Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!

Some people might not know Canadian Thanksgiving takes place in October. In fact, today's the day, though most people have their big dinner on the Sunday, not the Monday. We're doing it tonight. It's just the five of us, the four boys and I - Mr. Sidekick, Oliver, Dixon and Bruce. Small and perfect. It'd be nice to have a bit of family around, but it's three o'clock and I don't have to spend all day in the kitchen for just the two of us - an added bonus of keeping it intimate. And I made our dessert yesterday, an apple-cranberry crisp. Turned out wonderfully and allows us to have dessert two nights in a row. It's the little things in life.

Thanksgiving was originally a time to give thanks for a prosperous bounty for the harvest. These days, it's an opportunity to gather with the ones we love and, ideally, reflect on what we are grateful for. Americans have Thanksgiving in November but has been rendered pointless by Black Friday - the most greedy of all days, where people purchase things they don't need right after being thankful for the things they do. Then people ask me why I'm not a fan of Christmas, as if they haven't noticed it's degraded into a consumer driven gimme-gimme fest.

That's why I am happy Thanksgiving takes place in October here, the most perfect of all months. Even the torrential downpour can't get my spirits down. In fact, it lifts them up. I have candles lit, knitting to do, and boys to cuddle. My hair is a mess. My clothes are comfortable. There are no judgments here. And I'm happy. But this is just a regular Monday. Pretty much the same as last Monday, and the one before that, expect there's going to be stuffing. Stuffing doth make an occasion special. Still, I try to be grateful every day, at least over something. The scent of the woods in the morning. The sound of the ocean. Good conversations. Lush bath bombs. Vegan treats. Turning yarn into wearable items. Collecting seashells. Fuzzy bearded kisses. Helping others. Showing acts of kindness. Working hard. Writing words. Sipping teas. Hot baths. Cool beds. New dresses. Scarves.

And the list goes on.

Some of us need a day to remind us of what we have. And some of us are reminded every day of it.

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. 

Grumpy Gus

This evening I am in a right foul mood, just grumpy through and through. It's weird to write a post when I'm out of sorts. For the most part, I try to maintain a somewhat lighthearted air over here and, even when I tackle more serious topics, I try to do it objectively and with at least a fraction of humour. Yes, sometimes I miss the mark, but overall, I work hard to combine and create entertaining and thought-provoking things to read. 

Well, there's no chance in hell of that happening tonight. My feet hurt, along with my back and head, my allergies are going bonkers, by the way they are saying this summer is going to be the worst we've ever seen. And to be honest, I'm just not feeling my normal spry self. It's been a long day. Not to complain, though. I mean, for the most part, it was okay, that's the confusing part of grumpiness for me. It comes in like a storm, blowing away any good thoughts and soaking all my happy feelings with irritation and disenchantment. 

I really need to get back into meditating. It doesn't work for me, I can't clear my brain enough for it to actually be called meditating, but some of those deep breaths and sprawling on the floor in savasana seems like a nice idea right now. Corpse pose - now that's some yoga I can get behind. 

"Honey, why are you lying on the floor like that?" 

"Go away, I'm doing yoga."

As for what to do when you're in a grumpy mood? Well, these are my five steps to picking myself up and brushing myself off: 

1. Have a bath. Make it warm. Make it bubbly. And breath in and out. Repeat the breathing, because you need to do this in order to keep living. 

2. Go for a walk. The outdoors can be very soothing. If you have a forest near you, submerge yourself in the clean scent of nature and you might start to feel invigorated.

3. Make yourself a nice cuppa. Tea always helps and maybe you need some fluids. 

4. Feel good movie. Of course guys hate to admit they actually like feel good movies, but I guarantee if they put on a movie from when they were young, they will start feeling better. Some choice examples for me are: Elvira Mistress of the Dark, Mac & Me, Short Circuit, Karate Kid, and The Goonies. Of course their are more, their are so many I can't even count! And ones I don't want to mention here because they are kind of embarrassing, like The Boy Who Could Fly. Eek. 

5. Eat something a treat. Treats make everyone happier. I can't name a treat for you to eat, though. Everyone's idea of a treat is different. Some time sweet, others salty and there are those who will eat anything, salty or sweet. (I'm talking about myself, of course.)

