Thinkin it is time.

I don't need help. I don't need anything. That is with the exception of extreme silence. Swept up into the machine, feels unclean. Not natural but material. Running on the wheel. So fake I cant take it. I hate it. I want to break it, no...break free from it. 


It's voluntary participation you know, mine and yours to let go. But it doesn't feel like so. I am short on air and can't grow. And short on sun bro. I don't want to point fingers but the blame lingers on you -> land. This sand in my hand is ironic and bland. Tastes like confusion, an optical illusion...that weighs a ton. We got a problem Houston. 


Up and down my mind rows through emotions and nothing and the baggage it tows. I never danced with the devil and I should hope I never will but this sometimes feels like a bitter pill. 


I dream of wholeness and it looks the same but its sand taste better and it has a different name. A million people succeeding and I am "wow". Not jealous of their triumph but confused some how. Their commitment, passion and dedication seem so easy, natural and god forbid fun. I build walls and blocks to keep them all out and to keep myself safe from myself and the doubt. I will figure it out but I don't know when, it wont happen for me if I do nothing.

Thoughts on thoughts.

Curious my choices and the things I do. Looking for approval but from who? I am so sure no one is watching you. Feeling like a cartoon but not one that I drew. Stamping, stalking, stomping through. Not alone but no one is behind you.

Not lost, heading somewhere, but don’t ask me where. I’d share on a dare, if I thought you might care. So leveled off. Feeding from the same limitless trough. But acting, knowing, that this is not me, it is me for you or me like she.

Desperately aware of limits and faith, of options and capabilities and problems I make. My mind wonders so far from the here and the now, outside of myself I reach for power. Rein it in. Take a breath. Monstrous defeat. It is I not you that moves these feet. And the soul depletes.

Built up again by this wall of home. These people I made are so vulnerable. Walking side by side with my partner, with pride. And oh what we’ve seen, still holding hands like we were fifteen. Bless him for living with all my personalities and me. A constant barrage of insecurity and purity.

A fistful for friends wound tightly around my wrist. Giving support in small ways but not knowing it. So I fucked up here and there I am sure you did too. And maybe we didn’t get to do all we wanted to. But it ain’t over yet, and ain’t ain’t a word. But the end is coming, or so I have heard. 

In the end this is funny, words on a page. Confusion expressed to avoid the rage. You don’t know me or I you. And if you had the choice would you really want to? But we are all out here in cyber space trying to rationalize existence or find our place. Knowing, growing and towing ourselves around. Answers abound. What was that sound?

Creative Hoarding Pays.

As I am shedding trepidation and trudging past procrastination I am informed that my main business name choices are taken. Having already designed my logo and site I would normally use this as a good excuse for designers block. An excuse I could drag out for 3 months or so. But lucky for me I have highly motivating friends with passion and work ethic that inspire me daily with their updates and posts. I have also found this small bit of want in the pit of my stomach like I have been sitting on a secret and can't wait another moment. And to top it all off I have this partner now who promises to kick me in the ass if I don't get my shit together this weekend. He is really not that aggressive but just knowing that someone lie in wait helps me set a deadline and treat myself like a client. 

So feeling a little discouraged and regrouping with my PVR and a donut..or two, I flip through an old journal. Not a "Dear Diary" type but more of a creative thoughts piece that had been hiding in my sock drawer for 6 months. It is from my last burst of motivation, when I thought I might still be able to change the world. Within its pages are clues normally hidden deep in my mind. I laid my creative mind there on the paper for 8 months. Like an addicted hoarder the treasures normally masked by junk are visible when strewn across the lawn. Or in this case the crisp blue lined pages of my $3 shoppers drug mart scribbler. There it was. On page 2. and 6 and again on 18...My third name choice, now officially approved. It was there the whole time. With it are various creative concepts, developments and rationales. Is it fate that I would push it out of my mind and work so feverishly against the grain only to be stopped in my tracks and reminded of where it is I should being going. Maybe its nothing but I don’t think so. I know it is not the standard name but maybe that is why it works. I don’t know…

Another birthday takes the cake!

Ahoy! So as my son embarks on his 6th year of life. I again venture into the stormy seas of cake making. But in the end we had a treasure and shared it with the whole crew.

I actually saw a sample of this cake on a blog which I can no longer find. But she referenced  http://familyfun.go.com/recipes/pirate-ship-cake-686286/ as her inspiration. So much fun and not too hard. Now I need not walk the plank again until next summer.

