today, Uncategorized

I know it’s been a while​

I haven’t posted in much longer than I intended. I had a post all set to schedule but … I just didn’t feel then. I still don’t. It’s sitting ready for another time to share. The next thing I knew I had taken on more than I could chew. My writing fell behind. Actually behind is not even close. I haven’t written anything since finishing up my storyboard. Even my reading began slowed to a halting stop.

bsh_vivid

 

I was reading ‘The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F&*k” but after 2/3 it became rather rote. I read chapter 18 of “Girl Wash Your Face” and put that book right away to the going going gone pile. I was read a trashy novel while flying to see Bob Seger perform. That was an amazing night. That trip also got me started again with feeling something. The book “I’ll Be Gone In the Dark” was given to me and sparked my inner oh. It’s as though the light has turned back on. Even if winter blues are still here my avid love of words is returning. The infatuation with books, the urge to push myself to write my story is returning. I am laughing as I read a novel by Margaret Lashley – if only I could have her gift for description. Glad One was absolutely wonderful and Two Crazy isn’t disappointing.

dav

 

I did learn about a new computer program, that hurt my brain. I switched from iPhone to Android yet kept my mac – that was a fun transition I am nowhere near done learning.  I took a couple classes – I finish that today. I hope to take another this summer if I can. I tried out something new that could have helped someone. I was overdrawn. I had nothing to give. I was tired and wanted to have an extra glass of wine not write. So instead I began to work out daily thanks to an insta friend I made who kept encouraging me to try it out. My faithful friend Dudley happily keeps me company with frequent offers of kisses as I sweat and grunt my way through.

cof_vivid

 

I have terribly exciting plans for this month. We will be exploring England, France, and Spain for a quick jam-packed trip. I must admit I probably won’t be posting while exploring Europe so it will be awhile but I will be sure to share many photos of the wonderful Adventure I am about to embark on when I can.

fb_img_1551065544215

Advertisements
childhood, Uncategorized

Hanging on to stuff

I remember dad got me these really cool sunglasses after I burnt my eyes. They were completely red matching my red high top sneakers that I wore till they were in shreds. The frames had red leather blinders so no light could get in from the sides. My eyes were safe and wouldn’t burn again. I didn’t know a person could burn their eyes. Yet I burnt mine on a hiking excursion. The glare off of the white snow crust, the bright reflection off of the glaciers. That glare is evil. I suffered from a painful blinding ache for days. Trust me, that isn’t something you ever want to experience.

Shield-Vintageamerican-optical-vintage-goggles-sunglasses-525x227

 

pexels-photo-714258

Later I lost them. Put them somewhere safe or left them somewhere and they were gone. I felt horrible. Sick to my stomach horrible that I lost them. I knew they were expensive, important. Dad’s old school reaction didn’t help my gut ache. That I should be more responsible, careful with my things. That they were expensive. Didn’t he think I knew that? Every time that my parents were in the bathroom together with the tap on I knew they were fighting. Fighting about money. I hadn’t meant to lose them. I loved them. They were red. They matched my shoes. They were gone.

adult alone anxious black and white
Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com

 

We keep things in case we need them, as mementos, for that one time we might need it. As a tangible piece after losing someone. Keepsakes, memories, things. I’m like that with photos. Thousands of photo’s to jog my memory of the wonderful adventures I’ve had.

Our stuff our collections of mementos don’t mean anything to others. We cart it around and display it. When we are gone it goes too. It’s just stuff. Even our photo’s don’t mean as much to others.

collection of gray scale photos
Photo by Fancycrave.com on Pexels.com

Hanging on to things. Hanging on to the past. Feeling guilty when losing things. Becoming a hoarder when you feel you have no control over your life or income. When life becomes so scary so hard that all there is, is stuff. The connection between emotional tumult and things becomes blurred. It doesn’t have to be that way but for many it is.

76535389-wardrobe-is-bursting-from-stuff-woman-trying-to-hold-the-doors-closed-eps-8-vector-illustration

 

On a side note. I keep feeling shocked over how much stuff, junk actually is created. Every dollar store, Wal-Mart, knock-off brand, a cheap version that ends up in the landfill. Let’s face it, two minutes after using cheap replicas they break assuming they worked in the first place! The constant redecorating, redoing, replacing of things that aren’t even broken is such a common occurrence nowadays. That gives me a tummy ache for entirely different reasons than the one I had over losing my sunglasses.

memories, Uncategorized

What do you put in your stocking?

