It's 11:30 pm and I am frantically going through all of my emails for 2007 looking for online tax receipts for charitable donations. I started this useful activity after spending a good hour digging through my (so-called) filing cupboard (a place where I throw any piece of paper I might need in the future)for a copy of last year's tax return, which I swore I brought to Poland with me.
My normal tax filing process involves me digging through my filing cabinet and spreading out all unfiled contents (which really means all contents) on the floor, sorting them, and then putting a tax file together, and calling my dad with the information (hey, he was a tax partner for years and years . . .).
I thought it would be easier this year, as I emptied my filing cabinet in Canada in March or April, and put a tax file together then. Of course, it would have been easier if I kept that file up to date, or actually brought it to Poland with me.
Dad's already received a desperate phone call on his cellphone tonight. Thankfully, I believe he's a little more organized than his daughter (or at least he keeps up the appearance of it). I know he's shaking his head and cringing as he reads this.
On the bright side, I filed my Polish return (or at least gave the information to the accountants) last week.
This year my tax filing deadline for Canada is the end of this week. Something about being an expat and filing tax returns in two countries. Lucky me.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
No nudity please, I'm Canadian
The Bad Gastein region in Austria, where I went skiing last weekend, is famous for its waters. Many of the villages have wellness centers that include hot pools, saunas, spas, and medical treatments.
Spas and hot pools are the perfect way to end the day after hours of skiing. So Saturday evening we headed to the huge complex in the village we were staying in. We'd already visited once Friday morning for a massage, while we were waiting for my luggage to arrive (I arrived in Munich on Thursday afternoon, my skis didn't).
During the massage treatment I was a little uncomfortable when the therapist ordered me to take off my clothes while she was still in the room. She did leave after I started to get changed, and then came back in when I was lying on the massage table under a blanket.
Apparently I was not supposed to use that blanket, as she quickly whipped it off, leaving me lying there completely naked. A few minutes later she did cover me with another sheet, but it made me long for my Canadian massage therapists. To them, draping is an art, and you are never exposed during a massage.
Back to Saturday night. After dips in the hot pools, my friend Y wanted to try the saunas. Being claustrophobic, I am not fond of spending time in small, hot spaces, but I thought I'd go along for a while to see what it was like.
When we entered Sauna World (yes that's what it was called), we blatantly ignored the Nude Zone sign. After all, we saw other people lounging around in their robes and bathing suits, as well as people walking around completely naked.
Sauna World is a series of saunas set at different temperatures. We found one at a lower temperature and settled in. I did notice that everyone else was naked, but it was dark, and I thought I'd just be in the sauna for a few minutes. And really, how much coverage does a bathing suit provide?
Apparently far too much. 5 minutes or so later (which seemed like an eternity for me in a small, dark, hot space), a fully clothed sauna guard came in, chastised a few people for not sitting on towels, and then told me I'd have to take off my bathing suit if I wanted to stay.
Yep, I got kicked out for not being naked. I suppose if I wasn't looking for an excuse to get out of the sauna, I might have taken my bathing suit off and stayed a while.
Or maybe not. After all, I am still Canadian . . .
Spas and hot pools are the perfect way to end the day after hours of skiing. So Saturday evening we headed to the huge complex in the village we were staying in. We'd already visited once Friday morning for a massage, while we were waiting for my luggage to arrive (I arrived in Munich on Thursday afternoon, my skis didn't).
During the massage treatment I was a little uncomfortable when the therapist ordered me to take off my clothes while she was still in the room. She did leave after I started to get changed, and then came back in when I was lying on the massage table under a blanket.
Apparently I was not supposed to use that blanket, as she quickly whipped it off, leaving me lying there completely naked. A few minutes later she did cover me with another sheet, but it made me long for my Canadian massage therapists. To them, draping is an art, and you are never exposed during a massage.
Back to Saturday night. After dips in the hot pools, my friend Y wanted to try the saunas. Being claustrophobic, I am not fond of spending time in small, hot spaces, but I thought I'd go along for a while to see what it was like.
When we entered Sauna World (yes that's what it was called), we blatantly ignored the Nude Zone sign. After all, we saw other people lounging around in their robes and bathing suits, as well as people walking around completely naked.