Anyhow, I can't get you out of your grumpy mood because I am too busy trying to get me out of mine. 

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.

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.

Mind Your Effing Manners

Us Canadians are notorious for our good manners. We say 'please' even when cussing you out. This happens to be one of those stereotypes that actually rings true and something I never realized until I travelled beyond the frozen tundra of my home and native land. Did you catch my cheekiness with the 'frozen tundra' comment? I mean, I live on the West Coast and it snows three times a year here, mostly only in January. I think it might surprise most of the world how mild the weather is here. That being said, I feel sorry for those suckers on the East Coast, poor sods.

I didn't come to talk about snowflakes and frosty noses, though. We are discussing human decency, or what others call manners.

Whenever I travel, be it overseas or simply beyond the border, I am pegged as a Canadian straight away. It isn't because I say out and about funny, either. It's because I often say 'please' and 'thank you', sometimes in excess, and this draws attention. A lot of it.

But why?

To be honest, I have no freakin' clue! It boggles my mind that people are surprised by a bit off gratefulness. I can only surmise the rest of the world is ruder than Canada, maybe due to lack of space? All this extra room and lush fresh mountain air has messed with our heads. Or maybe it's the way we are raised. Perhaps people in other countries are raised to believe waitresses, bus drivers, postal workers and garbage men are paid to do a job and they don't need thanks in return, maybe their wage is supped to be thank you enough. It's not, though. Not really. Even when it is someone's job to serve and help, they still deserve appreciation.

When someone does something for me, I thank them, regardless of who it is or what they are doing. If it's a friend, coworker, a waitress, or the grocery clerk, I ask with kindness and follow with respect. Those are the emotions behind good manners. Everyone is deserving of a little gratitude and it takes no extra time for me to tack a 'thank you' onto an interaction.

My mother taught me to mind my manners. She drilled it into me since I first learned to speak to always say 'please' and 'thank you', to chew with my mouth closed, not interrupt others when speaking, and keep my elbows off the table. I was taught to be kind. To not take anything for granted - not the sunshine, rain, the girl bringing me a water at a restaurant, or the man who waves me to go first at a four way stop. It worries me that as the generations pass, good manners are falling to wayside. In this day and age, we could use a little more graciousness, for without it our civilizations will grow less civil and our days more unpleasant.

Yes, I say thank you and please. I apologize for my actions, the actions of others, and anything I deem worthy of an 'I'm sorry'. Canadians are known for being 'nice' but I think that's better than having a reputation of being mean or rude.

So, I will continue to mind my manners. Not because I am Canadian and it's in my blood, but because I understand how hard it is to exist on this planet at times. I know how important it is to feel appreciated. And I think a little kindness goes a long way.

Keep Me Warm

Last night, I started knitting a blanket.

It's all knit out of scrap yarn. I'm doing my best, but not too happy with how it is turning out. I am contemplating frogging it back (which means pulling it out and starting all over again). This is a pretty big project for me. I want to knit a blanket and a sweater this year. Since the year is almost half over, I need to get my ass in gear. 

Anyhow, what have you been up to? 

Dropped The Ball

I totally meant to write a post earlier. Unfortunately, I didn't and it is now 11 at night. Oops.

So, because I dropped the ball, I have decided to share with you pictures from my walk/hike/run/jog today.

What can I say? I live in a beautiful place.

Pointless

Sometimes it all feels pointless. And I don't mean that in a depressing kind of way. Actually, it's this pointless feeling that is actually liberating. Freeing. Like there are not strings on you. Gone are the blinders.

Have you ever had one of those moments? Where you step back from life? Away from the now. And you say to yourself - nothing really matters. None of THIS matters. We are a mistake. A glitch. An error. Some may say a miracle. A scientific anomaly is more accurate, at least I think so. One in a million? We are not alone, though we feel lonely. We are not happy, even when we should be.

And here we are, trying to fill our nothingness up. Our lives with houses, cars, treats and toys. Our bodies with food. Our cars with gas. So many things. We are doing, wanting, needing, striving for all these things. But we don't really even know why.

Mostly because we are told too.

So, yeah, it's eyeopening and refreshing to step back and say, it means nothing. Not in a nihilistic way, just in a 'I can't control this' way. And so, it is all rendered pointless. These moments of clarity are so nice. Even if they do come just before bedtime on a Thursday.

