it will take longer." He then announced to the class my mistake but left my name out of it, however the sheepish look on my face let them know it was my bad, but I didn't mind, Chef patted my back and encourage me to keep going.

Chef Christian is quiet and moves around the shoppe on stealth mode, observing you closely, but not scrutinizing. I was having issues with my Vienna rolls and he showed me an easy way to get them to roll perfectly. It took me a while but he stayed by my side until I got the swing of things. Before he drifted to another struggling student he said, "Don't rush yourself or get upset, focus on quality first, speed will come later."

After the last challah loaf had been baked, and all the Vienna rolls were snug and safe on trays ready for the dinning room, we left the pastry shoppe, holding a small selection of the fruits of our labour, feeling immensly proud of ourselves and of each other. We were beaming and Chef Richard and Chef Christian looked like proud parents. I felt at home.

Thursday was spent making danish dough and fillings. What makes danish dough so amazing is the layer of butter between the first fold. After spreading it out evenly you fold the dough over three times, let it rest and repeat ever 30 minutes for a total of 4 times. The continous rolling out and refolding allows the butter to spread throughout the entire dough making it flakey and irresistable. Between foldings I made the fillings: hazelnut, blue berry, and pastry cream. The hazelnut and blue berry filling were a success right away but my pastry cream was stubborn. First of all pastry cream involves boiling milk which is already tricky, I have never used a propane stove before so that in itself was an adventure, not to mention extremely hot. I stood there for 10 minutes patiently waiting for my milk to come to a boil, finally my patients broke and I yelled, "Stupid milk why aren't you boiling? Get your ass in gear!" Such abuse didn't make my milk boil any faster but it gave my classmates a good laugh. Eventually the milk boiled and eggs, vanilla, and sugar were added, and the most delectable Christmas vanilla tasting pastry cream was created.

Friday was a big day for me. On the menu was croissants and danishes. As I rolled out my danish dough one final time it suddenly hit me: "I am making danishes today. Legitimate danishes. Danishes that you buy in the store, not at Tim Hortons, or Coffee Culture, but real danishes that you buy from a bakery. A legitimate, real life bakery. I am making danishes! I am a pastry student! I am at the best culinary school in the country and I making danishes!!!" I felt terrified, exhilerated and proud. Before I formed my first croissant I asked Chef Richard to show me how. After he rolled out two perfect looking croissants I stared at his creations and felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. "I'm terrified!" I exclaimed as I gently held the formless croissant triangle in my floured hands. Chef Richard replied, "Terrified? Why? You're not going to the moon. It's just a croissant." However in that moment space travel seemed more achievable than croissants. To top the morning off I had my first kitchen injury. I was unsheathing my chef knife, a glorious culinary weapon with a gleaming 8 inch blade, I looked up for a second to listen to Chef Richard explain glazing a danish and when I looked down again there was a decent cut on the palm of my hand. I shrugged my shoulders and went to the first aid station to grab a bandage, hoping to avoid hysterical reactions. But to my discovering the glazing station was conveniently located beside the first aid, as I held a paper towel against my hand to stop the bleeding Chef Richard, who was now at the glazing station miming glazing techniques, saw my injured hand and looked at me as if I was dying. I was touched by his concern but assured him I was fine. After administery first aid to myself I went back to work and in the end my croissants and danishes turned out beautifully.

This week has been amazing. I have learned so much in the three short days I have been in the kitchen. Every day I learn something new, add another recipe to my files, and improve my skills, and it's only been a week. Imagine what 8 more months will do.

                                          Lemon cinnamon challah bread & Vienna rolls

                                  Chocolate hazelnut challah bread, croissants, & danishes

                                       I have a pastry brush and I'm not afraid to use it.

Tension

Two weeks! Two whole weeks of wash your hands, sweep the floors, don't serve food that has fallen on the ground, if you have salmonella you probablly shouldn't be working, if someone is dying call 911, don't drink poisonous substances no matter how tasty they look, and despite Disneys Ratatouille, rats do not improve your establishment. Two whole weeks and finally come this Wednesday morning at 6:30 am I will be up to my elbows in butter and flour.

