Great Expectations

It's been awhile since we've chatted about anything serious, so I'm making a point to put a bit of substance here. This isn't only for you, either. Writing my thoughts out helps order them, thus making them more concise and less confusing to myself. The fun stuff can be entertaining, but aren't most of us here to learn and grow? I certainly am. The last twenty years of my life has involved some serious growth, internally and externally. Yes, there have been missteps, mistakes, and miscalculations, but for the most part, I've been diligent about finding the light and embracing love.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not quite the ray of sunshine or shard of rainbow that I'd love to be. There are some days I am the epitome of grumpy and I get disappointed and sad and angry too. In fact, I probably experience at least one, if not all three, of those emotions every single day of my life. But I have goals. And I am working towards letting my baggage go, because the wheels on one of the bags are shot and the other one's a rucksack and carrying it around on my back all the time is starting to mess with my posture.

I once heard nothing really matters as long as you keep moving forward. So, that's what I'm doing. And I make a point of checking-in with myself and making sure I'm still on the right path. I am trying my best to carry the light within. And I am also trying to love freely, myself and all of you as well, without demanding too much of either of us.

Here is where expectations enter.

In my most humble of opinions, expectations are for the birds. Meaning, they are pointless and, if I'm being honest, counterproductive to the whole happiness thing. Expecting things from someone else seems to unfair, especially since expectations often come without vocalization. Expectations come with an unrealistic amount of expectation. Confusing, right? You betcha. It's so befuddling that we expect people to know what our expectations are. On top of not actually telling people what we want and need, we also overlook the fact that these people also have lives of their own, their own struggles, and their own wants and needs. And, sadly, their own expectations as well.

Are you fulfilling all of the expectations people have of you? An even better question is, are you fulfilling all the expectations you have of yourself? I am guessing the answer is no. At least, not all of them. So, if you can't live up to your own expectations, how can you expect it of others?

I am of the firm belief that people come into our lives for different reasons and will give us what we need if we allow them to. In the grand scheme of things, we are here to help each other out, to lend support, and provide one another mental, physical and emotional stimulation. Sure, there are yahoos and nimrods along the road who try to throw a wrench in the spanner of our journey to find happiness and enlightenment, but they are far and few between. And as we meet on the path of life, we have to understand that not every person is going to fulfill all our needs and wants. One person might pick us up when we fall down and another might deliver the tough love we need when we're being foolish.

Not every relationship is the same and we need to be aware what our friends and family members individually provide us. The key is not to expect of them something they are not capable of giving. It make take awhile to figure out what it is you get from the people in your lives, or what they are there to give you, but once you do puzzle it out, you probably will find the need for expectations diminishes, and eventually you are only holding one person accountable - yourself.

From my experiences, expectations are the leading cause of disappointments. Sure, it seems cynical, but we constantly set ourselves up to be let down because we demand unrealistic things from people we love. What a predicament.  Simply put, people change, relationships change, dynamics change and life is tiring. At any given time, you are not the only one going through a rough patch, or in need of help. I can safely say, someone you know could use a break and a little love right this very minute.

For the most part, we are all exhausted and struggling and broke and dealing with the chaos of living. So, let's take away the added pressure of expectations. After all, isn't it more heartwarming to have someone give a little love unexpectedly? Doesn't it feel more rewarding when it comes with out demands or expectation?

Welcome To The 70's

As some of you may know, I'm moving ... again. It's a source of contention. Not because I hate moving but ... no, wait. I hate moving. That's exactly why. Also because I thought my next move would be into my forever home. Sadly, not the case.

While I can focus on the negative, let me state the ten things I am happy about with this move.