It’s that time of year again. Shopping, baking, planning, rushing, visiting, creating. Something different to each of us. I am finally becoming at peace with this time of year. Depression doesn’t rear it’s ugly head as badly. In fact, I might even be looking forward to it a little. Since becoming a mother I was the first one up. Waking the kids in my excitement to see them open their gifts. To spend the day making a delicious meal. To visit with my siblings.

architecture chair christmas christmas tree
Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

When I was little we had different ways to celebrate over the years. We camped in a teepee in the forest. We used a long spider plant for a tree. We had a real tree decorated with strings of popcorn and yarn. We again camped in a teepee in the forest. ( see photos from the last Christmas campout )We even spent it in a hotel while we shopped for our years’ supply of clothing from a Thrift store. Knives, Pear soap, and wool socks were sure gifts we knew were coming. Nothing extravagant. No cookies for Santa as he was make-believe since I was born.

One year we had stockings. Dad had a stocking bigger than I was. Since he joked about everyone getting coal it was decided he deserved coal for being greedy with a stocking big enough for a  person. A dozen boxes were wrapped and placed inside one another until the last little box which contained a nice lump of coal. That was a fun Christmas morning.

carbon-black-charcoal-grill-briquettes-48884.jpeg
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

After fourteen I don’t really recall Christmas. Not that I recall previous ones. I think I went home to mother for a couple, another with a family who took me in, a few I was alone. The ever-present underlying depression and discomfort of the season as I didn’t really belong to anyone. I hope I have managed to hide that from my children giving them a warm sense of family, of love. Time spent together. Time to think of, to help others if we can.

I don’t recall stockings. I think an orange, a giant stick of a candy cane, was stuffed in a sock. I can’t really be sure. Even that is a glimmer of a thought, not a memory. I have no one to ask if it’s true. If we even had stockings.

close up of christmas decoration
Photo by Brigitte Tohm on Pexels.com

 

So now I prepare for the season. The house all colorful and bright. A welcoming holiday feeling inside and out. The tree, tall and erect minus the usual side lilt is topped with an angel. Santa hits the roof so he has been demoted to a table ornament. To tell the truth when I bought the Santa’s and Angel all I had no idea they were to be on top of a tree. I didn’t know that hollow dunce cap shaped ornaments meant tree toppers.  I have a few to choose from thanks to that information being unknown. Just like how I didn’t know the plastic is to come off the lampshade once you bring it home! There are decorations on each available space. The jolly singing and dancing stuffies that made my children laugh. Now my grandson laughs and pushes their buttons. The cupboards and freezer stuffed with food.

 

IMG_1944
My little elf setting up the tree

 

I think I may finally have figured the stocking stuffing out. It has haunted me for many a season. Specialty soap, deodorant, girlie face stuff or hair things, magazine or book, chocolate and or candy. Then I heard a brilliant way to stuff them. With nuts that need cracking, oranges, chocolates, and a penny novel. You are set to nibble and snack with a book while waiting for dinner or bedtime. Maybe next year the stockings will be full of nuts!

holidays nuts decoration christmas
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

What do you put in your stockings? Does your family have a favorite tradition?

 

 

my family, Uncategorized

When they were little

Thankfully when my children were barely ending their toddler stage and starting elementary I got a divorce. It was the best thing to happen to me, to us and I am grateful every day that he threw us away.  An odd sentence I know.

 

As I struggled to build a life for the kids and I life became busy. Work, daycare, school, soccer, gymnastics, work some more,  night school. The list was never-ending. I thrived from the hectic schedule. I persevered and pushed through it fighting to build a life where I was independent and able to provide for our basic needs on my own. During that time I faced many choices. One choice I had to make was working multiple jobs and jobs that might pay more but would keep me away from the kids most hours of the evening and weekends.  Or I could work for much less but be able to get the kids from school, take them to soccer and cheer them on, tuck them in at night. I had spent a couple years clawing and scratching my way to get to that choice. Working up to 5 jobs day and night while attending night school. I had cleared us from the mess that the ending of my marriage left. Now I could almost breathe.

