Human Touch

I met a friend for dinner this evening.  We met after work down at Kits Beach at The Boathouse Restaurant.  Jayne and I always have great discussions.

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I mentioned that I’d been downtown shopping a couple of weeks ago and I had seen the ‘Free Hug’ people in front of the London Drugs at Granville & Georgia St.  I told her how I stood waiting for the light to change, my spirit feeling  considerably  lighter at the idea of a stranger willing  to put their arms around me and share a moment.  I told her that I simply opened my arms and was hugged first by the woman and then by the man.  hug 2

I was surprised she’d never heard of this.  It has been in Vancouver for quite some time now.

Just an act of kindness and a moment shared through human touch.

There is something so intrinsically beautiful and simple in this act. As we parted ways and I made my way home through the streets of Vancouver to the North Shore where my daughter lives, I got to thinking about the people that touch our lives on a daily basis.

I thought of the friends I have, the jobs I’ve held and those who have entered my life and left leaving lasting impressions.

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I thought of people from my past that I’d tried to please who seemingly caused me to bleed the energy from my soul and wondered why I had given this so freely?

Truth is I wanted, craved, desired, needed the basic interaction of human touch.  To feel genuine caring and to feel loved.

I think we all do.  And every once in a while getting that ‘Free Hug’ reminds me that I’m not alone and that I do belong to the collective known as the human race.



Letting Go…Just a Thought

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Vancouver from the top of Grouse Mountain

I have spent a lifetime learning from my mistakes and continue to do so.  Technically I should be a genius at this point as I’ve puzzled my way through the same dilemmas time after time after….

How is it that I continue to make the same the mistakes, yet I try to reason through them in variations that are if nothing else, inventive?

What is it then that brings me back to issues that cloud my judgement?

What is it that causes the fine mass between my ears to suddenly go on autopilot and slip into ‘auto-destruct’ mode.  It is these recriminations that I invite back into my life seemingly unaware.

(This message will self-destruct in 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1).

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I find the solution with seconds to spare only to wonder how I found myself in that particular situation….again!

Trying to isolate the brain patterns responsible and re-wire the cognitive functions around how I act and re-act to the infinite possibilities this life offers is an ongoing mission.

For the moment, I’m going to try and just let go.  Identify a negative pattern then release it from my being.

Funny, I don’t even know if that is possible.  But hey, why not give it a whirl?

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Not Your Average Bear!

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I’m not too certain what made me thing about Yogi, but the smile that curled my lips when I did was immediate.

Saturday morning cartoons.

It was a ritual growing up.  Two hours of nonsense where I could get lost in an animated world.

Characters got blown up, had humongous rocks fall on them and fell from cliffs regularly.

But they never died.

If a cat has nine lives then animated characters are indeed immortal.

Silly pranks were played.  Scheming villains tried in vain to execute their various brands of treachery.

Every week their debauched visions were crushed by sly intellectual bunnies or awkward buffoonish bears.

Yogi and Boo Boo ruled ‘Yellow Stone National Park’ much to the chagrin of Ranger Smith.

This was and still is a sweet innocence for me.  There was no hard sell.

It was always a simple formula, one that I came to expect and it was offered week after week, year after year, and it worked.

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A capricious bunny, an enamored skunk, a witty road runner, a southern rooster or a hero of a mouse…just to mention a few.

We were blessed with so many lovely characters.

Back in the 1990’s though, we were all grown up and adult animation became a demand and began to move to the forefront.

Some of the creations were a delight.  Pinky and the Brain, Future Cat & Friends are a few faves.

“The Simpsons” truly changed the landscape or animation.

Some very dark characters emerged during this time.  Then gaming exploded.

I got to thinking of cartoon from the Merry Melody collection called ‘One Froggy Evening’ done in genuine black and white.  It was likely produced in the 1950’s.


A man finds a frog who can sing like  Pavarotti.  Elated he thinks he’s struck gold.  He advertises this and fills a concert house.  The frog, however, will sing only for him…alone.

This has been a favorite of mine for a lifetime it seems.  There is a joy in its simplicity that is so endearing to me.