1. Screens on the windows means no more mosquito bites in the middle of the night.
2. No more ants, hopefully. Our current dwelling has had an ant problem since we moved in. They are walking across the telephone line. In hoards. No sugar in the cupboards. Nothing sweet left open. Those things are resilient and determined. The new place doesn't seem to have an infestation. So, fingers crossed.
3. Goodbye oven. And by oven, I mean bedroom. The addition the landlords built on our current place is so tiny, with three windows and it gets sunshine all day long. It's beyond stifling up there in the summer. Truthfully, we haven't turned the heat on upstairs since we moved in over a year and a half ago, not even in the winter. All the windows are open right now, which means mosquitoes getting in, because there are no screens on the window. Maybe I should mention number one again. 
4. More room. While the place I am currently inhabiting is kind of adorable, it's also small and missing such things as a linen closet, a place to put our coats, and enough space to fit all my clothing. The new home has an abundance of space, including a spare room, where you will be staying if you ever come and visit. 
5. No more killer stairs. So, I guess the people who put the staircase in the old place didn't give a crap it was on such a severe angle that it was actually considered dangerous. Oliver, that amazing dog we all know and love couldn't go down it because he'd tumble down them. I honestly thought he was going to break his neck one day. Instead of risking his life, we decided to carry him up and down the lethal stairs. Oh, and he's not light. Despite his low-rider status, the little man is packing some serious pounds. 
6. Things you take for granted, a bedroom door. There's this cat who lives with us named Bruce. Yes, he's cute. Yes, he's lovely. Yes, he also like to pull your hair by the root when he wants you to wake up and feed him. For a year and a half, we've been living without a bedroom door, which means we haven't been able to kick him out and sleep peacefully past sunrise for the same amount of time. Also, he brought a bat home once and dropped it on our heads when we were in bed. That won't be happening again because we proudly have a bedroom door now. 
7. There's a dishwasher. While we won't use it all the time, it's a nice option to have it for when company comes over. Not that company ever comes over, but they might. Especially now that we have a spare room.
8. Beach access. The tiny community I am moving into is actually walking distance to the beach. I am talking ocean beach. Not lakey beach. Salt water from the sea beach! If that's not something to get excited about, I don't know what is. 
9. New places to go adventuring. Exploring is my middle name. Not really. But I love seeing and experiencing new adventures. I am over the moon about exploring a new area. Who knows what treasures I will find? 
10. The seventies decor. This place was born in the late seventies, I'm almost sure of it. The wall paper, the wood panelling, the terrible carpet in the closet. And you know what, it's amazing and awesome. To prove the amazingness, I've taken a few photos. Well, the Sidekick has. He sent them to me via his smartphone. 

Here are some pictures to prove it's authentically seventies. 

Check out that French peekaboo window. 

Look at the wallpaper! Classic. 

Wood panelling for every room.

An elusive picture of the Sidekick, and our gaudy mirror and red counter.

Wordy Wednesday

As it turns out, Wednesdays are now something I look forward to. What new and amazing word will I wow myself and others with? This one is a little wacky, and something I know a little too much about. In fact, there are those who might consider this one the focal point of my entire blog. 

The word: Flapdoodle

This slang term is used to describe verbal nonsense, something I know a little about. While the origin is uncertain, the enjoyment isn't. Next time someone is talking complete and utter foolishness, tell them you want nothing to do with their flapdoodle. 

Actually, that sounds a bit tawdry doesn't it? 

13 Things For Warm Feels

Sometimes all you want is the warm feels. To feel loved and comforted. At home and warm. Safe and sound. Tonight as I sit here wondering why I procrastinated writing this and wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed with the sounds of my dogs snoring, I am thinking about those little things that make us feel good. They are small, seemingly insignificant things that happen to pack a powerful punch.

Here are my top 13 things for the warm feels:

Drinking a glass of water when you're really thirsty.

• There's something oddly refreshing about feeling the cool liquid rush down your throat and into your belly. Not much can top the reassurance that glass of water brings with it. Alas, you won't dry of dehydration like you feared you would. 

The first swim of the summer.

• Dipping your toes into the ocean or a lake after keeping your legs hidden for the previous six months is awfully invigorating. On top of that, you can relax because you know there will be many more swims and water wading in your future.  

Applying chapstick to your burning, dry lips.

• Nothing in the world can match the irritation of needing chapstick and not having it. The indescribably burn and, even though you know you shouldn't, you tell yourself not to, you can't help but lick your stinking lips. Then, your saviour arrives in tube form and you don't even care it's the classic original kind and not spearmint like you really wanted. 

Eating fresh bread right from the oven.

• They say bread makes you fat. It's true. It does. But as soon as a fresh loaf is pulled out of the oven, fat doesn't matter anymore. It's just you and that bread, and most likely a pad of butter or margarine. 

Getting into a cool, clean bed after being camping. 

• While the dirtiness of camping is liberating in the most primal of ways, taking a shower and getting into a fresh pair of underwear is only trumped by the feel of those crisp bedsheets as you slide into bed. The only thing better is the best night of sleep waiting for you to drift off into. 

Sinking into a long hot bath after intense exercise.

• Aching bones, sore feet and angry muscles all rejoice when submerged in hot water. Added bonus if there are candles and bubble bath involved. 

Returning home after a long trip.

• Being free to travel and explore the vast wonders of the world is an amazing privledge, but it isn't until you are off on a great adventure when you realize how appealing 'home' is. And when your time abroad is over, there is very little that compares to the rush of euphoria when you board the plan, train, bus home. Or the joy you have when you step through the door and feel truly and utterly safe for the first time in days, weeks, months.

Snagging a warm blanket from the dryer and curling up with it.

• So much comfort comes from warmth. Swaddling one's self in a blanket fresh from the dryer is nothing short of bliss. Of course, some numpty may reason this is because it reminds us of being in the warm womb of our mothers. But they are, of course, drunk, and ruiners of all things amazing. The simple truth of the matter is, we love warm dryer blankets because they are warm and soft and comforting and small cocoons of safety. Duh.

Listening to the sound of rain as you go to sleep.