So what to do? One day I asked the kids as we drove to school. What do you want? Mommy home with you but we have less stuff, fewer toys and shopping, can’t go on big trips but I’ll be able to be home more. My son’s answer still melts my heart. It wasn’t a short answer. His answer lasted almost until we pulled into the school parking lot. He wanted me home. Who would give him kisses when he needed them. Who would make cookies with them, help them read their books, answer their questions, show them how to do their homework, play in the park with them, kiss they’re boo-boos, teach him to tie his shoes, the list went on and on the entire drive. His adorable chubby body I loved to squish and hug settled in the back seat. His blue eyes so clear and trusting. He just wanted me there. My daughter ever the serious and silent one just nodded and agreed with all that he said.

So it was decided.  I took the low paying going nowhere job that let me drive them to school and pick them up. We camped, hiked, flew kites, played games, rolled in the leaves, played in the rain, tried fishing, went canoeing, went sledding in the dark, built fires, set off fireworks, saved unwanted dogs and found them homes, went exploring thrift shopping, made crafts, cooked together, slept in the back of the car when I forgot the tent poles camping, we did it all together. Priceless memories that hopefully gave them the courage to be themselves. The confidence to stand on their own. The unquestionable knowledge that they are amazing and can do anything they choose to. That was and is my main goal as their mother.

 

I will probably always look back and wish I had done more. I think that about the teens I raised when I was too young to know what they needed. I now wish I had done more with them. They are happy and have good lives not wishing I had done more. So I must learn to be as well. Hopefully, when my children are grown they feel the same way. I think it is the way of growing older. Looking back with the earned knowledge only time gives. Seeing what more could have been done. I am ever so grateful to have had the ability to make the memories I have. I sure miss those little snuggly children I had. I adore them no matter the age, size, or stage: but I sure miss the snuggles from when they needed me so.

childhood, Uncategorized

Granola my nemesis

Growing up I hated granola. Mueseli wasn’t much better but if you ate it fast enough it was bearable. I haven’t liked breakfast foods for years now.

I couldn’t make granola to save my life as a child. It wasn’t that I couldn’t follow the recipe. I just always burnt it. Every time. Even when it was done and cooled in the oven I still burnt it. It’s a talent I tell you!

70449286-young-unhappy-woman-opening-door-of-oven-with-full-of-smoke

Now I finally have started eating granola again. With the help of chocolate and cashews. Chocolate makes everything better! It even has enabled me to stomach yogurt. Another food that used to make me want to barf. The smell just makes my throat seal shut.

500_F_12997048_TpSWVv4S60BFGOHMcknWAQGtDxfjTydm

We didn’t eat yogurt growing up… the whole vegan thing… My sister got to have it as a very young child because she needed the probiotics to help her fight off staff infection. I didn’t have to eat the yogurt. I did, however, have to lie with my bum bare to the suns rays to heal the infection. It was mortifying and I hoped no one was going to come to the door while I was like that. The yogurt smelled like new pampers to me. Both the yogurt and pampers were new to our household and both held a very foreign smell. Neither of which I liked.

pexels-photo-1334129

Yet now here I am with frozen fruit mixed into my yogurt and granola. Funny how we change over the years in so many ways.

childhood, Uncategorized

Idle hands idle minds

Growing up our time was scheduled. All of it. What we ate, what time we ate, how long we had to eat. The same with reading, praying, sleeping, study. It was all scheduled right down when and for how long.

240_F_76237685_XWkiaAUcExIq4l3BEk1NMpebnu0Ld6n0240_F_68841083_8fCrTdWWC5HlYbNGT5lbVkXa5b5vQTSP

Ever read how to do mind control? How to make someone malleable to your ideals. It has some similarities. Once I was in the world, in a real school with access to a real library I read a lot. About cults, Satanism, mind control, sociology, psychology, and of course romance. I loved the worlds I visited in books. I still do.

240_F_201851104_j7GuX57FowJ7Cfjrf9VBEaFSZKpRDnUm

Back to the scheduled time and being busy. Once I was on my own and starting to get the hang of functioning as a responsible (adult) in the world. I began making money, paying rent, trying to cook for myself and learn how to be around people. I found out that they (the ones I knew) spent a lot of time sitting, watching TV. I didn’t understand it. I had difficulty following the humor as most show’s make references to things in life everyone knows as common knowledge. Unless you grow up locked away with no radio, newspapers, television, news or outside contact. A few years ago I was listening to a comic and got so excited because I GOT his jokes. I had been in the world long enough to understand the references. Seems like a small thing but it isn’t.

pexels-photo-1149022

I tried so hard to learn to sit and do nothing. To sit and watch television, to lay at the beach, to sit around talking. It was difficult and I’m still not very good at sitting still for long. I did have a few years where I was actually good at it. Although in hindsight that may have been due to stress and depression. That’s a story for a different time.