These days its hard to find a cinematic production that is just plain old fun.  Making movies is first and foremost a big business.

Last weekend as I was curled up suffering from a dreadful cold and convinced I would never smell the sweetness of a rose again.  I watched ‘Guardians of Galaxy’.   I enjoyed it.  Now perhaps it was the fever but hell, there was a quirky innocence to each of the characters.

This doesn’t happen often in movies such as this for me.

It was silly, goofy and totally predictable, but what sold me was the depth of the characters.  I liked them and wanted to get to know them better.  When this happens I’m hooked.

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I read an article about a year ago that stated that movies follow just twelve various formats.  That’s it!  And as I pondered this I likened it to be true.

Why is it that some movies just blow us away?  Certain catch phrases are adopted or personality traits are adopted and emulated.

Others movies are forgotten before we leave the theatre.

Why did one leave an imprint and the other fade away?

This principle applies to the written word a well.  Those books that capture our imagination and allow it to expand.

In a nutshell, it is character development and plot execution.


How do you take something that has been told a million times or more before and tell it again…originally?

What I’ve learned may sound simple but can really be the toughest thing you’ll ever do.

Tell your story as only you see it.  That is what makes it unique  because none of sees or feels the same about anything really.  Individually we all have variations.

This perhaps, is the most endearing factor in the human equation to me.

Perfection is a myth.

Forgiveness is the key to freedom.

Love is absolute.

…and how each of sees the rise and set of each day is as infinite as the sky we gaze into each day and each night.


Another Year Passes….

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The Lions peeking over the ridge taken Dec 7, 2014

Reflections and musings.  A quick look back.

This year is quickly coming to a close. It has been a year that has offered many insights and challenges.

Depression kicked in earlier in the year. That old devil of mine whispered all my shortcomings to me. The fear that I had pushed back during treatment washed over me threatening to pull me under.

I’ve always had a hard time expressing these emotions,  never wanting to give them voice.

I wasn’t happy.


The life I’d been building was put on hold while I turned my attention to managing my health.

And now the battle was done and it was time to pick up the pieces.

The work place felt like a lead weight around my neck. I was treading water and sinking fast. And I knew it.

They wanted me gone and I wanted to go. Decidedly the architects pushed the envelope coming up with a lame excuse about getting rid of my position all together.

Oh, I could’ve sued and won. Of this I have no doubt. But I found a better place, a rewarding place and moved on.

Some will say I should have held the architects to task. The abuse over the last five years I was there was substantial. The reward would have been a monetary one as that is the only way I could have hurt them. It’s in their DNA.

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But you know at the end of the day I really believe in karma. I thought of the people that are involved on a daily basis with the partners at the Architectural firm.  I’d met many of them.  I pondered how my rage may have affected them. Everything has a trickle down effect, the good and the bad. It has been my objective over the last few years to move through this life with a forgiving and loving heart.

So I ended things with this particular employer with an air of dignity and appreciation.

The partner, who had tormented me, particularly over the last year, was offered a hug and a handshake with a ‘thank you for the opportunity that you’ve afforded me.  I have learned a great deal.’

And the surprise and astonishment that was written on his face.  He wasn’t expecting my generosity of spirit. I caught completely off guard.

Oh, I knew they would hire someone else. They had to and they did a week after I was gone.

The thing I’ve always done is honour the job, I always have and always will.

And I left with a quiet dignity, not with spite and loathing.

Should I have waltzed into court bearing the mantle of a maligned and mistreated employee?

I did consider this option but quickly dismissed it.

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I’m not a victim. I can and have survived more than most. I knew for several years prior that I was working for an asshole.

And in my stubborn optimism I tried to convert the prick.

My suffering was prolonged due to other circumstances as well. I was seeking another job, a better job prior to the cancer diagnosis.

When that sentence was given to me well, I kind of had to just set the rest of this life I’d been chasing off to the side for a time.

And then I got to thinking too of those we lost this year.

Robin Williams.

A man whose desire to make everyone laugh almost seemed manic at times. What a beautiful soul! And he was weighed down by demons that I can’t even begin to imagine in their brutality.