• No weather can tame the wild beast of discomfort quite like the rain. All at once it is melancholic, soothing and contenting. As it taps, taps, taps against the window pane, one cannot help thinking how nice it is to be inside, gently being lulled by Mother Nature into a sleep fit for kings. 

Finishing a great book. 

• Good literature can leave one jealous at times, but great literature lends to its readers only inspiration. A thousand creative sparks have been struck. There is nothing more rewarding than closing a book and knowing those flawed characters, the frustratingly perfect plot and enviable beginning, middle and end will stay with you forever. Or until you find the next great book to gobble up in a sitting and forlornly set aside once finished.  

Learning about heartwarming acts of kindness. 

• There are so many people pointing out the terrible things in the world. It can be a bit daunting, to say the least. Still, through experience and assumption, I've ascertained for every wrong there are equal or greater rights. It's just the wrongs are forever in the spotlight. This is why we are so quick to snatch up heartwarming acts of kindness and refuse to let them go. There is nothing more rewarding than reading an article about a dog being saved, a kid being surprised, or a couple falling in love all over again. (Well, except maybe doing these things. Maybe that is more rewarding.) Still, we love hearing about the good in people. It validates our existence here and proves the age old saying 'it isn't all bad' is truth.

Laughing until you cry. 

• Belly laughter so sincere and honest it aches in your guts and tears spill forth from your eyes. Breaths refuse to be drawn. Words come in gasps. And the point you were trying to make is lost in another fit of laughing. Priceless. 

Pie.

• Everyone loves pie. Right out of the oven. Made with love. 

Crushing Hard

Do you remember when people used to say they were 'crushing hard' on someone? I do. It always made me laugh, like were there people out there crushing soft? Does it make the crush that much more intense if you add the 'hard' in there? If you weren't crushing hard, did it not count? Was just a regular old crush not good enough?

Yes, these are the things that go through my head.

Speaking of crushes, these are my top seven celebrity crushes. Celebrity because I'm never going to tell you who my poor or working class crushes are. Celebrity seems safer. Harmless. Fun.

And here we go:

1. Emma Stone - Not just because she has that adorable little lisp but because I have never seen her in the tabloids flashing her gash. There's something about the smattering of freckles on her nose. The lip-sing off she had with Jimmy Fallon. Easy-A. Her part in Crazy Stupid Love. And the red hair. I've always liked girls with red hair. Not really boys, though. Strange how girls with red hair come across as spitfires and boys a little creepy. That being said, some women with red hair actually exude a very standoffish vibe, but for the most part, I really appreciate a tinge of ginge. Some of you may not know that this is actually who I always saw playing Eleanor in my first novel Seeking Eleanor. Now you know.

2. Andy Samberg - They say women like funny men. This is true, but more so if the funny men are attractive. Actually, the irony with this is that a man can be fairly average looking and if you add a great sense of humour to them, they gain two points. Two whole points for the ability to crack jokes! Crazy, right? Also, two points if there is an accent. Andy Samberg has been on my radar for years. No, really. I think I wrote a blog back in 2006 about how I wanted him to marry me. Apparently, he didn't want to.

3. Mindy Kaling - I shant draw the line at funny men. After all, I am an equal opportunity type of gal, and Mindy Kaling is one attractive mama. She's got hips that don't quit and sharp wit to match. Sign me up. While I didn't entirely love her character on The Office, I truly admire the fact that she co-wrote and produced the show, which most people don't know. She also the creative genius behind the Mindy Project, a totally hilarious show I truly appreciate. Oh, and her book is fantastic. Some of her observations on life and love and existing are simply brilliant. Obviously I'm crushing hard on this one.

4. Ryan Gosling - Not my usual cup of tea, but it's Ryan Gosling. 

5. Emma Watson - Clearly, I have an affection for Emmas. This one is too plain and simple, it's Heromine Granger, and everyone loves her. My crush only grew stronger when she cut off her hair and started saying brilliant things about short skirts and femininity. That being said, she's just adorable. Absolutely adorable. Haven't seen a single movie I've disliked her in, then again, I haven't seen Noah yet. Yikes. 

6. Bruce Springsteen - Yesterday. Today. And tomorrow. Forever. It's just been an ongoing thing and I don't see it ending anytime soon. I swear he just gets better with age. 

7. Zac Efron - You can read my thoughts on this cyborg here. Yes, it's a blog from 2009. And, yes, it is still applicable. Although, I do have a few things to add. One - he makes a white t-shirt look good. Two - I watched Neighbours and laughed my arse off. And lastly, I am pretty sure he is James Dean incarnate. 

Terribly beautiful people. Other notables that I simply just ran out of space for: Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Zooey Deschanel, Leslie Mann, Paul Rudd, Ian Somerhalder (don`t judge me), Tina Fey, Aziz Ansari, Hugh Dancy, Norman Reedus. Oh hell, I have hard crushes on everyone. 

And who is tickling your fancy these days?  