If you see her

If you see her tell her to run, tell her I am sorry for all I’ve done. For her life has not yet begun and now history pins her… stunned. A repetition of course with no remorse without passion or source, running away on the dark horse. Stupid is as stupid does, it is today and then it was. A flawless execution of sabotage clothed in happy camouflage. Bite bite, gnawing ache, the body manifest heartbreak, how much more can you take, you fake. Tell her to run and not feel bad, tell her to disappear like this life is all she had. Because laughter and sunset will not heal the heart of regret. She’s okay now, and will continue to be. Don’t reach out to her, or should I say me. But if you see her walking down the path chase her to the light, she’s cute but not bright, she needs the value of your insight. Not tomorrow but like last night. More dense than weak, too scared to speak, out of place like a lost antique. Cookies, cookies swallow the pain, it didn’t work do it again. Smiling at the sight of this now, I vow. If I see her I will give her bow. Because she survived some how. 

Well its official

My parents are my best friends. These days I deal with the impulse of moves that dot my history like a Greyhound on the midnight milk run. The wreckage of which, if nothing else, is true friendship. Yes I am fully responsible for said erratic behavior and in turn have come to grips with its effect on my current situation. That is with the exception of true tangible friendship. Having young kids I knew my adjustment period would be prolonged but 2 years is a little ridiculous. And although I have forged some rather hopeful bonds here with some beautiful people alas when I have trivial information to bounce there is no one immediate person there. So I rush to the phone to call which ever parent still has the patience to listen. I have even resorted to having some trivial adult conversations with my kids..dog…and yes, the guinea pig. My soul mates are still out there, and you know who you are, but they are now very busy with their own husbands and kids or lives. Don’t cry for me Canada. As I settle and let my guards down I am sure my future friends will find me. But tonight, as I am thankful for my parents, I remember the times with those few who loved me all the way knowing who I truly was and forgiving my faults and just being real. 

Sometimes you can never go back.

About a million years ago Jason and I went to Paris and fell in love with the city. Our brave ignorance lent us a flashy little neighbourhood and our reckless abandon led us to Man Ray's. We overheard a real french beauty exlaim to some irish bachelor party that this was the place to go. So we went there. And I see now we can never go back. It's sad but I am happy that my husband's sense of adventure surfaced long enough to force me down that long red velvet corridor into this magic little moment that could never be again. Thanks honey.

"This restaurant, located in an old movie theater, opened with a big bang about a decade ago. Close to the Champs Elysées, Man Ray cateeds to the in crowd. Johnny Depp, John Malkovich, Sean Penn, and Mick Hucknall (Simply Red) were partners in the business.

The décor was pseudo-nouveau-Asian meets bordello deco, and everything was done on the grand scale. The place evolved and became known as "The World Place." Now, apparently, no longer open to the public, it is called "Le 1515" and available for lease for weddings, large banquets, etc.Trendy comes, and trendy goes!"

http://www.virtualtourist.com/travel/Europe/France/Ile_de_France/Paris-99080/Restaurants-Paris-Man_Ray-BR-1.html

Francis Bacon caught my eye...

I was quite lost in art school and struggled to fit in amoungst the eclectic group of talent I ran into. So many were better talkers than artists and a few were natural artists who didn't talk much. I never felt like I was either. It was strange to be asked what it was I had to say. I don't know that I ever fully embraced the opportunity. 

I surely have much more to say now. 

But in the maze of fakers and fantasy makers I found a friend. Yes, he was dead so presumedly we didn't talk much and yet he spoke to me louder than anyone in four years. He was as they say "bold, austere, graphic and emotionally raw." He seemed innately dark but he was so damned real to me. His name was Francis Bacon. And although I never shared his talent I did appreciate it. More so I admired his truth. He once said that his career was delayed because he had spent too long looking for a subject that would sustain his interest. My study in Photography and capturing movement helped me to relate to his mastery as did my insecure connection to anything of substance.  

Francis-Bacon’s-“Three-Studies-for-Self-Portrait”-1976

----------

So in my venture to find the newest cool thing I could long for: Exhibit A

POSTED IN: MEN'S HIGH FASHION

I stumbled upon a reference to a designer with a great talent, and a brilliant set of photographs on his website that smartly display his work and weave in the imagery of a master of inspiration.

http://www.rafsimons.com/

And I sleep happy tonight, and I don't know why....I guess I was just reminded of a friend I forgot I had.