Yet Robin still wanted to make us laugh even though his own despair was swallowing him in that slow death we know as mental illness.

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That phrase is frightening to many isn’t it?

I know this first hand. I’ve dealt with depression for a lifetime. Denied it for at least half of this journey and it was only when I acknowledged it, said it out loud, and accepted it that I truly began to heal and manage it.

In this I gained an understanding of how to deflate the power this thing had over me.

For all of us that do suffer with mental illness the degree of its savagery is hard to calculate.

I believe also that for Robin the weight of his fame was just one more aspect that he had to deal with.

Yes, I want to be a writer and put it out to the masses. You’ll either like it or not.

And I’m cool with that.

There will always be those who criticize. They’ll nit pick and put down every effort made. Hell, I do this as well at times.

Could someone tell me why the Kardashians are famous for example?

But I don’t know what it’s like to be under a magnifying glass. I don’t know what it’s like to have a demanding public. I don’t know if that would be of importance to me really.

Does it become a drug, something that is craved?

The adoration of the masses? The race to keep them happy?


What I do know is that a beautiful and troubled soul lost the battle. His family will miss him. His friends will miss him.

They knew a very different Robin. They knew him when he stepped off the stage and turned off the performance. They probably knew the pain he felt, the torment and like him, they didn’t know what to do about it.

And Robin managed to keep the severity of his illness from many and so the torment was experienced in a silent hell.  I’ve visited that room a time or two.

As Christmas draws ever closer, I want to just hang my hinges onto the beauty of the human race and run with it.

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I don’t want to try to imagine why terrorists would walk into a Pakistan school and kill all the children. I don’t want to wrap my head the ideology of a woman who killed her eight year old daughter then stuffed her in the trunk of car.

I do know these acts are the result of a malfunctioning brain and/or brains. There is a disconnect, a mental breakdown.

We are fed a litany of violent images. Sexuality has become this monstrosity that young people now equate with the phone they hold in their hand that dictates their life.

The flash of breasts and other body parts finds young girls forever shamed and some to a point where death becomes preferable.

And what would I tell these girls?

Love who you are. Love your body and delight in the sensations it gives you.

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And love this life!  My god, the beauty I’ve witnessed, the rush in the simplest of things.

And if someone tries to convince you that you are less than, that you are a slut, a whore…

Smile and know that you all woman.  I’ve got to tell you as well that all those nuances that are yours hold them close.  They are what makes you the person you are.  Build on them…they are your authenticity.

Labels have been around since the dawn of mankind.


The understanding of power has been misunderstood as well.  If you are wanting to look like the Photoshopped model in Glamour or Cosmopolitan magazine ask yourself why.

True beauty has so much depth. It is an energy.

So as this year closes I am thankful for the lessons this life has handed me.  And I am so thankful for all of those who have touched my life.  From all of them  I’ve learned and tried to be just that much better.

I will continue on this path.

And thanks to all of you who’ve continued to read my ramblings. The New Year will see the book publication take place and I will continue to continue on this path of mine.

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Peace out!




“Find your authentic truth.”

These words were uttered a couple of years ago and they stuck as I was seeking that essence of my being that had been shut down and placed in stasis. Feeling half alive or rather just existing was no longer enough.

I wanted more.

A hunger was born.

A desire.

A need to discover. And I was driven by an insatiable curiosity to find my purpose

Sounds rather intense, doesn’t it?

In truth it has at times been quite awkward and my sudden recollections and admissions were at times quite juvenile upon their awakening.


But then again, how could they be otherwise?   I may well be in my fifties but adopting a new way to look at this world and how I function in it?

Well, you have to go back to the point when your first thoughts were secured about this world, of how you were taught that it worked and then question the foundation of that.

So yes, it can be quite juvenile and innocent in its evolution as you change your way of thinking. There is sweetness to it though, a jubilation as those first spears of clarity shoot through you. There are several emotions that will move through you.

There can be a sense of deceit. What you should keep in mind too is that the borders that you are born into will dictate to a large degree how you’ll be expected to perform in this world.

Then as you question this you’ll have a sudden vision of how this world should function…according to you but is it a healthy vision or one of imminent destruction?