This Is What Exercising Looks Like

Instagram is riddled with pictures of slender girls in workout clothes taking selfies of themselves with the hashtag 'getting fit' or 'working out'. For a long time, it was a conundrum to me. I mean, they aren't sweating. Their hair is perfect. Makeup in place. Fresh faced and fancy free. Have I been working out wrong? Because when I go running I can't do it without my face running down into my cleavage.

Then it dawned on me. Those perky, smiling, carefree girls with the expensive cross trainers and colour coordinated sports bra and stretchy pants aren't actually working out. Not yet. They are thinking about working out. Or they are standing in the gym. This is what 'before' looks like.

You know before. You've been there. 

Before the cramp in the side. Before the panting. Before the sweating and red face. Before the 'I'm so tired and I still have a mile to go' stage sets in. Before the lazy feet happen. And before the doubting. You know the doubting. It's the part of you that says you don't mind being unhealthy and maybe being fit is overrated.

Truthfully, there is nothing attractive about exercising. At least, there isn't when it comes to me. I get lobster faced and so sweaty someone passing by might actually wonder if I've just been swimming. Well, I haven't. I simply inherited my father's sweat glands. And my jaunty stride I had during the first kilometre gradually gets slower and more pathetic the farther I go, until it might actually be faster for me to crawl home instead of continuing to do this abysmal thing I'm calling running. . 

Because I am all about being honest, with myself and the world, this is actually what working out looks like: 

Actually, that's a pretty good picture. Look at my healthy glow! Here, this one is more accurate:

There's sweat in my eye! It hurts! And I stink. Like super bad. 

Anyhow, this is what exercising looks like. In my world. From the waist up. The waist down will never find its way onto the internet.

Hey, remember when we used to be told not to post any personal information on the internet, then we ended up posting everything on the internet. Weird how things change. 

Anyhow, if you're a girl like me that doesn't find themselves the most attractive, or even a fraction attractive, while sweating it out on the treadmill or while lifting weights, please understand you aren't alone. Working out isn't an attractive thing, but it makes us feel better in the end. Hopefully. 

Did you know?

I am halfway through the 365 day challenge.

A blog post a day.

What was I thinking?

Madness, I tell you.

Divine Mookies

Last night the Sidekick was feeling peckish, so I adapted a recipe to make him something divine. Peanut butter chocolate chip oatmeal mookies. We are calling them mookies because I don't actually have a baking sheet and I baked the cookies in a muffin tin. Turned out perfect.

Here is the recipe!

Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Oatmeal Mookies

Makes 18

Preheat oven 425
Ingredients

1/3 Cup - Smooth Peanut Butter
1 Cup - Sugar (white)

1/3 Cup - Coconut Milk (Or other non milky milk, like almond)
2 Tbsp - Canola Oil

1 Tsp - Vanilla Extract

1/8 Tsp - Almond Extract  

1 1/4 Cup - Flour 

3 Tbsp - Golden Flax (ground up)
1 Tsp - Baking Soda
1 Tsp - Salt
1/4 Cup - Chocolate chips 

1 Cup - Oats

1. Mix peanut butter, sugar, coconut milk, oil and extracts together until well combined.

2. Add baking soda, flax, salt, and flour and mix well. 

3. Fold in oats and chocolate chips. If there is too much liquid add a bit more flax.  

4. Lightly grease muffin tins and put a tablespoon of batter in each one, press down a bit. Do not fill past a 1/4 of the tin. 

5. Bake for 8-10 minutes, until the tops have a itsy bitsy bit of browning. 

Take out and transfer to a cooling rack. 

Simply delicious. 

Emotional Wardrobe

This evening let us gather around the (virtual) fire and discuss emotional baggage. This two worded expression just happens to irk the crap out of me. Not  just because of the insensitive way it is used but because people are ashamed by it. This phrase gets tossed around in such a negative way, as if the people hurling it at others don't have any issues of their own, as if they themselves have no residual emotions left behind from their childhood or the traumatic episode we call our teenage years, as if they have escaped relationships without acquiring any issues or sentimental scars.

People talk about emotional baggage as if it is a hindrance, an embarrassment, something to be ashamed of. Everyone talks about how we have to let go and overcome the past or else we will be held back by it. This is a preposterous notion to me. Take it from me, no matter how well you let go of something, it always comes back to you. Usually when you least expect it, like at work when you're cleaning the lint out of the dryer trap. Nothing is gone forever. Not even when you spend a sexless year working through your issues. The feelings and memories are always under the surface, just existing there.

And it makes me think, is not our emotional baggage something we should be proud of? To say, "This is what I've been through, and I'm still here, surviving. Look at all I have overcome. It's all packed into these metaphorical bags."

Like the good times in our lives, we carry the bad as well, from this relationship to the next, from one part of our lives to another. Why should we let either of them go? These are our memories, our experiences, the things that have moulded and shaped us, turned us into the creatures we are. We act as if the sad times, the hurtful moments are a pain to keep with us, but I cherish them just the same as the lovely ones. I have learned from them. Grown from them. And I keep them with me, not because I can't let them go, but because they aren't holding me back. They are a part of me.

