Everybody’s Got A Story

Oh, to start again. When we moved to New Zealand, we left our entire lives as we knew them; we left behind established careers, family, circles of friends, and our reputations of who we were to others. We’re immigrants here; we’re the newbies in the country, and in the industry we’ve chosen to jump into. A lot of excitement comes from that, and freshness and newness, and we do so much learning. We’re challenged every single day to do something we’ve never done before, and we’re gaining so much. We are also having to prove ourselves, and we’re possibly being underestimated sometimes.

Greg came from being surrounded by people that know his skill set and how capable he is. In Canada, everyone who knew him trusted him and his advise in many areas, and often asked him for his help. Here, as is to be expected, he has to prove himself, and prove what he can do. Some people see the value in his skill set already, (some saw it very quickly), but others don’t trust him yet; that’s all part of starting again in a new place.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that certain customers in the Cellar Door were going to make a judgement about me because of my job. Some people have assumed that because I’m working a hospitality job, I must not be educated, or that I’m there because I can’t be anywhere else. Once people discover my story, I’m often asked why on earth I’m not teaching. I could be “making way more money,” they say. (Although a customer said to me with sarcasm recently, “yes, because teacher’s are in it for the money.”)

It’s not just me either; there are other women in my workplace that have university degrees, and could be working in a higher earning career that would bring more prestige, but who choose, like me, to be working where we do because we enjoy it.

Those that take the time to actually ask me about my story hear that I chose to be in this job, and it’s actually exactly what I want to be doing with my time.

Upon talking with Greg about this topic one evening as we sat by the ocean, we realized that for every assumption people have made about us on first glance here, we’ve probably made ten assumptions about others. We (I’m referring to us here, because I’m sure you’ve never done it…) have a tendency to assume things about others based on their jobs, or where they’re living, or what they’re driving, or based on a whole list of other qualities we can see at first glance.

Upon first look at our jobs or income here, where we live, or our cars, (especially mine – we call it “the fridge”) a person could easily assume I don’t have a degree, or that Greg doesn’t have much for skills or expertise, or that we don’t own a home. Anyone might assume lots of things about anyone else if they never hear their story – but if we take the time to ask, everybody’s got a story, don’t they?

My take from experiencing being assumed about, is to try to start assuming less.

As we talked on the beach that night, I realized that sometimes we can get to know small parts of people’s stories, when it’s appropriate to ask, and sometimes we can’t. With some people, if we have enough time, they’ll let us in on big, important parts of their stories, and that’s a privilege.

Whether or not we get to know any part of another’s story, we can realize that they’ve got one, and start giving people a little more credit than we maybe would have in the past.


The title of this blog was inspired by a good old country song. (I’m so Canadian at my roots.) I thought I’d share the lyrics to the Chorus here, as they seem fitting.

Drake White – Story

Everybody got their good days, bad days, ups and downs 
We’re all on the same world, spinnin’ around
Flyin’ with the birds, sinkin’ with the stones
Livin’ on prayers, keepin’ up with the Joneses
Some got a little and some got a lot
Some of us are lost, some of us are not
But everybody got their moment in glory
Guess everybody got their story

How My Laundry Room Became a Brewery, and My Backyard a Tire Storage Facility

I remember the night I picked a fight with my husband about the laundry room.  I distinctly remember saying something like, “it’s our laundry room, NOT your brewery!”  I look back on that now, and laugh at myself.  I’m thankful he was so patient with me at the time.  There are things that are worth fighting over, and there are things that just aren’t.  I realize now, that the ratio of washer/dryer square footage to brewing equipment in the laundry room is something that just isn’t worth it.  I learned an important lesson after pondering what happened within me that night to cause my anger.  I seemed to think that I had more rights to our laundry room than he did, but that’s just it – it is our laundry room, not mine.

Let’s back up a bit.  I’ll fill you in on my husband’s hobbies.  He’s had a lot of them throughout the length of our marriage, and most haven’t stuck for more than a few years.  It’d be fair to say we regret spending money on some of them now, but he was learning and exploring, and they were important to him at the time.  (I’ve regretted purchases too.) So when he was gifted some beer making supplies and decided he’d take it up, I assumed it would be one of those hobbies that he’d do once or twice, and then let fall along the wayside.