Questioning your foundation is a tough thing to do on any level. Had you been raised believing the world was flat, as this was indeed once the norm, consider the main stream response when they were advised that this was not the case. The landscape before them was flat enough. Should they walk for miles, indeed the land would still appear quite flat.

Yet someone had the edacity to state the world was round, and furthermore they could prove it! There was no end of the world that you would fall off of, no oblivion to fear. So we created our heaven and hell and our purgatory. Sometimes I wonder if indeed these ideologies were created to offset the discovery of certain truths.

And we want an explanation for everything, yes?


Sometimes we want so badly to believe in something, anything…don’t we?

Tell me you love me and mean it. Tell me that everything will be okay even though this myth of life that I had adopted was crumbling about my feet and I will believe you

Despite the evidence to support the imminent destruction, I don’t want to see it. I will refuse to buy what my eyes tell me.

I sit empty and devoid of any emotion.

How could everything that I so wanted in my life slip away so catastrophically?

Maybe, just maybe, that is not what I needed in my life. The myth of happiness could not be found on the path I was exploring.

Maybe, just maybe my passion and truth would be better directed toward a truth that was in fact born to me. And so the internal inquiry began.

Perhaps the quest, the aspect of this life that I had missed was opening myself to that truth that was inherent to me and inherent to this world that I inhabit.

And now I must ask myself how can I better serve this world? How can I give back? How can I assist in its evolution to a better place, an honest place, a natural place?

And I’ll likely spend the rest of days given to me attempting to do just that and to do so with loving and forgiving heart.


We’ll always kill. It is indeed a part of this world. But we are different. We have reason, we have logic, or so we are lent to believe, and we have so many fundamentally intrinsic idiosyncrasies in comparison to our animal counterparts. Yet it is what we do to each other that confounds me. The cruelty that we display is at times so discouraging and the creative manner by which we as humans can kill another.

Well it leaves me speechless.

Tonight the geminides will be occurring. And a perfect night for it. The sky is clear. Let the meteorites rain upon us! All I have to do is stay up for another four hours.

I just may do that.



Truth and Wimsy


Jayne and I sat in a lovely restaurant on Friday evening enjoying our meal.

We can easily agree to disagree and I love the debates we engage in.

She doesn’t always share my point of view and often challenges it.

This is one of the things I love about her.

She challenges me to look deeper and think actually how I in fact deduce and entertain my reasoning.

I love debates, I love the thought process and I love to be challenged in some manner as it only assists in my growth. While I may well have some very strong opinions I am always open to new ideas and concepts.

Do you want to save the world from itself?


I watch the news and see all that ails and plagues this planet of ours. And while I realize the news program being viewed has been designed to entertain to some degree, that they’ve taken a host of stories and then decided how they are going to be delivered, as it is a business after all.

I recall watching Walter Cronkite deliver the news in my youth. You could see news people in the background of the newsroom at their desks, smoking cigarettes and moving about gathering information as it came in. Camera shots moved in a little closer to isolate the ‘background’ disturbances.

There was a certain trust back in those days that the news being delivered was based on fact.

The age of flower power was then ushered in. Young people were rising up questioning all the propaganda that had been fed to them. Furthermore, they weren’t buying it.

Many of us thought there was a better way. The utopian dream was born.


No more fighting, no wars, no more power struggles and we would all live equally and in harmony with one another. For a brief moment I think I believed it was possible.

This news of a new initiative to remove the insidious actions that mankind had been doling out since the beginning of our time on this planet blinded me for a moment.

It wouldn’t be that easy. You cannot erase eons of conditioning just like that.

If you are raised to believe in a certain ideology it is very hard to challenge it, let alone change it.

I had spent a lifetime wanting to feel completely comfortable in my own skin.

Prior to my caner diagnosis, I had begun to feel as if I finally reached that pinnacle. Things were beginning to settle into place and I’d never felt more at peace with myself as when I embarked on the training for the ½ Marathon.

Then just as quickly has that illusion emerged it was gone.

Cancer will do that to you. The body was now under siege.

And so I began to look deeper.