Anyone who whispers the term 'emotional baggage' behind their hand as if it is a dirty thing is misunderstanding what exactly comprises the baggage. Some people don't understand what it means to be proud of the struggles you've been through. Once you embrace the baggage it can become your shield. It can protect you from future hurts. And it will teach you to wear your scars like armour. To hold your head up high and understand that where you came from and what you've gone through doesn't have to dictate where you are going or who you will become.

We call it baggage because it supposedly weighs us down, but the past doesn't have to be so heavy. Instead of lugging it around, why don't we unpack it instead? We can fill up our hearts with it and, when need be, we can open the doors to the emotional wardrobe and pull out a moment to examine, to remember what we leaned from it, to reflect on the life we have lived, then hang it back up. We can close the door and go about our lives, no longer pulling the baggage behind us, but carrying it inside us, where it can be reflected on as a lesson, instead of dragged around like dead weight we want to cut away.  

I firmly believe you can't let your past dictate your future, but I also don't think you can move forward without confronting your past. Packing your bad memories up and trying to hide them will only cause you to stumble. It's hard dragging something so cumbersome behind you, it's a strain on the heart and the head, not to mention the legs. Eventually, we have to realize we are who we are because of what we have been through. To deny the past, to try to forget it, or ignore it will only cause it to be harder to deal with. Maybe it's time to unpack those bags and put those experiences away in the emotional wardrobe, where they can change from a burden to a blessing. 

Way Back When

Out of curiosity, I went back to see the first couple posts on this blog. There are actually a fair amount which are unpublished. This isn't because they contained super sensitive information I decided, after the fact, I didn't want floating around on the world wide web. No, I hid them because I was so appalled by the spelling and grammar, I couldn't fathom the idea of other people reading them. They literally hurt my eyes to even glimpse at.

Once upon a time, I vowed I would go through all these horrible posts and rewrite them, clean them up, put a little effort into making them the grade A calibre you're used to from my blog. (Insert laugh track here). As it turns out, I'm fairly lazy. Besides, who wants to go back and edit old blogs when there are new things to be written? Or old things that can be rewritten and made more relevant with a little thought and a bunch of structure?

Back in 2006 when I started this 'blogging' endeavour, I knew very little about writing, except that I wanted to do it. So, I tried. While I certainly deserve a B+ for effort, a lot of my posts were horrible. That being said, the very first post you can read is from 2006 and no amount of rewriting will make it any better. In fact, I dare say, it's perfect the way it is.

You be the judge: BREAKUPS!

Perfect, right? That might be my most favourite post I have ever penned. What about you? What's your favourite blog? Or post? Or article? Or line you have ever written?

The Struggle

Most people understand the struggle. They don't like it or want it, but it's a reality for them. The struggle is a day-to-day thing. It doesn't let up on weekends, and actually gets worse over holidays. Sometimes you start to think you are going to get past the struggle, but then your dog eats your running shoes, or you can't sell you home. Instead of getting better, the struggle gets worse. Remember that saying, 'you take one step forward and two steps back'?  This is how it feels with the struggle. Sometimes it isn't only a step back, either, sometimes you feel as though you are being catapulted backwards. And you could swear the kink in your neck is not actually from sleeping funny or getting older, but is in fact whiplash from the struggle.

Some days, the struggle is so defeating. You scrounge and scrap and save, hoping to get out of debt, working towards your goal, whatever it may be. Debt free, a functioning car, a home, or maybe just a new pair of running shoes. Still, at the end of the day, week, month, year, you are no closer to the goal. No closer to an end. In fact, it feels as if you've just lived those moments for nothing, because you are back where you started, or maybe not even where you started at all. Maybe you are six steps behind where you started. And sometimes you ask yourself what the freakin' point is.

The struggle makes you tired. It wears you out to keep at it all the time. This struggling along business, it isn't for the faint of heart or weak of will. This is exhausting, you know. Well, of course you know. You are familiar with the struggle. Heck, you might even be like me - the struggle might be like family to you, or your best friend forever. The struggle has been around so long in my life, I doubt whether I would be able to exist without it. I mean, the struggle has always been here. If it suddenly disappeared would a weight be lifted off me? Would I suddenly feel free and unburdened and prance through life? Or would I be lost? Would I silently sit and wait for the struggle to return?

The truth is, there are moments when you think you aren't going to make it through the struggle. You doubt whether you will keep going. Actually, there are times where you don't want to keep going. Some days you just want the struggle to end. But then, you take a deep breath, you put your head down, and your power through. You keep going. You keep trying. Why? Because you want to see the new Avengers movie next year. Because your family and friends need you. Because giving up isn't an option. And, mostly, because your struggle isn't as bad as it could be. Actually, in a lot of ways, your struggle isn't terrible. It sucks and can get you down, but it's livable. It's doable.

