flowerpots and the news

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I don’t know what people expect you to be doing when you’re not punching the timecard in the 9-5 world.  When you’re in between contracts, or stepping slowly into new opportunities (as they say which is also known as job hunting and interviewing and that cycle).

Me?  Well, I’ve been doing some creative stuff with flower pots. And watching the news. Lots and lots of news.  Continue reading

my Mom’s dreams

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As we hit our teenage years, our Mom is around sometimes like an unwanted appendage weighing us down and sometimes like a crutch holding us up.  We’ve all been there; “ohhhhh Mom, really??” and the phone calls “Mom……..it’s me…”.

It’s a hard transition from being a needy child to being a teenager and then to a young parent ourselves doing it our own way.  And all along the way our Mom is there trying to fit into our ever changing outlook on what she should be for us.  This isn’t a bad thing; it’s a natural progression. Maybe it’s also a natural progression to soften the edges and embrace her with respect and a  deep connection as we age along with her, and to long for missed opportunities after it’s too late to take them.

I look at this picture of my Mom from very long ago and wonder what dreams she had. I never asked her. I never knew since we didn’t have much of a relationship beyond my childhood, and then not anywhere close to knowing what she dreamed of. I feel sad for that.

Ask your Mom what she dreams of.   Then love her for her dreams.

 

 

 

9 people, 6 days, a tribe and a mug

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9 people in a room for six days.  Like really, really in a room.  Not leaving. And days are 12-14 hours long. That’s what it means to work for our election as an officer facilitating advanced voting opportunities for the masses.

I don’t care who you are, it still takes a big inhale and twinge of expectation and anticipation mixed up with the tiny insecurities we all pack around when you commit to in this case, 6 days of intense group dynamics.  Continue reading

Peggy’s house

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I played at Peggy’s house most of the time, or any other neighbour’s house for that matter.  I’m trying hard to think of my friends playing at my house and I can’t remember that.  It was only my brother, sister and I at our house but we had the run of the Woodlawn neighbourhood that we rode our bikes through as if it was our world.  And it was.  We would meet up “in the field by Peanut Butter Hill” the dip that bucked us off our bikes regularly and we would ride through the scotch broom listening to the snap and pop of the seed pods spitting at us.  Continue reading

mother’s day redemption – a story

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The three make an unlikely group. The couple, two men who have lived together as lovers for over 20 years, and the child.

The trendy reservation – only restaurant and eclectic menu suit the couple well as they playfully debate which wine will accent the meal so carefully negotiated and ordered.  The child doesn’t know if she can eat at all. She’s quiet, softly petting the tablecloth, the silky lines in the linen, as she listens to their conversation. Not contributing to the festive occasion. She is, as they say, expecting. Pregnant. A bad girl. A shame, and tonight she will have her baby. Continue reading

perspective

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I remember a conversation with a friend when I said “I just don’t know where I fit” and the response was “well, right here. That’s where”.  This past few months since leaving the teams I was working with, it’s been a bit of a stress and pressure and an overwhelming feeling that I have to find a new “fit”.

Any time there’s a big change we struggle to find a place that doesn’t bind or pinch or slosh around like an overfilled wading pool. Maybe the fit is in our perspective of our here and now.  Maybe it’s ok to step back and change perspective.

A walk in the Ancient Forest near my house is healing and inspiring. Offering a note to be taken that today is a tiny piece of everything; that it’s ok to just breathe and be.