Don't get me wrong I did enjoy some elements of the safety classes. I learned how to efficiently design a kitchen, how to deal with suppliers, and that you can have a compost system in your restaurant and it won't break any health and safety codes. Yipee! I learned that if someone gets hit by a car and they have a bone jutting out of their leg that you should call 911 and not text your past roommate who is a medic that lives in Ontario. For the record this was a scenerio we had to act out in class but our teacher was busy with other class mates at the time. Eventually our teacher did come around to help and showed us how to do a donut bandage to immobilize the bone. So if you ever get hit by a car and have a bone jutting out of your leg you can call me and give the ambulance a day off.

While all of this was fascinating and I thoroughly enjoyed the gruesome emergency horror stories, I already know how to save a life. #1 I am a woman and have 13 years of babysitting and nannying experience under my belt. My maternal instincts kick in so fast it would make your swoon, and #2 I am Mama Jo. Enough said. All sillyness and conceit aside I really did enjoy those 2 weeks of safety training. It gave me opportunities to get to know my classmates better, make some friends, and have some laughs. My Serve Safe teacher was a sheep farmer so you can imagine all the sheep jokes he was pulling out left, right, and center, and if you can't imagine them just ask my dad. These past two weeks gave me the opportunity to build a routene, schedule my life, and gave me space to sort out what I want to accomplish this year. They were a good buffer zone, an extended period of grace that I didn't know I needed.

However, my chef whites came in on Thursday, we had an extensive tour of the pastry shoppe, and first and second year kitchens and along with the rest of the class we are itching to get into the kitchen! We can't wait to make bread, pipe chocolate, and be covered in butter and flour all day. We had a very long class on Friday where the chefs walked us through what a regular day would like and then we watched the film "Kings of Pastry" an inspiring and heart pounding documentary about French pastry chefs. I suggest you rent it for your next movie night, unless you have a heart condition, as one classmate put it "This is so intense! It's worse than a horror movie!"

So here I am, painfully counting down the hours to Wednesday morning and at the same time wishing they would never come. What am I doing here? Why am I in PEI? What more could I possibly learn about the pastry world? As previously stated, I'm Mama Jo. Yes I have these little waves of jitters and skeptizism and yes I have moments where I want to turn and run like a dog with his tail between his legs. But then I remember I am a strong, confident, fearless woman. Bathed in sunlight and laughter. Blessed with prayer and encouragement, and divinely gifted in optimism. And to top all of that I made a Beef Wellington for a Christmas dinner, the very menu item Chef Ramsy himself discourages everyday house wifes from making. If I can make a Beef Weelington I can make bavarian cream, brioche, and puff pastry.Theres no chance I'm turning my back now.

Wish you were here

I wake up some days as if I am stepping into a dream. It is hard to believe I am living on the island. Somedays it seems too perfect to be an actual place, but then I encounter some one swearing and honking their car horn and I realize Charlottetown is still on planet earth, no matter how much I wish it resided in Neverland.

Slowly Charlottetown and I have gotten to know each other better and the awkward first introduction stage is over. I am comfortable with my surroundings and even if I find myself in an unfamiliar section of the city I can find my way home very easily. I make it a habit at some point during the week or weekend to take a long walk or bike ride to undiscovered territory and get lost for a moment. I feel my heart rushing in angste, my eyes dart around searching for a landmark, I scan the street signs and visualize a birds eye view of the city in my head. Finally I spot the three pointed bell towers of St. Dunsants Basillica, the position of the sun tells me I am in west end of the city and home is due east. I relax, take a deep breath and feel a shiver of excitement as I meander through quiet uncharted residential streets.