Tattoos Hurt - FYI

For some reason, whenever you get a tattoo, people feel the need to ask if it hurts. Just so everyone is on the same page about this form of art. Yes, tattoos hurt. Quite a bit, in fact. It isn't always the same pain all the way through, though. It's varying degrees of ouch. Oh, and some areas hurt more than others.

Pain is a tricky creature.

In the tattooing world, it is known that the top of the foot and the neck hurt the most. Since I have both of my feet done, I will have to get a neck tattoo to tell you which one hurts more. Right now, though, I have to say the wrist hurts more, especially if you are doing more than a stupid line drawing.

Today, my Sidekick tattooed a beautiful cover-up on me. It took about three hours and thirty-seven of those minutes were this needling, burning, terrible pain I was certain I wasn't going to live through. I tried to not whine or writhe, but there were these tender spots I seriously regretted having done. Most of the other minutes were uncomfortable, but bearable. And about twenty-four of those minutes I was in very little pain. Regardless, the whole time there was hurting going on. 

Some people deal with pain better than others. Some people love pain. Thrive off it. Enjoy it. I am not one of those creature. That being said, I have a fairly high threshold for pain and just because I sat for three hours, doesn't mean someone else can. To be honest, I mostly did it to prove my Sidekick wrong. And also, I like finishing what is started on the spot, so there is no need to go back to it in the future. 

While I am sad to say goodbye to my adorable line bunny, I am happy to say hello to my new, bigger, more badass bunny. And also, I love my cabbage. So, I am very happy. Now I have come down from my adrenaline high and need to go to bed. Goodnight. 

Into The Swing Of Things

One of the most gruelling aspects of writing is getting back into the swing of writing a story after having put it down for an extended period of time. Currently, I am writing the third instalment in an urban science fiction novel with a writing friend and I've been procrastinating writing my chapter because my interest has waned.

Don't get me wrong, the book is amazing. But the rapid fire way in which we used to write has fallen to the wayside. Sometimes we are waiting weeks for the other to finish a chapter. This is when it gets hard. It staunches the creative flow and our excitement dwindles. I have, literally, been sitting on my chapter for a month. In my defence, my co-writer did go to Disney World. How fair is that?

Not fair at all. I mean, I really want to see Harry Potter World.

Still, I dropped the ball. I have been looking at the email in my inbox and feeling guilty. It's all on me this time. Disney World be damned.

The funny part about this whole fiasco is how fast the first two books in the series were done. We are talking a matter of weeks and they were finished. Why is this one like pulling teeth, or whatever other cliche you feel like using? I don't know if it's because this is the final book in the series, or our lives are falling apart, or I'm just not on the computer as much, but it's been so hard writing this book.

Even harder getting back into writing it after putting it aside for awhile. Even rereading it doesn't always help. So, I force myself to write. And it is painful. To read. To execute. To write. Sometimes I wonder if it's so tedious because it isn't right. Like, maybe the direction we are going is all wrong. I certainly hope not.

All I can tell you is that I am pushing forward until I am back in the swing of things and things are swinging freely.

Clearly I am tired and I should be going to bed. And meditate, of course.

27 Degrees

No, this isn't an all boy pop band. Although, I did just have this conversation with my Sidekick: 

Me: 98 Degrees ... that's insane. I mean, how hot is that.

He: No, you fool. Fahrenheit, not Celsius. 

Me: Oh. Did you just call me a fool?

I live in Canada. So, when I say it was twenty seven degrees, I mean it was in the eighties for you folks down in the United States of America. By the way, the metric system is grand and you all, or y'all, should hop on board, so I don't have to be called a fool anymore. Regardless, I am a bit foolish, and this whole scenario made me laugh. 

That being said, it was hot out today. It's the beginning of May, everything is in bloom, and I seriously regretted wearing tights to work. Thank goodness I had the foresight to leave my pants at home. No pants is always ideal when dealing with summer-like conditions. 

With the sun comes trips to the beach, higher levels of serotonin, skimpy clothes and shots of vitamin D. Depression goes out the window when you're speeding down the highway at 140 (kimometers, not miles), listening to catchy beats, and eating cherries. It is known. Unfortunately, down goes productivity on writing projects and the cleanliness of one's abode. 