I’m not the insecure and naïve girl I was some twenty plus years ago and my views on this world that we live in have changed considerably.

I am more than just the flesh that houses my soul, my spirit. Yet I want that sense of unity with the sum of all my parts.

I look at this world and some of the major issues that we are facing today. Ebola is raging through West Africa and I wonder why we’re not applying the knowledge and remedies we have gained in the Americas with those who are most vulnerable is really beyond me.

The death count seems to double every couple of weeks. The sad thing is the people living there aren’t really aware of what a crisis this has become consequently becoming very vulnerable to infection. And even the removal and disposal of those infected who’ve died must be done quite delicately so as not to infect the living.

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And we watch in animated horror and it doesn’t really affect us, now does it?

Or will it?

One man on a flight to the U.S. had this virus…now two nurses who attended to his care have contracted it. He has since died.

Ebola has made its appearance here in North America. We’re not so complacent any longer. Those tendrils of fear now begin to spread.

I recall a few years back when we had the SARS outbreak. That one came over from Asia.

And the next thing you know the latest fashion trend was the surgical face mask.

Back to the news of the day.

Then of course all the atrocities that are being committed against mankind are reflected as well.

Is the vision that I hold of this world an honest one?

It’s debatable as are most things.

I suppose that’s why I’m exploring the human equation.

I challenge the idea of an ‘eye for an eye’.

Think about this statement. You take one of my eyes out and I’ll take one of yours. It balances out the conflict. We are back on an even playing field, yes?

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Or are we?

We pray that the rights and freedoms we’ve fought so hard for will not be stripped from us, yet governments of the day quietly pass laws stripping them from us as it is no longer ‘cost effective’ to have them in place.

And they’ll commission a study group lead by an ‘independent’ advocate of the government to review the issue…just for good measure and spend just few more precious tax dollars to ensure that all their bases are covered.

When conflict or a threat of some kind occurs close to home we suddenly feel very vulnerable and everyone is suspect. As a nation we don’t like to feel that frailty, as an individual we are horrified and fearful.

I feel incredibly small in comparison to the next layer of life that will be revealed, as it is a moment and it’s fleeting.

I haven’t been guaranteed anything regarding this life and why should I be?

I have this day and it’s mine to live.

We have our truths and much like the interpretation of a painting, a sketch, a poem and so on, truth is just as subjective.

And I’m still striving to find my authentic truth, that place where I am confident that all the energy I exude in a day is being utilized in a manner that will benefit all that surrounds me. That I am connected to this world of ours and those that inhabit it in a manner that is positive and honest.

And that’s all I can do at the moment.

Thanks for stopping and many blessings.



This Is Not A Dress Rehearsal


I am sleep deprived. It’s not for lack of trying. I’ve been going to bed at a decent hour….and for the most part I go to sleep immediately.

Then the dreams come. Fast and furious. Disturbing, anxious, powerful, illuminating, enlightening, foreboding.

And not necessarily in that order.

No sense can be made of any of this at the moment. So I’m just going to have to ride this out. Eventually whatever it is that is tripping through my neurons will make sense or just quietly go away.  But usually the reasoning surfaces at some point.


In a heated interrogation last night I begged for water.

“Just let me wake long enough…its right beside my bed.” I reasoned.

My antagonists allowed this and I woke briefly, though still in the grip of the dream, took a big swallow of water then returned to the interrogation. I was never fully awake and the why’s and wherefore’s of how I came to be in this situation remained in the shadows of the dream.

As stated last week I am feeling a great deal of anxiety and frustration. An internal flogging of sorts seems to be going on. I am feeling frozen, stuck in the mud and fighting to get out only to sink deeper.


There are any number of factors as to why I may be feeling like this. But it’s 8:55 AM and I am exhausted.

Meditation might assist in taking me to the sleep realm but it certainly hasn’t been able to prevent the vicious hounds of doubt and fear from nibbling at my consciousness or rather my subconscious state.

I am reading a label on my banana that says ‘Mix…Peel the Love…Dole’ and wondering what the hell it means.

Ah yes, indeed I am sleep deficient if I’ve given myself over to reading labels on fruit and pondering their meaning.


