The thing about stuff: living in a material world

I have a lot of stuff.

I think it's hereditary.  My whole family has a lot of stuff.  

My paternal grandparents had two farm houses and numerous barns full of stuff.  Every thing they ever bought or received lined the walls and covered the surfaces.  My uncle took over the farm recently and is happily adding to the collection.  

The maternal side had less and was tidier about it, but had stuff nonetheless. When we moved my maternal grandmother into her most recent home, she had two full drawers of torn pantyhose and over 20 styrofoam meat containers.  

I used to think that my immediate family was better about having stuff.  I was wrong.  They just had different stuff. 

My mother had scrapbooks filled with things she had gathered over the years.  Comics, cards, sayings, articles.  My father gathered books.  We tease that we didn't need to go to the library to do history papers, we just went to Dad's library.  That fact became less funny when Dad went to Ukraine and I got left with boxes and boxes of his books. 

The rest of us aren't much better.  None of my siblings have met a book we didn't like.  It's a sacrilege in our family to get rid of books -- even for a good cause.  Add to that children's toys, school keepsakes, knick knacks, and more, there is a ton of crap out there.  I have my share.

What to do with it all is plaguing me.

I keep asking myself: Who is going to want all this when I die?

The answer for most people of what is going to happen to all their stuff is that their children will inherit it and keep it and cherish it.  They believe that because they worked to get it, their descendants will care about it and thus justify it's existance.  

When The Guy and I discovered we couldn't have children, I started thinking about the things I have spent my life accumulating.  Suddenly, most of it became like an albatross hanging around my neck.

I am not quite at the point of having a garage sale, but I am questioning what's important after all.

Turns out, it's not what I thought.

Beards are gross

A friend's class is putting on a play where each of the characters has a different coloured beard.  She asked if I would make the beards for them.  I had the greatest time so I have to share my handiwork.

Here is the entire set of beards for your enjoyment.

Pork chop around my neck.

I admit it.  I have a problem.  I love dogs.  I have a seperate file of dog pictures for every vacation I go on.  Coming to this site, you might all think I'm unbalanced, but the truth is... well, yes. I am.

Without further ado, I give you: Dogs of Cuba 2011

This is our resort Monty. Except she's a girl.

My favourite dog on our whole trip, this litle resort dog captured my heart the first day.  She was obviously the outcast of the pack and was alone at all times except when she crept up to the cats on occassion.  The cats left her alone and let her be, but the other resort dogs made sure she didn't stick around long if they were there.

She lived in one small section of the resort and came out most ni the early moring.  She would not come near any of us (except for one friend who was the luckiest ever) and only after 2 weeks came within a foot of The Guy.  I tried to tempt her daily with bacon, but she ran each time.

When no one was around, or just not looking, she would play and run and jump.  She ran playfully after couples (including myself -- she brushed by my skirt) and did circles trying to bite her own tail.  She lapped up the pool water and slept on the beach chairs.  But if anyone looked at her, her tail went as far under her butt as it could and she slunk away.

I wanted to bring her home, but figured that would not go well for any of us.

Paladar dog.

This dog was at a house where we had lunch in Old Havana.  She is strictly a house dog who came next door to the Paladar (a home restaurant) to see if we would feed her. We did.

Okay, I did. But look at that face.  Could you have resisted?

Dog by the door.

This little guy lives with numerous families. They don't own him, he owns them. He has a collar though, which is a new thing for Havana dogs. On the day of this picture, he was waiting on the steps to be let into the building where he visits the old man on the 3rd floor. If you walked by, he would bark and look at you until you opened the door.

Besties

These guys wandered along in Varadero one evening. The littler one jumped about while the big one lumbered down the road. I couldn't help but want to follow them on their adventures.

For the entire catalogue of Dogs of Cuba (years 2011 and 2012) go here.  

Don't judge me. 

My life in 5 places - Cuba

If you had to describe your life in five places, which sites would you choose and why?

First, I described my childhood home and what it meant to me.  Second, I told you about my summer getaway.  Third, about my very first home I ever owned.

I thought it was fitting that my fourth post would be about the wonderful place where I am currently sipping pina coladas.  (Well, okay, not as I write this.  I'm sitting on my couch with the dog, but when you read this? Pina Coladas.) 

Our home for the next two weeks

This is my third trip to Cuba.  It has become a place of escape for The Guy and I.  We love it and would go back a hundred more times except that I have told The Guy that I would like to explore a bit more of the world first.  

Downtown Varedero

Cuba is a wonderful place.  I know, I have extolled it's virtues here before, but I could do so every day.  It is a place full of history and beauty, of dancing and music, of architecture and colour.  I have done amazing things in this country -- I swam with dolphins and almost drowned The Guy, I went snorkelling and almost drowned myself, I walked up the stairs of a 200 year old church, and I held a menagerie of cool animals.

Cuba has also been a place where The Guy and I have been able to reconnect.  When you have two people who work ridiculous hours, it is often hard to spend the kind of time necessary to maintain a good relationship.  When you are running from here to there and back again, it is hard to remember to stop and say "Oh, hey.  There you are."  Two weeks in a place where we have no expectations, but to eventually roll out of bed and hit the beach,  makes it a bit easier to get back to where we were.

Twue Wove

But the best part of Cuba is the people.  They are kind and happy and fun.  They always have a smile and will do whatever it takes to help you out.  They work harder than any people I've seen and the women are always wearing panty hose despite the 30 degree (celcius, of course) heat.

How can you not love a people like this?

I'm somewhere awesome and you are not

The beach in Cuba

Right now, I am arriving in Cuba. Two weeks of heaven.

Jealous?