When the struggle gets really hard, you take a nap. You read a book. You take a bath. Or you bake delicious vegan blondies. Which are kind of like brownies, but without the cocoa. And you remember, you're actually one of the lucky ones who are strong enough to keep struggling.

Wildflowers

Today is going to be all about flowers and pictures, mostly pictures of flowers. The world is blooming and this morning I took notice. After an hour and a half of walking and thinking to myself, "Wow, look at all these flowers" I decided to start taking pictures of every flower I passed that wasn't in someone's yard.

Yes, we live in troubling times, but there is beauty as well. All around us. If we just take the time to notice. Isn't that the key, though? Taking time to notice. Sometimes it looks like we are all so busy that we don't have a free moment to see the pretty things in life. And without the pretty things life can be so drab.

Anyhow, here are the flowers I saw on my way home:

Crows Before Hoes

Tonight is Game of Thrones.

I know I shouldn't be a slave to the picture box, but I can't help it. I absolutely love this show. (For the information of all those who care, I also love the books and am currently reading Feast of Crows, so don't spoil anything for me, okay Jonny?)

Anyhow, last week the GOT was on some sort of hiatus, meaning there was no episode. I would love to say this didn't bother me, but I would be lying. There was much pouting involved and, when I realized it wasn't happening, I strongly considered just going to bed and ending the day. I didn't,though, because I have Mondays off and going to bed at eight on a Sunday is a little too elderly, even for me.

Needless to say, I look forward to sitting down with my dysfunctional Westeros friends and praying the ones I love the most (The Hound, Bronn and Arya) live to see another episode. But as I write this post and think about the ensemble cast and intricate stories, the families, the sigils and mottos, I am realizing Game of Throning isn't something you do alone. If not a group activity, it's at least an event which needs a partner.

And if you love Game of Thrones and your partner doesn't? It's doomed for failure. Okay, I jest, but only a bit because this is the type of show/book you need to talk about. I firmly believe it brings those who love it together and drives those who dislike it away with a torch. These plot twists and dramatic deaths need to be discussed because while the carnage is great, and the rapes far too often, it is hard not to get hooked to the point of addiction.

Because this is a safe zone, I'm going to admit something I might otherwise not. When someone tells me they don't watch or read Game of Thrones, I weigh whether or not it is worth it for me to engage in conversation. I try not to be a judgmental git, but sometimes it's so very hard. Deep down, I know Game of Thrones isn't for everyone. I do, I KNOW this, but I still question the judgement of those people who 'just don't get it' or simply aren't interested in it at all.

Yes, all this pondering makes me a nerd, and I don't mind. Not one bit. I love the idea of submerging myself in a different world I'd never be able to exist in. There was a time when I didn't read these books. A time when my old coworkers used to gather together and chat about them, and I'd sit there thinking 'what's the big deal?'. Now, I understand. Now, I wish I had the ability to go back in time to interject my two cents on Jon Snow's lineage.

So, to the ones who 'don't like fantasy', trust me when I say, just give it a go. This is different. So very different. You will like the dragons, I promise. My advice to anyone wanting to give it a go to see what it is all about. Try watching or reading it with someone who already has, they can explain any questions you might have - because the characters are many and the back story plenty.

With all this being said, you all know what I am doing tonight.

Learning To Love My Thighs

I don't know when my hatred of my thighs started. As far back as I remember, I took notice of how big they are, especially compared to other people's. I remember being a little girl, sitting cross legged during gym class and feeling ashamed at the pudginess of them, their sheer thickness. And that was back when they were smooth and cute. The years haven't treated them kind and I have only been worse on them.

Let me make this clear, I don't obsess over my thighs, I don't lose sleep over them, but they are there and I have yet to warm up to them. Pocked with cellulite dimples, chunky, jiggly, forever kissing each other, these tree trunks have never been my favourite part of my body. I keep them hidden. Swimsuit season makes me cringe. I worry if my shorts are too short, or my skirts for that matter, and have avoided buying adorable clothes for fear my thighs will be on display to the world. Sometimes I wonder if they are as horrid to look at for everyone else as they are to me.

These are my secrets. The ones I hate to admit. It isn't easy talking about the body part I am most self-conscious of. But this is also the truth, and as I sit here, alone with my thighs, looking down at them with uncertainty and guilt, I realize this is utterly unfair. To them. Because these jiggly hammies have done so much for me. They have always gotten me where I needed to go - from point A to point B and beyond.

We have explored many lands - like New York, Ireland, California, Montana and Georgia - and never once did they refuse to do what I wanted. They have allowed me to wander streets and mountain trails and taken me down alleyways I never should have never entered in the first place. Together we have swam in the ocean, walked dogs, jumped on trampolines, and rode many bicycles. We have danced until dawn, drove hundreds of miles, gone up countless stairs, and back down them too. Every time I've gotten up, they've done it without complaint - well, unless it was squat day.  

More importantly, they have kept my hands warm on far too many occasions for me to keep track of.  