Still, summer is around the corner and I live in a beautiful part of the world. And I feel like being happy about that. 

And here I am with another fool. 

My Tiny Loaves

It's been over fourteen years since I turned vegan. One of the best parts of eating this way is experimenting with food and trying to create amazing things to put in my mouth. You really have to appreciate food and cooking to love being vegan. One of my passions is baking. I always wanted to open a tiny vegan bakery or cafe of sorts and show the world vegan food is amazing. Even baked good.

Don't get me wrong, it's totally hit and miss. The other day I bought a vegan, gluten free cinnamon bun from a local spot and it was terrible. I have dabbled in gluten free baking and it can definitely be denser, but this was a cinnamon bun, most of which is yeasty awesomeness. I think the main problem was that it was frozen and they heated it up for me. I had a bite and actually threw the rest of it out, and we all know how I hate wasting food.

Anyhow, because of this horribly disappointing cinnamon bun, I decided to try my hand at making cinnamon swirl bread, something I'd never tried before. Bread can be intimidating. Mostly because it's time consuming. There's something terrible about not having your loaf rise when all you want if fluffy bread to stuff in your mouth.

After combining and altering three different recipes, I had success. And it wasn't even all that hard. Yes, it was time consuming, as all bread recipes are, but it had very few ingredients and turned out beautiful. And also delicious.

What's better than a loaf of bread? Eight loaves of bread. This recipe will make one big loaf, I imagine, and eight small loaves, like the ones I made in the pictures below. If you don't have a mini loaf pan, go get one. Seriously, they are the cutest things ever and you will use it all the time.

The recipe: Voluptuous Vegan Cinnamon Bread

Ingredients:
1 Cup very warm water (not hot or you'll kill your yeast)
2.5 Tsp yeast (not instant, regular old yeasty poo)
2.5 Tbs sugar
2 Tbs oil (I used canola)
1 Tsp vanilla
1/2 Tsp salt
3 cups of flour (I used all purpose organic)
2 Tbs cinnamon
1/2 cup sugar (brown, white or both - I used white)

First, like all recipes, you proof your yeast in a big bowl. Combine water and 2 tablespoons of sugar. Once dissolved, add the yeast, but don't stir. Let it froth, foam and become fabulous. After about 7.5 minutes, add in the oil and vanilla and give a little stir. Now you add the salt and flour. You will need to knead. If it is too tacky/sticky, make sure you add a bit more flour until the dough is elastic-like and not too wet, you don't want it sticking to the counter.

Now you coat a large bowl with oil or margarine and  let it rise for an hour in a warm spot. I put it in the windowsill on a sunny day. If you aren't blessed with nice weather, inside the over with the light on will do. (Not the oven. Do not turn the oven on for rising. I feel stupid telling you that, like you should know better, but what if you don't?) Oh, I also cover my dough, mostly because I have dogs and don't want hair or dust getting in it, but also because I believe it traps the heat so it rises better.

Once it has risen, divide into eight equal blobs. Flatten these blobs out on the counter making them about four inches wide and eight inches long. Mix the sugar and cinnamon in a separate bowl, then sprinkle this mixture over the dough. Carefully roll the dough up and place in a greased loaf pan. (You only have to do this once if you are making one loaf, but the measurements will be different.)  Once the are all done, set them back in a warm place for half an hour or so, until you are happy with how they look.

Back at 350 degrees for about fifteen minutes. You will know they are done when the tops are brown and they sound hollow when you knock on them. In order to make sure they aren't too hard, brush them with margarine to soften the tops. Then eat all the mini loaves because they are amazing.

Aren't they cute? 

 See, palm sized!

My Tiny Loaves.

Five Years Ago

Five years ago, I penned my first novel, Seeking Eleanor. In my haste to show the world how brilliant I was, I sent it out to agents, made my friends and family read it, and sat back with a smug satisfaction over finishing a 170,000 word novel. Yes, you read that right. 

170,000 words.  

Turns out, my celebration was a bit premature because, as it goes, the book wasn't great. In fact, it was a bit cliched and overdone.

Oh, I know, it's a faux paus to say this, especially about a book I am going to start querying again, but I'm a rebel, and we all know about my affection for honesty. Don't worry, I'm not being down on myself, I don't think I'm a terrible writer who has no business being creative. For the most part, I'm a good writer. I can totally craft an appealing sentence from time-to-time and created some rather dreamy characters, both male and female. 