Through the eyes of a child…the world according to light bright.

What have I learned of myself today? I am too quick tempered. Short on patience. Lost in the chaos of my adopted stupidity.  But I am fully aware of my plight and more so aptly capable of sabotaging my self-sabotaging ways. I learned that is okay to hate glass cutting and organza. I will not be great at everything. And if I slow down for a moment, a moment in which one might shoot a deer, pick a flower, give birth or eat a hotdog, in that moment I might see myself playing catch with my son amongst the flowers constructed carefully in the art of colored plastic and electricity. There magic happens. 

r u inspired yet? Just visit...

http://Jacksonpollock.org/

If I only knew I was a Maximizer 20 years ago!

Satisficers are those who make a decision or take action once their criteria are met. That doesn’t mean they’ll settle for mediocrity; their criteria can be very high; but as soon as they find the car, the hotel, or the pasta sauce that has the qualities they want, they’re satisfied.

Maximizers want to make the optimal decision. So even if they see a bicycle or a photographer that would seem to meet their requirements, they can’t make a decision until after they’ve examined every option, so they know they’re making the best possible choice.

In a fascinating book, The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz argues that satisficers tend to be happier than maximizers. Maximizers must spend a lot more time and energy to reach a decision, and they’re often anxious about whether they are, in fact, making the best choice.

http://www.happiness-project.com/happiness_project/2006/06/are_you_a_satis.html

Inspiration: Quilt Art by Fran Skiles

For years I have secretly loved sewing. I have felt guilty on occasion having spent hours sewing when I could be making "art" and validating my years and years of education. I have recently  rediscovered this quilt art that I love and am freshly inspired by it's amalgamation of the two forms. Quilt on. 

Grasping the "concept"

As I crawl from the mom bubble, six years in the making, to update and hone my graphic skills I start to appreciate the newest of social mediums. Such a rebirth is to be taken slowly. Out of respect for my learning curve (and my budget) I have avoided the smart phone. I am aware of its use as an invaluable tool but fear the infection of zombie crackberritus with thousands of new cases cropping up around the globe. As I venture into the newest of mediums I begin to believe I have done a disservice to my blog by using it as my personal diary. So henceforth (Can you tell I have been watching too much ‘Tudors’) I proclaim this blog to be a “personal angst free” zone. I hope to nurture it into some form of inspirational pin board which may in turn provide some value to you. I hope. And with this message I send out luck, health and happiness to everyone.  

“You are never happy.”

Antiques mean something to me.

As I review my strongest moments I am jarred by the visceral reactions I have had once being surronded by antiques. It is like remembering a former life. I must investigate this draw further to see how I might use it in the future to create more strong moments. 

The Law of Relativity states that nothing is what it is until you relate it to something. Point of view is determined by what the observer is relating to. The nature, value, or quality of something can only be measured in relation to another object. How to apply it: Practice relating your situation to something worse than yours, and you will feel good about where you are.

I have dreamed for some time of simplifying. This awesome design would make a wonderful cottage.

www.microcompacthome.com

Self-pity is so yesterday.

I have exhausted myself. I guess I began mourning the perfect summer too soon since we have had two of the nicest days of the year yet! A friend reminded me “it is not over til its over”.  I suppose my children’s unpredictable behavior mirrored my depressed grievance. Their expression of overstimulation was almost a result of too much happiness. This summer has truthfully come and gone with little hardship and with much humor. Even the bad times were the best. In hindsight I am not sure we were ourselves, or maybe we got back to being ourselves.

My life like the water down the road is steady, calm and not entirely predictable but refreshingly reliable. I love the Fall anyway. Even the disruption of my son’s precious friendships via class redistribution is not pushing me to anxiety. He doesn’t seem to even notice. It’s not to say that I will not wake tomorrow in full Ally Mcbeal mode but I am gaining a consciousness for my pattern of behavior. I am actually starting to even accept it. I spent a good part of my early life trying to be everything I thought you wanted me to be. Then I realized you honestly didn’t care or matter. I don’t want to apologize for myself anymore. I am kinda cozy in this skin and I will do better or worse or whatever in due time as I see fit and I hope I will not live with regret. I guess that is what coming up on forty looks like.