I am awaiting the caffeine to kick in. Somehow I think this morning would require Espresso being fed intravenously in order to be effective.

At the heart of the matter is the simple fact that I am not happy with myself at this point in time. I feel stagnant. There is much to be done and there is this side of self that has a tendency to take an extended break.

So during last night’s attempt at rest, I was in fact berating this deal breaker of mine and explaining that this is not a dress rehearsal. This is life. If you’re going to show up, you’d better know your lines. There are no do-overs.


Or something to that effect.

And while I am feeling physically bloated and ineffective, this is just another of those torments I tend to put myself through. Instead of being kind and caring to myself after the physical beat down from the cancer crap last year, I am both drill sergeant and cadet.

I wonder why I expect so much from myself?

But I must be a little kinder, a little gentler else the whole of it will simply disintegrate. And I think that’s where the angst and fear is coming in to play. Moving beyond all this is unfamiliar to me, no test run, no parachute. It really will be sink or swim. And if there is one thing I am exceptionally good at, it’s sinking.

Another odd thing of note has been the proximity of time that I awaken each night.  I’ve gotten into the habit of checking the clock upon waking.  This too I’m not certain as to why.  The times have been almost exact the last eight evenings.

They are as follows.  1:34 AM, 2:08 AM, 3:33 AM (and if I miss that one then) 4:13 AM, 4:43 AM (the alarm goes off at 4:45 AM most mornings).  I am typically too tired to hit the gym these mornings though I managed a couple of times last week.  Another general piss off.  So whatever the correlation between these times and the fact that during sleep I am fully engaged in exhaustive mind tripping.


Ah well.  Back to work.  Focus! Focus! Focus!

Til later.  Peace.


Sirens & Crows


A thought begins to form and with it that intoxicating rush of what it may become.  Now the idea takes shape and I’m itching to get my hands on a pen and paper to jot down the rudimentary plot.

Fabulous words and phrases are slipping through the grey matter and I feel the panic rise. I’m in transit…still in my car.  Even upon entering the office, I can’t just commit to writing everything down but I can punch out a few key words.

My head is still a foggy, not quite awake.  I didn’t sleep well last evening.  The world outside my walls kept invading my nirvana.

At 3:50 AM crows were plaintively screaming an injustice outside my window.  Sleepily, with eyes still closed, I tried to reason with them.

You’ll find a more responsive and sympathetic audience if you just let us sleep!” I whispered to the cacophony. They failed to listen.

I had hoped to double up today.  Workout in the morning and run after work.  Sirens and crows played a major hand in convincing me to listen to the bed this morning and steal another hour of what had been sadly lacking during the night.

Strange things play out in my head on the cusp between these two realms.  Dreams invite the outside world in to dance with the images already engaged.

A drama is unfolding, though I seem to just be observing at this point.  A crow glides in beside me.  With an air of petulance he shakes his glistening black head.


“You just don’t understand, you’ll never understand.”  Then he makes to fly away.

“Stop this!  I hate that when you do this.  Always you make your accusations then just fly away.”

I reach out and take hold of one of his legs.

“This is not the time.” he warns ominously.

“And when will be the time?” I insist.

“When the playoffs are over.” he hisses at me then flies away.

I woke then with a question mark etched on my face and in my mind.

Finally, I just gave up trying to go back to sleep.  I slipped from bed and prepared for the day.  I’ll run tonight after work.

My training needs to build gradually so I will keep at it.

As I was driving in to work I pondered dreams.  I thought about technology.  Wondered if they would ever develop a dream recorder.  Wondered if I would ever want to use it.  I don’t know that I would want to share such an intimate side of myself with the rest of this world.

Oh, I can talk about them.  Tell you bits and pieces or lay out the complete story.  That is my choice though. Still, you’ll never see exactly what I have.

Would there be benefits be of being able to record the images in your head?  For those who claim to ‘never dream’ would it shock or surprise them at what actually does go on in their grey matter?

It was recently noted that taking ‘selfies’ on a continuous, almost obsessive basis is now considered a mental illness.  Narcissism seems to be on the rise.  The desire to appear perfect is a multi-billion dollar industry.