This doesn't change the fact that my first novel wasn't great. Sure, there were parts that were good and, under so much blahness, the bones to Seeking Eleanor were actually really awesome. This doesn't change the fact I didn't understand tense or passive and active voice. I'm embarrassed I actually allowed other people to read it. That I sent it to agents. But that was all back in the beginning, when I was new and fresh on the scene. While there is much to say of my mistakes and stupidity, I was ready to learn. I cannot tell you all the amazing things I've learned form all the amazing people I've met in the last five years.

It is through this learning and the meeting of these wonderful ladies and gentleman that I have grown. I have changed. After five years and countless reviews, I haven't given up on Seeking Eleanor. In fact, I just finished a massive rewrite that kept those awesome bones I loved and did away with all the things people are sick of reading about, like mind reading and an inept heroines. This girl is my baby and I love her more today than I did the first draft. It's been a long journey and she spent a fair bit of time tucked away in a drawer until I understood what needed to be done to make her shine. 

Don't get me wrong. It hurt to come to terms with the fact my first book pretty much sucked, but at least I had a good idea. One I could build off of in the future. Which is now. The future is now. This is getting confusing. All I am trying to say is, sometimes you have to admit something sucks in order to change it into something that doesn't. I'm not saying Seeking Eleanor will be snatched up and loved by the first agent I send it too. I'm just saying it's witty, fun, and I love her. 

We've come a long way and I suspect we have a long way to go still. 

420

So, I'm sitting here and a ponderous thought popped into my wee head. What are the most popular searches on Google? Now, Google actually has something called 'Google Trends' which tells you what the most common searches that day are. Hip kids call this 'trending' - which basically means when the world is showing interest in the same thing at the same time. Sometimes the most popular thing makes sense. For example, Google just told me Easter is trending! 

Of course Easter is trending! Half the world is overdosing on Cadbury chocolates. Speaking of which, Cadbury totally has the market on Easter goodies cornered. I mean, they have Mini Eggs AND Creme Eggs. The later is a most perplexing invention I never understood or liked. A chocolate egg with horridly sweet insides that looks kind of like whites and yolks. Truthfully, I have never been able to finish one. They are far too sweet and, to be frank, nauseating, which strikes me as funny because they've created more of them to coincide with other holidays. Like the Scream Eggs they came up with for Halloween. No, I'm not making this up!

Literally, the only difference, other than packaging, is the inside is white and green, not yellow like a yolk of an egg. Everything else is the same, like the inability to eat one in a civilizaed manner. No, seriously. How are you supposed to eat these things? 

So, Easter is trending, which makes sense, because it's Easter. 

But Easter Sunday, yesterday, fell on the twentieth. April 20th. 420. Yes, you're right, the second most popular item searched on Google in the past couple days is the term '420'. Now this, this made me laugh. For some reason, I am picturing grandmas the world over typing 'what is 420' into the Google search engine. And what is the first post that comes up? 

WIKIPEDIA! 

And I just loved how 'cannabis culture' is in parentheses and it only gets better as you read (pronounced four-twenty). 

Oh, I'm not too sure why, but all of this just tickles me. Doesn't it seem kind of perfect? Having Easter and 420 fall on the same day. If chocolate and pot smoking don't go hand-in-hand, I don't know what does. Poor Jesus, I fear he is being out shined this year not only by a chocolate wielding bunny, but also sweet Mary Jane. This seems so cosmic. Perhaps even more so than the proximity of Mars and the lunar eclipse from last Tuesday. 

I simply can't wait to see what's trending tomorrow. Some days I'm simply smitten with the intersnacks and all it offers. Hours of amusement, really. 

Anyhow, Happy Easter, my lovely friends. Here's a zombie Easter bunny for you. It's made of chocolate. 

The Falls

Yesterday was Good Friday, so Sidekick and I went out adventuring. Into the woods we went. Actually, we spent a lot of time in the car, other than a short beach walk and a rip up to Little Qualicum Falls. It made me sad. A whole day wasted driving to Port Alberni and, let me tell you, the town isn't quaint or awesome. In fact, it's fairly depressing. It actually had a ghost town feel to it. And not in the awesome Barkerville way, either. All the empty storefronts gave it this eerie feeling, paired with the fact the community seemed to take no pride in its appearance. 