I just caught a thought flying through me that said “you are so lucky to know all the people you know” and I agree. I have moved a lot but I have met so many wonderful people that made such great contributions to my life even in the smallest of ways. I cannot imagine touching the life of anyone in the ways that you have touched mine. I am so fortunate. I am numb with contentment. But I still hate fake rainbows and cartoon unicorns. 

A pee and a punch.

If I am being honest, I have to pee. I think I have had to pee for the past 2 hours. I am too angry to remember. I am not sure, but I am sure of one thing. As the summer slows to an end, the school year begins and my husband returns to his work schedule, I am not ready for this. My children seem to have morphed into spoiled rotten undisciplined brats. I am waiting for someone to tell me that this is normal for a summer break but I remember this beginning before the summer. Come to think of it I believe it has been over a year now. Could I be one of those parents with those children and I have just been blind. Is it too late to raise a well-rounded person at this point?

I am not daft. I am well aware that much of this anxiety stems from not having a break from the children in over a year. It may be that they are fine and I am just at a loss for patience. But I am pretty sure that they are not doing what I think they should be doing most of the time. I would have been disciplined for sure a hundred times over in the last hour for less than what I have just witnessed.  Where is the disconnect? What am I doing wrong?

Grandparents often mumble random anecdotes like “I just gave you colors and paper” or “I would have just smacked you on the butt”.  It’s a different world now. Kids don’t play in the streets anymore. You cannot trust your neighbor. The kids are over stimulated. And we certainly overcompensate them for our “colors and paper”. Something I am doing is failing. We struggle to get by only to continue to struggle to get by. I instinctively look to myself to blame for whatever choices brought me to this crossroads.

Seriously, my kid walked into my room today and punched me on the shoulder. Hard. WTF? I feel removed from myself as I look through the uselessness of my day. I am ready for a change. I can envision it for days but I cannot for the life of me see the road that gets me there. Then to ensure my complete hopelessness I assume that my plan is just that. Mine. And in the greater scope of things it is not relevant because it does not necessarily belong to anyone near to me. I mean if they are not on board, then there is no ship to sail.

So I watch more mindless TV. I hate this part of my life. I know it has been a busy, wonderful summer. But why does a vacation have to be a vacation. Why can’t life feel so free and open and endless? Everyday. Surely it can, it must for someone. It’s hard to complain when my life overflows with so many blessings but I am beginning to see that contentment doesn’t sell either. It is the angst that makes the soap opera so interesting. All I know is that when you give your everything to your children and they punch you. It hurts. Obviously I have given them too much of myself. Even if they punch you in good humor, today it hurts. And in my utter shock and disgust I love them more. But as I love I wonder did I fail them today. Did I fail myself? 

Why is being present so hard?

So occupied by debris I am polluted. Pure life drowned and diluted. I relive my moments, at least the conscious ones, over and over. I study them plotting similarities in the diagram. That is who I am. That person, in that moment there is a connectedness to another existence. The most tangible moments are thick with smells and sounds. They are the ones I am most bound to but they are so obliviously not memories from this l life. And yet they are the most real. Surreal.

This sounds crazy even to me. I am aware that even you can not see. There is something so haunting within the rouge sunset. It taunts me with the knowledge that another day has reset. So I learn the new lesson and count every blessing and work through the map of my own creation. Looking for the key to shut down my mind, if you don't  mind...but again I fall behind.

Does everyone think like this?

Most of the time it feels contrived and pessimistic. My life, that is and therefore my words. I don’t feel lost truly; lately I don’t feel much at all. It’s not a bad thing. There brews a disconcerted soul beneath my socially enforced facade. So easy to read are the strangers on the street, their depths a mystery to them are so clear to me. Yet here I stand puzzled at how my own pieces fall together. Knowing with such certainty that they are part of a greater picture I may never know. Breeding so much uneasiness. I read a valuable sentence that implies our strengths are not those things at which you are good at, but in fact they are the moments of pure happiness you experience throughout your life. So even if you are great at that 9-5 job and everyone tells you so, if it sickens you to do it day in and day out it is in effect weakening you. Which means the most effortless and minuscule instant of shear joy is your strength. But how do I pay the bills with that?

           

I mean its great. It clears up a lot for me. But then I search my mind for those heart filled moments and they are random and hard to interpret. I wonder how much damage those who tried so desperately to guide me have done. In turn how much am I doing to my children? So full is my life. With love and luck and happiness. And so quietly nagging is this internal voice. You need your voice and that is what I hope to leave my children with. You need to hear it. I have a degree in avoidance I think.