canva-characters,-symbol,-hiking,-walking,-note,-nature-MACV9BH4oIo

Back to scheduled time … I always felt guilty if I wasn’t doing something. I still do – makes it very difficult to paint my nails! I fear missing out on life. FOMO they call it nowadays.  I don’t’ want to miss the warm weather, the cold weather, the snowflakes, the giant droplets of rain to dance in,  the sky, the clouds shapes. I just want to do and play in every moment until I need a rest. All those moments that should be spent doing not resting. I’m now starting to think that’s because I grew up with my time scheduled. Taught to be busy. That idle hands cause idle minds which then begets trouble.

pexels-photo-1296146

Uncategorized, vacation

On a lighter note

It seems my posts got a little serious lately so I thought I’d try and find something a little lighter for a change. How about a little peek of our awesome trip to Silverwood theme park this week complete with photos!

288270_10151898953865497_1228906367_o

My daughter turned SIXTEEN last year and after much thought, she chose a family trip as her birthday present. Love that she considers family trips that highly as she was offered a horse, pet pig, and other such wonderful pets. In case you don’t know my daughter she adores animals of all shapes and sizes.

 

Pictured above: pet George the huge snail eating a banana that she befriended during our visit to Kenya. Hugs with her cat that randomly moved in and adopted us one winter. My daughter with her friends and brother proudly showing off their huge collection of slugs during a trip to the Westcoast. Just a few examples of her love of living creatures.

As you can see I was surprised she turned down another pet. I was actually extremely relieved! Two pets are enough for me as both kids are now getting ready to learn to be on their own. I have a feeling when they go the pets are staying! If you follow my Instagram you have probably surmised the dog has me wrapped around his little paw!

It turns out I didn’t take photo’s at Silverwood this trip. Maybe because I took so many when we went 7 years ago. Or maybe because the kids wanted to do their own thing and seem to keep a frowny face whenever the camera swings there way. I do have one priceless photo…

IMG_9359

So obviously that isn’t us. I thought it would be helpful to see it’s a rather steep descent that makes everyone scream…

IMG_9360

Just to explain the reason behind the next photo…

 

 

IMG_9361

Yes, that is me… hair straight back, eyes tightly closed, shreaking for my life and it hurtles past me with a rocking clacking racket at top speed. I kept that expression for the ride called Aftershock – the floor folds away from you before the ride starts!! No I didn’t have to ride it however my son couldn’t be telling his friends he went to Silverwood and didn’t ride it. The plan to go in it scared us so bad we couldn’t eat our dinner.

IMG_9362

My son – the back right already knew what to expect as the poor bugger road that alone when he was 9 years old. He was white as a sheet after that ride. He thought he was going to fall out of it as his butt never even touched the seat once the ride started. A thin bar he says, no seat belt he says, I thought I was going to fall right out of it he says…. so this time he felt much safer… His friend didn’t seem to feel very safe… He didn’t leave the wave pool for two days after that ride! My daughter like me likes to close her eyes and pretend it will be fine. The  ‘this isn’t really happening to me’ mindset. Her friend obviously goes eyes wide open terrified of what will come next. She was probably wondering what kind of family does this to kids calling it fun!

The following evening I thought it best to take the terrified young man for some kiddie rides so he doesn’t leave Silverwood with the taste of terror in his mouth. It took some bribery for him to even consider leaving the water park as he was quite certain we never needed to go to the amusement park side again! We went the swing, the frog hop (my children are pictured below – the middle two from our first trip ). The teen girls were also there in line to ride this cute little frog.

474422_10151898989240497_1983859420_o

And of course lastly kids the Ferris wheel. Complete with animal seats and umbrellas built for all sizes but meant for the kids and faint of heart riders. After the animal Ferris wheel ride, he was a happy young man, he came running towards me with an excited smile saying how awesome it was…. Until he remembered my teen son was also with him at which point he pretended it wasn’t quite that big a deal!

 

177930_10151898906525497_1024376081_o

My adorable daughter on our first trip. I asked her if she wanted to change before we go into the park. My daughter: hands on hips looks down saying, ‘ what’s wrong with this outfit? I’m wearing all my favourite clothes!’ I let her wear it. I mean really who am I to judge what looks good on the outside when she feels confident and happy inside and out?!