There was this delightful chocolate shop in Harbour Quay where Sidekick got these caramel graham cracker marshmallow chocolate things called Scoobie Bites, which he loved, and I got this necklace:

Other than the treats, the falls were the best part of the day. It was a quick five minute walk up to the top, then ten more around the loop. It's a fairly easy walk, but there are a few stairs involved. So, if you have an aversion to stairs, maybe just go up to the upper falls and don't worry about the loop. 

I took some pictures. Because nature is beautiful.

Breathtaking, no? 

Take Me Home

One of my most lovely friends posted an interesting blog about home. How he longs for home, even when he is in the house he is living. In all my wisdom, I replied with my own thoughts on home. How it's more a feeling than a place. They, whoever 'they' are, have two different sayings.

Home is where you hang your hat.

This isn't the case. We can have an apartment, house, or basement suite and still not feel at home in our space. Because our hearts long for something more. If you are alone in your dwelling, or if there are toxic vibes or ill will from those you live with, well that space can be very un-home-like.

Home is where your heart is.

This is more apt, I think. I remember growing up and well into my twenties, my home was where my parents were. In the beginning, it was because that's all I knew. When I got older, it was because they offered me a space where I could simply be and not be judged or have anyone expect anything from me. I loved them. They loved me. Being in their presence was my home because they gave me peace and safety and a comfort zone. Nothing was ever going to happen to me while I was with my parents.

You can find this peace, safety and comfort in the presence of other people. Like your Sidekick. Or, for instance, friends and family. My sister is most definitely home for me. When I'm with my sister, there is this overwhelming home feeling. There are other people too, like my ex-boyfriend, which seems kind of weird. Still, when I am around him, in his space, at his house, in his truck, I am comfortable and at peace and loved. So I am home. Friends like Rebs and Bots and Leppy all extended themselves to me for such a long time that I will never be uncomfortable around them. They have offered me their homes and made it my own.

So, I truly feel home is where your heart is.

Even more, though. Home is where you are. I think you carry your home within you. I am at home in the woods and at the beach. I am at home in my truck driving down island. I am at home in my bed with my boys. I am at home wherever I am.

Maybe that's because I love myself. Accept myself. Enjoy my time alone. Because my heart is inside me and it doesn't want to be anywhere else.

Regardless, home isn't a structure in my opinion. It isn't made of wood or brick. The amount of rooms or type of flooring do not matter. Sure, you can build a house and raise a family in it, you can fill it full of the most wonderful memories and that house can feel like a home. But those memories will still exist if the house doesn't. Don't get me wrong. I want that sort of home too. A safe haven where everyone I love can come when they are broken and I will heal them with baked goods and magical forest walks.

But isn't that wherever I am. Wherever I go. Which is why I say home is a feeling. You should be carrying it inside you every day. Whatever place you live in. There is this world. Our world. And everyone you love lives here, or has lived here. Isn't that comforting? Space and time are inconsequential when love is involved.
You are home because you are here. Because you exist and the word is yours. As it is mine.

Lunar Eclipse

Some people couldn't stay awake last night to watch the lunar eclipse. It makes me sad they missed it. Even though I worked in the morning, I watched it all. The covering, the uncovering, how bright the beacon was after it was all said and done. And through the hours I stared out my bedroom window, I thought to myself, I'm lucky.

Lucky to have a bed, in a room, in a house and to be watching this spectacular event from the comfort of my home, warm under blankets. Lucky to be alive to witness it. Lucky enough to understand the importance of standing still and taking notice, even if it is at three in the morning.

I never want to miss out on that child wonderment. Eclipses, shooting stars, seeing Mars with the naked eye, these things invoke those feelings of awe. When the 'blood moon' was hanging up there and the stars around it glowed so much more brilliantly, I felt small and insignificant but a part of something grand and amazing. Everything in nature is bigger than I am. Space, forests, ocean. Limitless.

But whenever I am experiencing it, I feel big and strong and limitless too. Like I can do anything.

Those times are special and I wouldn't trade them in for a few more hours sleep.