If all I know is I got this life. Yet it slowly sweeps by with a silence that is deafening. Then what I know is I let myself down. In the grand scheme it all seems superfluous. Gosh that word is pretentious. I hate that word. I am adding it to the rainbows and unicorns list. Stupid is a better word. Death scares me. Does it you? I guess regret scares me most and death kinda solidifies the moment at which may look back in regret.

Does everyone think like this? I feel like a pathetic self-absorbed artist. Minus the self-esteem to even call myself an artist.  Who would read this shit? I mean I am depressing myself. I don’t mean to be depressing. I guess I just need to be, somewhere. It’s out there. And I breathe. In my comfy chair with my healthy kids sleeping with full bellies as my wonderfully supportive husband works so I may live by the beach in Canada. I apologize. To come full circle in shame, I ask the universe to conspire towards those who really need it tonight. Those who really need it right now.

We're not in Canada anymore...

A family heads across the border in search of grocery deals and visual adventure, they are unaware of what they are about to encounter…

Being bona fide veterans at the border cross and having found gas as low as 93 cents a Litre…it is time to get down to brass tacks. First stop U.S. Wal-Mart. Rolling into the parking lot we assume our navigation will be seamless. However it is immediately evident that this is no mere doppelganger of that place everyone goes to and no one admits frequenting.

Sporty, we’re not in Canada anymore.

As we routinely pluck the children from their car seats we are jarred by the burly screams of obscenities the likes of which I have only witnessed in the movies. It seems as though one large boisterous gentlemen is not too keen on waiting for an equally large rather intimidating looking gentlemen to back away from the parking spot. The two share an animated one fingered wave, their monstrous arms swinging cartoon-like from their vehicles. At first I feel like I am watching Wall-e trumped quickly by the encroaching theme of twilight zone. As we enter the building, a term I choose carefully as this is clearly not a store, I resist the urge to grab the kids and run. We are reassured that the store is under renovations but it still feels like we may be punked at any moment.

As we quickly find some deals we think may be worth risking our lives for we patiently wait in line to pay. The boy behind me continually shoots a fake gun an inch from my head for what fells like an hour. Isn’t this a scene out of 28 days or Natural Born Killers or something. Am I making this up? Everything seems a bit off here. The people are different. It’s ummm like the Matrix and I am the only one who knows that this reality isn’t real. We leave with a more tarnished view of our neighbors and some damn good deals. But I can’t say I will return to the make shift Walmart …if it was ever really there. Du na du na du na du na…Fade to black. 

Drawing attention inconspicuously.

Pulling up to the border crossing I begin to fell anxious. Not really a surprise as in most situations I tend to exhibit a very Type A personality. I take this time to explain to the children that we are about to go through a very important crossway and that I will be turning off their movie so daddy can speak with the officer. I go on to explain that I will not tolerate any misbehavior from this point on.

It’s hot out. Last year the van decided it would let us know when and if it wanted to provide us we heat and now it would seem to be the same for air conditioning. The line up is not long and I am silently excited for my first official drive across the border but first I am anxious. We roll the windows down to get that ocean breeze going through the vehicle. The kids are quietly observing the scene as I have made it into a bigger deal than it is and they seem to note my fears. I have nothing to hide mind you, I just tend to act weird when I need to be cool.

All at once my husband turns to me and says “what is that” and he brushes the side of his leg two times. Half way through the second swipe it becomes terrifyingly obvious that “it” is a wasp. A short version of the back storey here is that my husband hates all stinging bugs and on most occasions would throw his grandmother in front of a bus to avoid one. I am not exaggerating. He literally jumped out of a moving truck to leave me buckled in the passenger seat with a bee. Instantaneous chaos in sues and milliseconds become minutes. Freeing the beast from his leg does not provide any relief and with a high pitch man squeal he continues to pummel the beast with his sneaker into the rubber floor mat.

Halfway through his triad when I am assured that he is out of harms way I look up in horror to see the Suburban ahead of us backing up! Milliseconds later I realize my husbands weapon of choice is his pedal foot and we are actually rolling forward. I say “stop”…”stop”…then yell ”stop, stop, stop” and I have a remarkable amount of time to assess that he is not grasping the immediate danger and I Scream “Break, hit the BREAK”. AND he does, just 2 centimeters before running into our second unsuspecting victim. When all is done we laugh, looking to our side I notice the man in the red truck laughing too. We carefully see if we have peaked the curiosity of any of the guards with our event. And everything is back to normal.