Let me paint you a picture of my daily commute to school:

My bike ride to school starts off slow. After securing my back pack and coffee to the basket on my bike with a bungy cord I hop on and glide out the drive way. The city is just starting the morning rush to work so traffic is minimal. I turn right onto Sydney street and head straight for the Culinary and Tourism Center. The convent on the left hand side is silent and stately in the morning light, tucked behind three large maples. The first half of Sydney street is small and thin, lined with equally sized houses of all different colours. The palette of houses changes from barn red, ochre, olive green, canary yellow, maroon, faded eggplant purple, and Tobermory blue. Regular white, cream, and toupe shaded houses are rare not only here but all over the city. One side of the street is boardered with red fences and over grown vines. If I were walking on the sidewalk the long stretch of their arms would gladly entangle me. One vine inparticular covers the east facing side of a house and lazily drapes its long leafy arm over the hydro wires above the street. It looks like a monster from a Dr. Seus book. Sydney street begins to crest as it nears St. Dunsants basillca and I peddle harder, working my way steadily up the hill. Relieved to be at the top I take a deep breath and begin the speedy descent down the hill. I zip past St. Dunsants taking quick glances, admiring the masonry, scrulptures, and rose window. Not more than a stones throw away I find myself between 2 Irish pubs on either side of the street. Hmmm, a convent, a Roman Catholic basillica, and two pubs all on the same street, it's a wonder it wasn't named O'Sydney street. The street opens up after crossing Queen and a sweet yet deceptively brute ocean wind blows against me. For now I embrace it, but soon enough that wind will carry an arsenal of ice and snow making my commute to class a frigid nightmare. My bike screeches to a hault infront of the bike rack and I secure the rickety, duct tape vehicle to the rack, and after arriving at my destination gingerly walk to class.

This is just one lovely pocket of the city that I have the pleasure of enjoying everyday. I could go on for ages about the granduer and yet simply beauty of other parts of the city. Before I go let me share one more special place with you. Victoria park is my favourite place in Charlottetown, there isn't a week that goes by that I don't find time to meander through the outdoor sanctuary. Woven throughout the 58 acre park are trails, a large playing field, tennis court, base ball diamond, play ground, and a bush with a dozen twisting paths all securly held in place by a board walk stretched along the edges of the water. Sometimes I sit on my favourite park bench, nestled between two grandmother shaped maple trees, one thin and spry the other filled out and stately, and watch the enchanting silver and saphire waves waltz between the fishing trollies and sail boats. I am blessed to be able to call this home.

Obviously I am choosing to highlight the better parts of Charlottetown, but like I said earlier it has its flaws like any other place on earth. People become impatient and yell at each other, they smoke and leave trails of the dirty habit, when I walk past a group of jaded teen ages I over hear their gripings and grumblings accompanied by sharp language, there is more than one creepy old man in this town, and I find negativety and down cast hearts even among my classmates. Was I naive in thinking that Charlottetown would be constant butterflies, Celtic music, charming Island men, and smiles around every corner? Yes. Does Charlottetown have butterflies, Celtic music, charming Island men, and smiles around every corner? Yes. You just have to know how to look for them.    

Learning to ride a bike

Just so ya'll know I do know how to a ride a bike but I thought it fitting to use this line as this week has been full of learning opportunites.

Lesson #1: I actually had to relearn how to ride my bike a little bit. I was a little wobbly at first especially turning corners, gaining speed and letting other traffic know which direction I was going in. Thankfully Charlottetown has numerous quiet streets for me to practice on and when I came to busier streets I hopped off and like a coward walked my bike on the side walk. But hey, a coward today is hero alive tomorrow.

Lesson #2: PEI does church differenly. First of all if you are new EVERY BODY notices. Every where I turned there was another friendly face welcoming me. Also they serve coffee and goodies through out the service. So if you finish one cup you can quietly go grab another. The gentleman in front of me had 3 coffees in 2 hours. And you think I talk fast. After singing they have five minutes of mingling where people walk around to meet and greet and chat it up, over more coffee of course (I like how this church handles coffee). Offering, prayer and dismissing of children to sunday school is pretty standard. They have a moment in every service to lay hands over people who are ill, going on missions, or need extra prayer. I witnessed a prayer of healing for a gentleman on sunday. I believed the prayers were genuine and faithful but the man remained ill. I discovered I wasn't wrestling with the question of whether or not God wanted to heal him in that moment, but I was left pondering of where the line was between faith and cockiness. I also found that the service included a lot of things that may seem distracting to an Ontario congregation: children giggling, people engaging in quiet conversation even during the singing, people replenishing their coffee during the sermon etc. Back home this would not be acceptable. Church has to be structured to allow the Holy Spirit be be ushered in. But I wonder how many times we miss the blessing of fellowship when we are so focused on structuring the Holy Spirit.