My thighs work hard. Harder than most of my other body parts - probably trumped only by my heart. They might not be the prettiest thighs ever to exist in this world, but they are strong. They never get tired. And, more than anything else, they have never let me down. They are reliable, determined, and unstoppable. They are the reason I  go for a four hour hikes without getting tired. They allow me to get up, walk around, go for a run, dance like an idiot in my living room, pretend I can kick box, tread water for hours and sleep in my favourite position at night.

This hatred I have for them is uncalled for. It's mean. They don't deserve it. In fact, they deserve better than what I've been giving them. I should be proud of them. They might be scarred and chubby and dimply, but they are my scarred, chubby, dimply thighs, and they are always functioning on a level the rest of my body should be ashamed of. I shouldn't be embarrassed of my thighs - I should be embracing them. 

So, from this day forth, I am going to show my thighs off, give them the attention they deserve. And they need a pat on the back. A little recognition. Some respect. And, even more so, love. It's time to stop hating and start appreciating. Because these are the only thighs I have and life is a hell of a lot easier with them. 

 

And here is a rare photo of my thighs. 

Inception Selfie

This morning, I was trying to take a picture of my hair. Not because I take daily photographs of my hair for my Lovely Locks Log, but because I have to ensure my hair looks half decent for work. The problem with this is, I have no idea how to craft a cool coiffure, so I exist in a world of trial and hairror. See what I did there? Instead of error I wrote ... never mind.

Back to the point, because I don't have a second mirror, I sometimes take photos of my hairstyles to ensure they don't look like a rat's nest with bobby-pins sticking out of it. This morning's hair actually looked pretty good too, but before I snapped a decent picture of the back, I turned the phone on. BAM. The camera was on the wrong way and there was a huge, up close and too personal shot of my face. This never makes me feel attractive. It's almost as if the front camera makes me way uglier than the back camera does.

Anyhow, when I went to turn the phone around, the reflection caught the mirror and I noticed myself in the camera and in that camera too. Then I realized, if I angled the camera just right I could see myself three times over. And a light bulb went off over my head and trumpets played as I thought to myself:

INCEPTION SELFIE.

So, being the total nerd I am, I took the picture in order to share it with all of you. Isn't it magnificent when phones, cameras and mirrors come together in such a highly entertaining way?

Or maybe I'm the only amused by this.

The Gratitude Booklet

I live in a beautiful village where nice things happen all the time. This makes me supremely lucky, and it's something I am grateful for every single day of my life. Not all people live in such a magnificent part of the world, where they can be in the mountains and at the beach in the same day. Where they can drink water from their tap and know their neighbours' names.

Some people might want examples of nice things that happen in my village. Well, every Wednesday we put out our garbage and recycling and someone always puts our cans inside our property. It's a small thing, lifting our empty cans over the fence, but it tucks them out of the way so they don't go rolling down the street if it's too windy, and it means we can access our parking without being inconvenienced by getting out of the truck to move them. We don't know who does this, but every week, without fail, they do. Another example, during winter someone shovelled the walkway to our gate more than a handful of times. Again, we don't know who did this, but it's one of those gestures that makes this place a great spot to live.

But the sweetness of this town, extends beyond our neighbours. It't the rest of the population too. Chalked messages of love show up around town and are washed away the next time it rains. The community Facebook posts notices about found keys and cellphones, or about injured animals seen on the trails in the forest along with warnings to keep dogs leashed in those areas.

Today, I found yet another amazing thing to add to the 'why I love where I live' list. The little book of gratitude. There's a trail in the forest call the Missing Link trail and it actually goes up to this peak where a wooden bench has been built for people to sit. Here you can look out over the town and, I swear, the air is freshest up there.

When I reached the top this morning, I noticed a little plastic baggie stuffed into the back board of the bench. Upon inspection, I noticed it was a booklet and pen.

In fact, it was the gratitude booklet. A book where people had taken the time to pause a moment and consider what they were grateful for in life.

Out of curiosity, I read through what other people were grateful for. A lot of them were simply ecstatic over being a live, on the trails, running, riding, being healthy and touching the sky. It's a small thing this book, but as I read through it, it changed my morning. It took away the morning annoyances and really made me focus on breathing. I was there, on top of the world, free and alive.

All the posts made me happy, but this one took the cake: 

Ride fast, just a bit of advice from 'N'. How truly fantastic. I hope his dad knows how important he is.

I Promise

Those words sound so simple, don't they? I promise - they float off our tongues like little butterflies, with an ease unflattering to their content. We say them so freely, often not taking into consideration the sting they have when we don't follow through. Each and every one of us have been on the receiving end of a promise gone awry. Whether it was a best friend, parent, boyfriend or sibling, we all know how deep a broken promise can cut.

"Yes," you say with such gusto it's clear you've been hurt by someone who didn't keep their word. Before you get all flush faced and start drudging up all the times you were promised something you did not receive, think about whether you've ever been on the other side.