My son begins to cry in the back seat. Saying “ your yelling hurt my heart”. And “ be quiet or daddy will be arrested.” He is seriously confused and upset and the more I laugh the angrier he gets with me.  It is our turn. I shut off the videos and we serve our passports with shit eating grins. Having just commited a murder (albeit of a bug) we look guilty as sin. My son who is totally traumatized continues to weep as my three year old mimicks his gasps. Just another day in the life. Who knew when they said "join the circus" that they just mean have kids. 

Define working mom?

Apparently "working mom" translates as "woman who no longer has the right to wash her hair" and comes from the Latin phrase "guilt ridden absentee mother.” Actually ALL MOMS WORK. Technically when you "work" on top of parenting it's more like having a second job but the first job does not have a flexible schedule and your bosses walk in every second for a water refill or an intervention. There may be less guilt if I was actually making some money but in true martyr form I have found another way to do someone else a favor at my own expense. But the buck stops here…or shall I say starts here. No more deals. After September first I am charging what I am worth and there is a good chance you can not afford me. I have stuff to do, like sleep and not wash my hair…but blog, hold tight I will be back to share more cross border adventures.  And by cross border I mean driving across the border to get cheaper gas. 

Sign for the Gypsy.

Squeezing in a quick trip to the mountains we began to feel comfortable with our position. At least enough to plan for the future..to dream. How long will we stay here? What's our next move? When will make it?We are beginning to feel as though we have our footing and again we are talking about our heading. The stress has dissipated and I think finally we are stable enough to enjoy this for a while. There is no better situation right now and although I dread another grey winter I want to enjoy it this year. And as we discuss our options I quietly wonder, "where will we end up." And as I wonder I snap pictures of our venture. When we arrive home I closely inspect of my photos and stumble on this. I get it. . . I saw the "sign" universe. You opened up my eyes and I saw the sign. Very funny but thank you for confirming my desires. 

Design Technology growth can be measured like dog years

I am working on learning about the new CSS stuff. Just getting an expanding image in the background of my blog is a challange at this point. Catching up 5 years of no web is like missing 35 years in the design world.

My passport leads to heaven.

So I finally got organized enough to pursue passports for the entire clan. They arrived at the start of our camping vacation and were quickly forgotten amongst the smored and smoky nights. Upon our return we noticed them moving around the house for days between the laundry and mayhem. Today on a whim we decided to dip across the border and see if there was anything on the other side.

Now we had been told about the gas prices so we knew immediately there would be some benefit to our venture. I was not overly taken aback with discounts in the mall but our server at “Red Robin” suggested we take the extra five minutes to discover Bellingham City Centre. And let’s just say the extra tip we left him was worth the advice. Bellingham is this amazing little city just a bunny hop from our doorstep. It has culture and character galore with trendy little shops, restored industrial buildings and amazing little homes with wicked views of my town!

It was the surprise of the summer and we were so excited to know we were only another 40 mins to Seattle.

I have to apologize to B.C. The move here was against our will and I blamed much of my situation on the province. In all actuality I am in debt to this place for giving us an opportunity when others were taking them away. I have been bitter because if I was going to uproot and disturb my life one last time I wanted to be heading in the opposite direction. But here I am 24 mons in and only just seeing all the benefits of life here. I am not going to sing all the praises of this place. We are not completely simpatico but in all fairness what two things are these days.

Despite all the sunshine I am swigging today I must admit I have relapsed a bit in the taking care of me department. I guess when I adopted the vacation state of mind I also vacated my eating and exercise regime. Not that you care but I figure if I write it and pretend to have a captive audience I will reverse psychology myself into being accountable. Anyway, going to eat some crap, feel bad about it and ‘rance’ my ass off tomorrow.

So I guess since I got my passport it’s been all about the vacation. From routine, monotony, diet and exercise. So it now symbolizes my fresh state of mind from here on and who knows where it could lead. Today it lead me to a secret little heaven. Tomorrow maybe in the other direction? Goodnight gremlins.

What does it mean?