Lesson #3: Don't wear a skirt to church when your mode of trasportation is a bike. A) It is difficult to get on ones bike. B) It is difficult to pedal. C) There is always the paranoia that you are giving people a free show even though your skirt is snuggly tucked under your behind. I was faced with this challenge and the thought did occure to me that I could run up stairs and change but that would make me late so I stomped my foot and said to myself, "If Hetty King can do it in a full length dress then I sure as hell can do it in a skirt!"

Lesson #4: Banana bread can mend a broken heart, solve world hunger, and bring world peace but it can't make the rain go away. However it does make it more tollerable. Try eating a warm slice of banana bread fresh out of the oven on a rainy day with your afternoon coffee and tell me there isn't a smile on your face.

Lesson #5: If you have asperations to be a pastry chef make sure you sign up for the class with Austrian instructors. Their accents alone are worth the tuition. Phrases like, "We are here to have fun and to learn while having fun," sound like a line from the Sound of Music when said with an Austian accent, for example, "Vee are here to haf fvun and to luurn vile hafing fvun." Also Canadians don't know how to pronounce the word 'chocolate' find an Austrian an he'll teach you the right way.

Lesson #6: Orientation is the same every where! There is something remarkable about the amount of energy faculty and staff can conjure up during orientation, and even more remarkable to see it all dissapear the day classes start. There is always a big welcoming event, usually held in a sports center, where all new frosh are hearded to like cattle and handed free things every where they turn. There is always that one guy at said event that is the loudest, most energetic, and will cheer at anything. He will stand up even if there is no cause for a standing ovation, clap his hands, scream as loud as he can, and shake his behind as if he were trying to fling off a leech. I had such a man at my orientation on Thursday, it was more fun watching him than the shenanigans on stage. And of course there is always free food, and as every good moneyless, hardworking student knows NEVER SAY NO TO FREE FOOD! Who cares if it tastes like cardboard.

Lesson #7: Check your alarm clock the night before to make sure your landlords cats haven't been playing with it and accidentaly turned the volume down so can't hear your alarm thus making you panic and throwing you into a mad dash to get to orientation on time.

Lesson #8: Double check the time on your orientation schedule to ensure that your event starts at 10:00am not 9:00am so that you can avoid future panics and mad dashes (see above lesson).

Lesson #9: People are stupid. So instead of wasting ear space listening to their stupidity excuse yourself politely and go for a nice long walk. Along the way you will bump into pleasant, spunky elderly ladies out for a morning speed walk.

Lesson #10: Smile at people while you are walking around. I did not realize how big of a snob I was until I took a self guided tour through the city one evening. In my defense I was afraid that if I seemed to chipper I would be a target for someone to take advantage of me, or I would look really foolish. But as I walked along, head slightly tucked and eyes shifting from sidewalk to scenery I heard a lovely voice say, "Hello." I looked and there was a woman sitting on her porch enjoying the evening air and passer bys and I realized, "I am so rude!" So I tossed my fear aside, lifted my head and gingerly said, "Hello," back. Now I smile at everyone and my evening walks are the highlight of my week.

Lesson #11: "I work well under pressure," is a lame excuse for procrastinating. The only things this line works for are diamonds.

Lesson #12: There is no occassion too dull or simple that God doesn't want to hear about. I often found myself spending my morning bike ride to school, or my walks shadowed in conversation with the Lord. I found that in talking with Him I saw need for prayer, and scenery for celebration. I could feel Him whisper peace, gentleness, and reassurance into my heart. The verse from Ephesians 6:18 became resonant in my heart this week. "Pray at all times and on every ocassion in the power of the Holy Spirit." God always wants to hear from you, no matter what state you are in.