I was wrong.  He is passionate about brewing.

Years, and dozens of home-brewed IPA’s, honey-browns, and English bitters later, he’s got a sizeable brewery in our home, and is constantly stunning tasters of his beer with how great they are.  His friends are benefiting from his generosity and love of sharing his craft with anyone who appreciates it.

He used to take over our kitchen for a day to complete the brewing process, and leave our entire house smelling like sweet malt.  People would ask me, “don’t you hate that he makes your whole house smell like a brewery?”  I didn’t actually.  Or they’d ask, “how come you let your husband take over your whole kitchen for that?”

Although some hobbies were costly, he made money with others – his “side-hustles” as he likes to call them.  He’s very gifted and can fix almost anything.  He’s also patient in dealing with online shoppers from our local used items listing website; he has a small hobby of taking old, broken things, fixing them up, and selling them at low prices for quick turn-over.

At one point, a few years ago, we had close to 50 used tires in our backyard.  I mean, they were everywhere! I borrowed a bunch to take to school for an obstacle course for the kids once; we even threw a Cross-fit themed birthday party for a friend and used them for challenges and a winner’s podium!  Again with the comments, and from the guys too! “My wife would never let me keep junk like that in our backyard.”  “How do you get her to let you fill your backyard with all those tires?” That’s sad to me, that my guy friends felt that way about their wives.

In his brewing craft, he started where most probably do, with beer kits.  Then, he transitioned to doing a few more steps on his own, and after his beer club informed him that if he’s using any part of a kit, he can’t really call it home-brew, he went 100% from the grain.  He literally buys a big bag of malted barley, grinds it himself, and does it completely from scratch.  The kitchen was no longer sufficient.  As he just happens to also be a custom welder, he spent the next year building a huge custom brewery in our basement laundry room.  He’s got 3 massive tanks that he welded, a custom counter and sink, heating systems, an electrical panel to run all of this, piping that hooks up to our laundry venting to the outside to eliminate the steam, numerous other equipment, and hundreds of bottles.

Needless to say, the laundry room is no longer a laundry room; we have a brewery with a washer and dryer in it.

We have a clean and empty backyard now that he’s out of the “tire side hustle,” but there were years when we barely had a backyard; we had a used tire storage facility behind the house.

Fast forward to the laundry room argument… pointless.  It’s not my laundry room, it’s our laundry room.  Can I wash clothes in there?  Maybe not while he’s brewing, but that’s where communication comes in.  It’s not my backyard, it’s our backyard.  Could I have hosted a beautiful garden party with all those tires out there?  Maybe not, but I hosted a pretty sweet birthday party and made the best of it.

So many women carry this idea that the house is their domain; at the very least, the kitchen, laundry room, and back garden are theirs.  The guys can have the garage, or the shed, or maybe some back room in the basement, where guests can’t see when they come over.  I don’t know why we think this, or why this idea is passed on to us by other women.  I don’t know why I just fell into that belief too, without even paying attention to it or questioning it.  I’ve realized over the years, that thinking this house is mine, because I’m the wife, isn’t very selfless or loving.  He doesn’t tell me I can’t park in the garage because he works in there; it’s our garage.  He doesn’t complain about the living room clock that’s a bright red high heel (it’s not tacky at all people, it’s a designer marble clock we picked up in Venice); in fact, he suggested we hang it there so I can see it every day.  We’ve also hung his motorcycle calendars in the kitchen.

It’s not my house, it’s our house.  And in this house, it’s about sharing, and compromising, and making this home a place that we both can put our stamp on, and that we both feel at home in.

I don’t know what this guy of mine is going to get into next.  I expect he’ll keep up the brewing, because he’s great at it, and he loves it.  I hope he finds more money-making hobbies, cause what’s not to love there?  Either way, he’ll be welcome to use our home, for what he needs it for, with no trouble from me; in return, I know I’ll be extended the same courtesy.