So I am trying to decipher what this all means. Why do I come here to write and who cares? Why would you care? It’s a weird thing to think out your life in cyber space. I feel wildly uninhibited due mainly to my self-assurance that you are not there... the reader. Then I wonder what purpose this serves if it is not, as I assume, entertaining anyone. Is this strictly my personal therapy? If it is should I feel better after I write in it? I don’t know. And then it occurs to me that it may be too personal, at least for me to attach a business name to it. I find myself judging because I am not bringing anything of interest to you. There is pressure to teach you something or at least give you something to ponder or marvel upon. Surely projecting a positive attitude to help lift your mood is in order. But truth be told I am done doing things for you, or anyone else for that matter (no offence). This little tidbit of unburdened obligation is for me. I do it because I want to, like dancing as if no one is watching. With reckless abandon I reflect on nothing but the mood of this moment for me. I am sorry, I will not apologize, oh wait I just did...how totally Canadian.  

I'll call you back I am having a moment.

Somedays, most days…today. I can not find the rational piece of mind

to sit outside myself and appreciate this moment in life.

Like a trodden nest my impatience overflows

with a thousand frustrated rants.

It is like I have been given the gift to paint but no one told me that I could never have a fresh canvas again…I am never able to clean my brushes and I will have to create forever.

My bones are feeling their history

and today I am not intrigued by life.

I feel as though this work of art will reflect on me, endlessly,

Maybe I just need a cup of tea?

I asked for that profile but I get this in return.

I made my own bed but it was not mine I would learn.

Zen…Zennnnnnn, say it again.

Poisoned from the outside in.

Broken butterfly wings.

I hate unicorns…and any representation of a rainbow. You know?

If only I could lay in solitude. Would you mind leaving? Am I being rude?

------------------

Shifting my focus just long enough to let the anger subside, slowing it’s stride and subtracted not multiplied. Just before I cried.  

yes, there are time outs in camping.

Oh holy neglected post. You suffered in the shadows of our vacation.

We are back from the camping trenches where I took self neglect to a whole new level and the spawn sucked the life from not just us, but other kids and eventually... wild life. I think I even felt the trees breathe a sigh of relief with our circus like departure.

The weather promoted our tirade, being cool enough to relax and then tempting us onto the beach. The rest of nature joined the sand which worked with the icy cold water and wind to irritate us away. And although the beach clung to us with undefeated determination, we simply wore it like a second skin, getting use to the raw crevasses and grainy bites. 

Miracle beach they called this place. Upon arrival I thought wow, it’s a miracle we were able to get in here…when I left I though it was a miracle we survived. Let’s be clear, the holiday was wonderful! Laden with cathartic nuances thick enough to swallow every annoyance. Memories of a lifetime come and gone too fast. No picture I took can explain the hilarity of Bugg racing down the hill on her bike dangerously throwing back her head in a pure fit of laughter. No video can capture the quick camp friendship that solidified my son’s sense of belonging.

But I do deserve an f’in metal. Can I say f’in here? I easily walked to and from the bathroom sixty times. I embraced a moth and removed it gracefully to expel my daughters fear. I white knuckled a hand made go cart around a speed way with my 3 year old precariously unfastened against my loins. I ate approximately 4.5 lbs of smores, apparently. I am just sayin. 

Kite

Somedays I wonder how I will get through this moment...this one small moment in my life. I breathe and look to the universe to guide me. Somedays I am so tired...in spirit. My hope never dies but it wanes.

Kite -

Unfortunate first flight, having not gotten that far

Stuck in the talons of a beautiful but stagnate tree

Twisting helplessly in the wind … strong wooden skeleton

Delicate paper skin

Peacock-like tail sending its sad signal

Wondering why no one came to help

Sure its’ mission will be realized

By some passerby

Eventually accepting its’ invisibility and shedding its’ faded shell and flying pride

A skeleton unrecognized, unrecognizable

Chameleon to its’ captor

Still feeling the breeze

and the hope. 

Rance 101

To "Rance" is Run/Dance on the Treadmill or outside (if you are comfortable with public humiliation). You need Music, Rhythm and Heart. Move rhythmically while you run. It’s fun to watch people wait for the rest of the flash mob.

There is no problem.

What random thoughts haunt the back corners of my mind today? Nothing remotely humorous or even self-deprecating. Nope…I checked my Ally Mcbeal appeal at the door. Too busy to be selfish and so in the moment that I do not care about past, present, presentation…interpretation or even provocation. All I can think about is the weight and warmth of my three year old in my arms, buttercream icing and how comfortable this shirt is. I could work up some past ramblings or reach two elbows deep into the peaceless ocean of my homemade pains. Peaceless is not even a word. But I don’t care. And for a moment I suggest you don’t. Just sit in this space, breath..be grateful for everything even if it just means that breath you took. As my favorite bumper sticker once said to me in darker times “there is no problem”.