I took a picture of the moon through my window, but it does it no justice. Still, it's worth a chuckle:

Yeah. I need a better camera.

Musical Memories

No less than an hour ago I was in the worst funk. It came out of nowhere, side swept me and left me with a tiny storm cloud over my head. Instead of writing an angst filled post here, I decided to put my laptop away and work on the candy puzzle I picked up from Too Good To Be Threw, a local thrift shop. Anyhow, I started singing 'Pretty Fly For A White Guy', that abhorrent song by The Offspring. I am not too sure why it popped into my head, but when I stopped after the 'he's getting a tattoo, yeah, he's getting ink done, he asked for a thirteen, but they drew thirty-one' verse, I asked, "Why I am I singing this?"

The Sidekick said, "I have no idea." It was clear by the tone of his voice he felt the same way I did. Then we started discussing how The Offspring's music went downhill as time went by. We both distinctly remember Smash being one of those front to backers. You know, an album you could listen to without skipping a song. Then we started talking about other albums and bands from our pasts.

Here are eleven albums that came out when I was much younger than I am now, but which have, for me, withheld the test of time. I can still listen to these front to back, not skipping a song. Kind of like nostalgic songs of my wasted youth, I suppose.

Nirvana - Unplugged

Rancid - Out Come The Wolves  

The Cranberries - No Need To Argue

Green Day - Dookie

The Offspring - Smash

Portishead - Dummy

Tegan and Sara - This Art of Business

Snoop Doggy Dogg - Doggystyle

Sublime - Self Titled 

Garbage - Self Titled

Ani Difranco - Not A Pretty Girl 

As you can see, I've always been a bit of a varied girl. They are all linked because YouTube has all the full length albums up there, for anyone to listen too, if you want. Truth is, there were tons of amazing albums from my youth that I really got into later on in life as my music nerdiness truly developed. I am grateful I remember these. And also, that I can still sing them word for word. I now know what my brain cells are being used for.

What about you? What are some nostalgic albums from your youth?

Beach Kitty

One of my most favourite things is going out adventuring. Exploring places unknown. Since I didn't grow up on the Island like most of the people around here, every day can be a new experience. I say 'can be' because some days I'm tired and want to warm my weary bones over the fire of lethargy. That gave me a chuckle. It seems oxymoronic, doesn't it? Fires of lethargy. If anything, lethargy would be ice, I'd think. 

There's a sense of wonderment adventuring brings. The discovery of new things is rewarding, feeding your heart, soul and body. It's so simple too, just checking out beaches and picking up rocks, wading in the water. Some might think when you've seen one beach, you've seen them all. Not so. Each beach has new things to be discovered. The other day we went to Rathtrevor beach, and it was a fabulous one for finding funky pieces of drift wood.

Today, we went to Williams Beach. 

Lovely rocky, sandy expanse of land with the mountains standing watch as a backdrop. I even went in the water, it was that warm. Up to my thighs. Maybe a bit higher. I found a couple of sand dollars too! But, as it turns out, they are very fragile and I broke them. Clumsy fingers. Sadness. 

It's been an ongoing search to find one too. Last year, I was out with the Sidekick and found one washed up on shore, but it was a bit chipped and not so fancy looking. He reassured me we'd find out down at Rathtrevor but we didn't. Keep in mind, this was a year ago. And then, on Thursday when we were there, he found one, but it was alive. So, obviously, I didn't take it.

Some of you might be wondering how I knew it was alive since I am, by no means, a sand dollar expert. First, the colour, it was a dark purplish colour and all the ones I'd seen in gift shops had been white and the flower on the skeleton more prominent. After looking at the little guy and flipping it over, I noticed the fuzz on the underside of its body. Those fibres are what catch the microscopic food in the water, feeding the sand dollar and, if you look closely, you will see them moving. Cool, right? Now, if you find one that is bleached a light white colour and, when you turn it over, there are no fuzzy parts and you can see a hole in the middle, that's a dead one. 

And also, today there was a beach kitty. He showed up out of nowhere. Let me pet him and take a picture, then wander off to find another person to get pets from. 

Here I am with the beach kitty:

Anyhow, adventuring proved a success today, though I didn't find one piece of beach glass. What's up with that? Sometimes I wonder if people are ever as amazed by the world around them as I. Today I am sun-kissed, salty legged and blessed.