Lesson #13: Reading a pastry dictionary in the park doesn't make it any less a dictionary.

It's Official

Hello from Prince Edward Island!

I am proud to say that I am an official resident of PEI. Life on this pocket sized province has been a whirl wind thus far so before you read any further make yourself extra comfy.

First off the journey to PEI was exceptionally long. My parents and I thought it would be smart to go through the States to avoid any huricane Irene issues, however, she had other plans. In New York I-90 was closed from Albany to Minoa due to flooding. When we pulled over at a gas station to map out a new route a friendly biker, who had viking horns on his helmet I might add, saw us struggling and came over to help. He put us on hwy 5 and it was smooth sailing all the way to Fonda. Once at Fonda we found the traffic backed up for 14 kms! A state trouper told us the water was 8 ft above the bridge on the other side of Fonda and that the river had flooded to widths of 18 ft! So we pulled over once again and recalculated. It was close to 11:30 by the time we arrived at our hotel. What should have been an 8 hour drive turned into 14!

The next day we had plans to visit Wilson Castle Vermont but the whole lower valley near Wilson had been washed out. So like any good road trip troupers we pulled over into a visitor station and asked how to get to our next destination, Bangor Maine. The friendly and wirery man told us exaclty how to get there and suggested that if we still wanted to do some site seeing to head up to Burlington Vermont. With nothing better to do and feeling pretty good about the day ahead we took his advice. Boy was that a miscalculation. Don't get me wrong driving through the mountains and stopping along the lake side in Burlington was lovely but adding site seeing to an already long driving day was unwise. Again it was late by the time we reached Maine but with the promise of hitting Canadian ground the next day we slept well.

Day three of driving proved to be the best yet. We took our time leaving the hotel and even stopped to ooo and awww at a spectaculat view of the some mountain that I can't remember the name of. Before we knew it we were in New Brunswick. We had never been more excited to be on Canadia soil!

After 3 days of zig zagging through the States, being rerouted almost 200 km out of our way, and several arguments with Lizza our GPS we arrived in beautiful PEI. The scenery is everything that the brochures advertise it as. Lush green fertile soil floating on a delicious blue ocean and wrapped securely with a red ribbon of sand. The first hour of arriving at my apartment went by at warp speeds. We unloaded the car in record time, parked my bike, checked in with the landlords and then mom and I made our war to the theatre. It was the last night for Anne of Green Gables the Musical so if I was going to see it, it had to be now. The musical was fantastic!! The set was stunning! The colours, costume and characters were rendered phenomenally and the architecture of the theatre itself was breath taking. When the applause had died Mom and I walked backed to my apartment taking in the soft Charlottetown night life and after a long day I slept soundly in my new bed.

The next two days that followed I took mom and dad on a little site seeing around the island. We visited some of my favourite spots on the island like Basin Head, The Preserve Company, and Cows Ice Cream. With mom at helm of Edna (our Toyota Camry) we stopped at every look out along the shore line, every beach and every light house. We ate lobster, searched the sand for star fish and sand dollars and I even got a sun burn, not only does my hair match the red soil but now my skin does too. I got to see some amazing things with my parents: the tide rushing out and creating a rip current, an immature eagle snatch a fish out of the water, and a bag piper seranade a tour bus full of spunky elderly.

But now my parents are gone, my room is fully set up, I've had a good cry and my hands hurt from writing all this down. I've had my moment of regret and I'm sure I'll have a couple more but I feel good about being here. I'm finding little things that remind me of home everyday and I feel secure. However that ocean breeze is a quick reminder that I am not in Ontario anymore and no amount of clicking my heels will get me home. But in a strange way being so far from home is sort of encouraging. I can't bail out suddenly and I can't pack up and leave. I have to stick it out. So stick it out I shall, with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.