As promised with much self criticism...This looked better at 2am.

But I am happy with it and so was she ;)

My baby's bday cake. In the rough...some more assembly required.

one, two, three...

Six years of hard and fast artistic post secondary education has not prepared me for this. A genetic mathematically inclined mind doesn’t help. It comes down to planning, research and learning from the failures of other great artist before me. From whence was born my daughters third birthday cake. It’s not necessarily that exciting…I know. But it is an opportunity to work creatively, which I rarely make time for and it’s baking which I find therapeutic. There will be lots of pink and tons of self-criticism but for one moment if not a day I will be her hero. In her eyes it will be magic….and you can not buy that kind of experience. So buckle up and roll out the butter…My baby is 3. 

Dream.

I dreamed it last year in a nightmare.

Dead asleep and fully aware.

Founding, Fawning, Awake with fear.

Not here…but not sure where.

Wrote it, booked it, bound it

Somehow lost and found it.

So grossly tired of monotony,

Not who you or I expected me to be.

I touched a ghost and she was so afraid

She shifted from where once she laid.

She offered no condolence or genuine protection.

Then forced me to look at my own reflection. 

Dear Lawyers

What are my rights as a parent? 

As a Canadian I am told I have the  

1) freedom of peaceful assembly. Well this household has not assembled peacefully since its addition of tyrant one. 

2) the right to vote in an election of members of the House…if I have true vote in this family would we really be eating at Chuck e Cheese? 

3) Everyone has the right not to be arbitrarily detained or imprisoned…okay do I have to explain the irony of this right as it relates to the duties of a Stay at home mom…I have to STAY AT HOME.

4) Everyone has the right not to be subjected to any cruel and unusual treatment or punishment….Look up the definition of parent to find “person who willing conceives cruel and unusual treatment or punishment." 

So what are my rights as a parent? I am not sure…I know they do not comply with my basic rights as a Canadian citizen but thankfully the benefits are similar.

Fake campfire?

How did I get here? I ask myself as I scour the store for its last propane campfire in a can. I am not sure camping is my thing anymore but it is a fairly common rite of passage. One that I cursed my parents for not conforming to, robbing me of that very vital part of Canadiana childhood. It is also just about all I can think of doing (with my kids) that would not drive me completely insane with stupidity…then again maybe it will. I know for sure it will if I have to go another year without a campfire. Along with campsite reservations, fire bans seem to be the local way of doing things around here. Just to make me feel more alien to these foreigners. Don’t get me wrong before kids all I needed was my man and patchwork tent and a couple of matches. Now, like all things parent related, “FUN” as I once defined it seems to be sucked from the lifeblood of every well laid plan and absorbed by the ignorant selfish bliss of the mini kin folk. A fake fire?? Maybe the world is coming to an end after all, incase the floods, tornados and earthquakes did not indicate that we are camping on the precipice. 

To "Rance" or not to "Rance"

rance  (rɑːns) as it is defined traditionally is a type of red marble, often with white or blue graining, that comes from Belgium. Also apparently from French ranche = rod, pole. All of this is irrelevant to my RANCE. A nickname I have come up with to define my new sport of choice; Run + Dance. I have always been a dancer..not like a naturally good dancer but someone who is comfortable moving to music when the mood shall strike. I have also been a runner..not a dedicated drop everything to run runner. Anyway. With the children and age and a thyroid problem under my belt I have turned to running as it is the easiest thing for me to slide into my schedule. My running motivation comes from my archaic ipod shuffle given to me by my parents that proudly rotates all 90 songs religiously. The thing is I need the music to run and the music moves me. Now I don't recommend trying this at home but doing a body roll running full speed down hill is an art and I am quite certain it does not look as sexy as I feel. But lost in a rance no one can see me. Now I am sure there are streaming you tube videos of me out there but I don't care. *Warning, when attempting your first rance never remove your earphones or let the song change take too long for the break of silence will make you fully aware of your precarious situation.  
Now in hindsight I imagine somedays I do look like a red marble with grainy bits that comes from another country. Thankfully there have been no poles around to support the French definition. Everybody "rance" now.