Sauna World is a series of saunas set at different temperatures. We found one at a lower temperature and settled in. I did notice that everyone else was naked, but it was dark, and I thought I'd just be in the sauna for a few minutes. And really, how much coverage does a bathing suit provide?
Apparently far too much. 5 minutes or so later (which seemed like an eternity for me in a small, dark, hot space), a fully clothed sauna guard came in, chastised a few people for not sitting on towels, and then told me I'd have to take off my bathing suit if I wanted to stay.
Yep, I got kicked out for not being naked. I suppose if I wasn't looking for an excuse to get out of the sauna, I might have taken my bathing suit off and stayed a while.
Or maybe not. After all, I am still Canadian . . .
The hills are alive
Last weekend, in search of snow, I went to Bad Gastein, Austria to ski in the Alps.
I was a little skeptical that there was any snow anywhere after arriving in the town, which was bare, as were the surrounding hillsides.
But the peaks were snow covered, as were the alpine valleys.
So there was more then enough snow for us to both downhill and cross country ski. And the amazing Alpine scenery gave me an excuse to take multiple breaks and enjoy the views, which my aching body demanded.
We also discovered the favourite local drink, Skiwasser, which is just right with a really big pretzel. Both taste even better while sitting outside in the sun enjoying apres ski.
I was a little skeptical that there was any snow anywhere after arriving in the town, which was bare, as were the surrounding hillsides.
But the peaks were snow covered, as were the alpine valleys.
So there was more then enough snow for us to both downhill and cross country ski. And the amazing Alpine scenery gave me an excuse to take multiple breaks and enjoy the views, which my aching body demanded.
We also discovered the favourite local drink, Skiwasser, which is just right with a really big pretzel. Both taste even better while sitting outside in the sun enjoying apres ski.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Anne update
At lunch today with my team, I mentioned the Anne of Green Gables/Anna connection that one of my Polish friends had told me about.
They said, yes, that probably was true.
And then told me that Anne of Green Gables was required reading for Polish schoolchildren!
The women immediately started recapping their favourite episodes (when she died her hair green!) and murmured dreamily, "I love the films."
The males just rolled their eyes and shook their heads.
They said, yes, that probably was true.
And then told me that Anne of Green Gables was required reading for Polish schoolchildren!
The women immediately started recapping their favourite episodes (when she died her hair green!) and murmured dreamily, "I love the films."
The males just rolled their eyes and shook their heads.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Birth announcement
My friend V left me a message last night, telling me that she had given birth to her second child, a boy, and that all was well. Then she added a bit of a teaser, saying that she had a story to tell and I should call her.
Which I did immediately.
I got the scoop, but since it's her story, I'll let her describe it. This is from the email birth announcement I received tonight:
Woman gives birth to baby in car, (Oh wait, that was us)
On February 17, 2008, at 10:53 pm, V gave birth to a baby boy, 6 lbs 13 oz. Mom and baby are happy and healthy; dad is still recovering from the shock of watching V deliver the baby herself, in the front seat of their Toyota Corolla not 2 minutes away from the hospital. This scenario was a slight deviation from the detailed birth plan, however it makes a great Hallmark Hall of Fame movie of the week.
Yes, it's true. Could I make something like this up? I received a much more detailed version, (actually two versions, as both V and her husband told me the story, which differed somewhat but were consistent in the main facts), and had people laughing so hard they were in tears today when I recounted it at work.
Or perhaps they were just stunned. One of my friends here, an expectant father, flat out did not believe me when I told him my friend delivered her baby herself in a moving car (yes, her husband did not even pull over)! He asked me if it was an early April Fool's Day joke.
V, I always knew you were independent and strong willed, but I never imagined you'd take it this far . . .
Congratulations! I can hardly wait to meet the new addition. A trip to Poland with a new born should be a piece of cake for you.
Which I did immediately.
I got the scoop, but since it's her story, I'll let her describe it. This is from the email birth announcement I received tonight:
Woman gives birth to baby in car, (Oh wait, that was us)
On February 17, 2008, at 10:53 pm, V gave birth to a baby boy, 6 lbs 13 oz. Mom and baby are happy and healthy; dad is still recovering from the shock of watching V deliver the baby herself, in the front seat of their Toyota Corolla not 2 minutes away from the hospital. This scenario was a slight deviation from the detailed birth plan, however it makes a great Hallmark Hall of Fame movie of the week.