We all have, haven't we? We've said we'd do something we never ended up doing. I promise to make the bed. I promise to send your gift in the mail. I promise to clean the bathroom. I promise to pick that up from the post office. I promise I will never say that again. I promise to do better, try harder, be nicer. I promise. I promise. I promise.

Oh, and there are plenty of excuses, aren't there? I forgot. I didn't bring it with me. Time wasn't my friend. Was I suppose to do that today? I didn't mean to say that again.  I had to work late. What can I say? I suck. And these terrible excuses so often don't come with the two words needed to truly rectify the situation. I'm sorry. Those words seem to be the two hardest in the entire English language, followed swiftly by 'I was wrong'.

And it truly feels awful to have a promise broken, even if they are tiny things that seem so inconsequential. But for me, it feels worse to do the breaking. I never mean to break my promises, but sometimes it happens. Life gets busy. I get tired. And promises I once made can get forgotten. There is no reasonable excuse for this, but I do feel terrible when it happens. Maybe that's worth something. A little forgiveness, perhaps? When there is genuine remorse involved and a desire to not let it happen again, then moving past a broken promise is possible. It can be done.

What happens when that remorse and determination to do better isn't there? What happens when there is no apology and no chance to forgive? I suppose that's when it is time to move along. I try very hard not to make promises I have no intention of keeping, even promises I know will be hard for me to keep - like anything with a time frame, or if saving a piece of cake is involved. That being said, I think of the cliched promises people make and cringe.

I promise to love you forever. I promise to be with you until I die. I promise things will never change.

Talk about promises that are going to be hard to keep. Romantic, maybe. But also stupid. Here's the thing, I don't believe promises are intentionally broken, but end up being so due to a lack of consideration for the other person and an inability to time manage appropriately. They are only two little words, I promise, but they are important ones. And perhaps saying them without thought should be avoided. Maybe this calls for a promise not to promise so flippantly. Or maybe we should strike the words from our vocabularies and simply exist instead and give what we can when we can without anyone holding us hostage to promises we made on the fly without forethought.

Even more, don't ask people to promise unrealistic things. Or anything at all for that matter. I think I lost the point to this somewhere near the second paragraph.

The Weirdness On The Wind

A couple years ago, I thumbed through my diaries and picked out some of my favourite scribbles, which I typed out on the intersnacks. These rather short writings have been stored away in a super secret blog that no one has ever read. Except me, of course, which is a mighty relief, to be honest, considering how painful it is to even glance at these posts. No, seriously. Even my most favourite entries are so tedious they make me want to weep tears over how I massacred the English language. 

Anyhow, tonight I found myself going through these handful of writings. Why? That's not too clear. Maybe I wanted to revisit the tortured years of my youth, or maybe I wanted to do some serious mental cringing. If the grotesque grammar and preposterous punctuation weren't enough to cause me to recoil, then the subject matter would have done the trick. 

Every last entry was an ode to forlorn love, being wronged, not liking the girl I used to be, and how heartbreaking the world is. Needless to say, I haven't always been a bright ray of sunshine. Most of my youth was spent feeling lost, uncertain and angry - how I imagine a lot of people feel in their younger years. Still, not everyone wrote down their inner turmoil to read through and relive later on in life. Lucky them. 

If you think I'm going to be sharing any of these embarrassing excerpt with you, think again. No one of them is good enough to show to a blind and deaf mule, let alone a unprepared reader. Having clarified this, there was one line that caught my attention.  

I can hear the weirdness on the wind and my heart echoes the sound. 

Something about this line made me smile. Truth be told, it's very hard for me to look at anything I've written and think it holds any sort of merit. To find this line, especially in writings well over a decade old, is a miracle in and of itself. It simply struck me as a beautiful observation. 

Yes, I am weird, but so is the world. It's in the wind. And I hear it. If weirdness is all around us, inside all of us, then we are never alone in our strange ways. Of course, I can't even remember writing the damn thing, but I must have, because it's here in my super secret online diary, riddled with typos even grade schoolers wouldn't make.  

And yet, in all the messy words, choppy paragraphs and complete lack of white space, I found a golden sentence. 

There is something very comforting in thinking the common thread binding us together is our weirdness. How perfectly abnormal we are. It's a beautiful idea, isn't it? To think we are all colouring outside the lines together.   

Bloglovin?

Anyone heard about this? Is it worth being a part of?

I signed up in hopes of getting more foot traffic on my little blog and following other bloggers who are diligent about blogging. There are a lot of people on my follow list here that don't even post, not at all. Seems silly, right? But I discussed this back on my 800th blog post where I told the true story of how fleeting some people's blogging careers are.

Mine isn't fleeting. It's lush and, I imagine, will continue until my inevitable demise. But I noticed with the limitations of Facebook that my traffic has cut right in half here. I certainly hope this isn't because of my rebranding tactics. Eek!

Could you imagine? All that work and it's actually detrimental to the health of my blog.

Here I Am