 

childhood, Uncategorized

Writing my story

I used to love writing. I wrote a short story when I was maybe eleven years old. Now I find it hard to write. Maybe it’s harder now as it’s easier to remember the negative the hurtful than the nice memories. Or maybe after not writing for so long. Maybe it’s a lazy underused muscle. Maybe my avid love of reading has made my writer side lazy.

 

img_8908.jpg
I just noticed the fascination for the name Giggles started at a young age with me!

 

When I was young a few very hurtful and emotionally damaging things happened. We subsequently moved and I lost the fragile hold of budding friendships. Lost the comfort of what I finally felt was home. I had been betrayed by my family, my friend, abandoned by my mother. The realization that nothing is real. That love and family is just a word hits hard and maybe never fully heals.

I learned in that time that without a doubt the Biblical time of the end we were being taught was indeed very easily an option. The second coming of Christ, the second death for those not deemed worthy. The hunt and persecution of those in the wrong religion. Ours, of course, would be the wrong one. It was us that would be put to death after horrible torture once our family had turned on us. That was some of my childhood bible stories. Who needs stories of the monster under the bed when you have those.

33789252-monster-under-the-bed-vector-cartoon-illustration

Back to my point about why writing is hard. Why it leaves me with a sense of guilt. Yet another excuse to not put my pen to paper. Or in this case fingers to keys.

Since we were isolated there was little for options of lashing out, acting out. I knew nothing of the world except what was deemed appropriate to tell. The basis of truth behind the stories built upon the tellers’ opinion. An opinion from someone who chose to leave the world for a commune lifestyle. See how that is a questionable source?

I wrote as I knew no other outlet. I wrote my pain and anger. My story, my fears, my heartbreak. I had pen pals – remember those? I think my mail probably was blocked to them.  No matter where I wrote my story, where I hid it mother found it. She would be livid every time. How dare I write even in fiction about our pain. Our deep embarrassing secret that really wasn’t a secret as everyone knew it. How dare I put to paper what should never be admitted. I kept writing and she kept finding them. ‘Never write down what you don’t want people to know’ she would say. What she didn’t want to face up to is more like it. Eventually, I let it go and began a new quest… BOYS!

childhood, Uncategorized

The funny thing about remembering 

A memory that has stuck with me since I was probably 5 or 6 is of Princess Leia being beamed out of the vacuum asking to be saved. Her image would fade in and out. Her voice sounding far away. In my dreams, I couldn’t actually hear what she was saying but knew it was important. She needed help, to be saved. How did she get locked in a vacuum? I’d best be careful when I used our vacuum. That image of  Princess Leia stuck with me even in when I was awake. I could feel the heartache, the desperation that she was feeling.

maxresdefault

Many years later I learned that the vacuum was in fact R2D2. A nifty little robot that in my sheltered knowledge could only have been a vacuum.  I will always remember that image wavering in out. Trying to get the message through.

I recently read somewhere that lapses in memory can be a sign of a traumatizing event or abusive action in your life. I can easily come up with a list of painful events, as we all can. I could surmise for days what may or may not have been the cause of my very spotty memory. I wonder though. If we do not reminisce, revisit our funny stories over the dinner table with family or friends lead them to fade away. If you never talk about that time you fell into the creek, broke your finger, kissed that boy, or snuck into the orchard with the girls then how will that memory not fade away into the deep recesses with no reason to be brought forth. Going so far back that it totally disappears.

There are years of my life that have such few faded memories. People I don’t know, entire friendships have disappeared. Adventures and laughter swallowed by the abyss of my forgotten past. I don’t know how it happened or when it happened. If it wasn’t for people having found me as an adult I wouldn’t have even know anything was really amiss. I mean we all forget some things. But entire friendships, entire summers, years that have gone? It is a bit disconcerting. Enough to bear upon my mind wondering where they have gone. A different viewpoint could be that our memory is like a revolving tape. A loop per say that goes round and round. The information is written over if no longer current.

film-movie-motion-picture-390089

I realized I have been floating on my own from place to place since I was thirteen. So there were no family meals or trips. No annual get together where we spent time laughing, cooking, eating, pestering each other. Teasing each other over our mistakes and slip-ups that only the close the family know. If you don’t reminisce how do you remember? If you don’t have that pesky brother or sister who knows the embarrassing, the funny, the serious, to constantly remind you how will you never forget. I didn’t have any of those things so I could easily forget it all. Not even knowing that is what I was doing.