Yes, it's true. Could I make something like this up? I received a much more detailed version, (actually two versions, as both V and her husband told me the story, which differed somewhat but were consistent in the main facts), and had people laughing so hard they were in tears today when I recounted it at work.
Or perhaps they were just stunned. One of my friends here, an expectant father, flat out did not believe me when I told him my friend delivered her baby herself in a moving car (yes, her husband did not even pull over)! He asked me if it was an early April Fool's Day joke.
V, I always knew you were independent and strong willed, but I never imagined you'd take it this far . . .
Congratulations! I can hardly wait to meet the new addition. A trip to Poland with a new born should be a piece of cake for you.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Canadian, eh?
Yesterday, while at an open house for my company, I spoke briefly with a young woman about a position. Shortly after our initial conversation, she asked me if I was Canadian. Stunned, I said I was, and asked her how she knew. Had someone mentioned it to her? Everyone here assumes that I am American.
She said no, she just knew because my accent was distinctly Canadian. Turns out she has a good friend from Cambridge, Ontario.
That comment alone may have made it worthwhile to spend my Saturday at the office.
She said no, she just knew because my accent was distinctly Canadian. Turns out she has a good friend from Cambridge, Ontario.
That comment alone may have made it worthwhile to spend my Saturday at the office.
Brunch
This week was a tough one. Nothing bad happened, but in my enthusiasm for my work I tend to over commit myself and take on too much. My position here is busy enough without all of my extra self-imposed projects, and this week everything caught up to me.
So I worked every night, skipped all the activities that keep me sane, and spent too much time berating myself for doing both of the former. By Thursday I was literally hopping mad, and Friday evening I was in tears. No relief on Saturday as I had committed to an all day work event.
But today, sweet Sunday, one simple meal changed everything.
In Toronto, brunch is not a weekly occurrence for me, but my good friends S and DW are big fans, so I often join them for it, particularly if we have friends in from out of town.
In Poland, breakfast mostly consists of sandwiches or sweet buns, and there are few places in town where you can get what we would consider brunch.
So today when my American and British friends and I were given the menus at a restaurant we had found that served brunch, we squealed with delight. American style pancakes, French toast, English breakfast, bagels, maple syrup! The menu gave me such pleasure that I had to share it, so I read it aloud to my 18 month old buddy, who smiled as if someone was telling him a good bedtime story.
Even better than the menu was the food itself. When T first sipped her cafe latte she sighed with pleasure, declaring it amazing, and quickly ordered a second. When the pancakes arrived, 4 year-old M's eyes widened, and he asked his mother if she would share it with him.
My tost francuski was everything I had hoped it would be, and more, as was the half a bagel and cream cheese I mooched from T. That, my mimosa, and the good company put me right again. Once again, all is well.
So I worked every night, skipped all the activities that keep me sane, and spent too much time berating myself for doing both of the former. By Thursday I was literally hopping mad, and Friday evening I was in tears. No relief on Saturday as I had committed to an all day work event.
But today, sweet Sunday, one simple meal changed everything.
In Toronto, brunch is not a weekly occurrence for me, but my good friends S and DW are big fans, so I often join them for it, particularly if we have friends in from out of town.
In Poland, breakfast mostly consists of sandwiches or sweet buns, and there are few places in town where you can get what we would consider brunch.
So today when my American and British friends and I were given the menus at a restaurant we had found that served brunch, we squealed with delight. American style pancakes, French toast, English breakfast, bagels, maple syrup! The menu gave me such pleasure that I had to share it, so I read it aloud to my 18 month old buddy, who smiled as if someone was telling him a good bedtime story.
Even better than the menu was the food itself. When T first sipped her cafe latte she sighed with pleasure, declaring it amazing, and quickly ordered a second. When the pancakes arrived, 4 year-old M's eyes widened, and he asked his mother if she would share it with him.
My tost francuski was everything I had hoped it would be, and more, as was the half a bagel and cream cheese I mooched from T. That, my mimosa, and the good company put me right again. Once again, all is well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