I go through various stages of beautiful.  At the moment I resemble a fish called Wanda with a bit of Sebastian the crab tossed in for good measure.

How’s that for a visual?  A reggae singing crab crossed with an angel fish.  And you know, I think if I could just talk like a Jamacian, it wouldn’t matter what I looked like because I would sound so cool!

I seldom take my picture.  There are far more interesting things to look at than me. Everyone knows what I look like.  I update it from time to time.  For example, when my hair fell out during chemo and I had it shaved by my daughter.

What was funny about that was the concern my head would be mishapen.  I am sure I would have known this with the hair still on my head.  But again, there is that desire to look normal, to be attractive.

Like many of you, I want to feel beautiful.  And I guess that’s the key.  Feeling it is much different than just the visual.

For those who take selfies of themselves gyrating in front of a mirror with next to nothing on, who display their cleavage or who take pics of their penis’ I wonder at the reasoning for this.

It has gotten boring fast.  It has become vulgar.  There really isn’t anything mysteriously senuous about anything that the multitude of people doing this can offer.  Perhaps they think that they look better than anyone else.  I don’t know.  And if so, what does the idea of this notion do for you?

Let me ask you this.

Does the idea of a woman of 56 that looks half crab and half angel fish dancing with mop excite you?

Hmm!  I could be on to a whole new avenue of erotica here, folks.

My point being is that none of us has something that has never been seen before.  They are assembled slightly different on all of us which is rather cool in a way.  We all have assembled bits that are uniquely ours and we should celebrate this.

I shall go now and muscle through this day with the neurons that are fully functioning.

Peace out and enjoy.




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The walk toward Robson Street on Friday morning was a little on the painful side.  My hips are on and off again these days.  They have loosened up considerably over the past couple of months but some mornings they feel as if they’ve been fused back together.

I’ve been working on my core in the gym, when I walk, when I run yet still the back will kick up a fuss and can be a deal breaker.  The ache was there upon waking.  I’ll just walk it out I decided.

Construction site abound in the downtown core these days.  I walked up Thurlow Street passing the high-rise being built at Alberni St.

As I emerged from the make shift cover over the sidewalk, street crews were digging up the alley alongside the Joe Fortes restaurant.

A flag woman stood gazing vacantly around her.

She had a beautifully formed face.  Long neck, defined jaw line with rich dark hair peeking out of the hard hat she is required to wear.

Despite the shapeless work clothes she was in good shape.

I wondered how she’d come to be a flag person and if she liked it.

The expression she wore was far away.  She was somewhere else in that head of hers.

An odd sadness washed over me as I passed by.

Then I got to thinking about hell.  I do believe I’ve visited it a time or two.

Then again, I guess it depends on your view of what hell actually is.

Is it a destination or a state of mind?  Is it simply a fear tactic?

I am not of a religious sect.  I am a spiritual being, however, with a deep fascination of the human experience.

There are rules that have been dictated to us for which we live by.  You’ve heard it no doubt.

No killing, stealing, cheating, coveting, lusting…etc.

I have an issue being told what I can and cannot do with my body. What I should enjoy and what I shouldn’t.

I understand that if I were endangering myself in a manner that may well threaten my existence that it may prudent for someone to step in see that I get help.

What I don’t understand is being told that having sex and enjoying it completely is a bad thing.  That should I choose to have several partners then I’m a sinner and am going straight to hell unless I repent.

Taking something as intimate and life affirming as our sexuality and dividing our sensibilities over it is sacrilege to me.

I turned onto Robson Street and made my way to Starbucks for my morning coffee.  No stores are open at this time, just a few people heading to work and shop keepers cleaning their storefronts preparing for the day ahead.

A woman, who I see periodically, was approaching.

Age wise my guess would be in her 70’s?  She could be younger or older.  It’s a tough call.

Her lips have undergone collagen shots one too many times.

Her hair is orange, her lipstick is orange, her attire is strongly infused with orange and her shoes are orange.

The skin seems frail and paper-thin sagging tiredly in areas that have been exhausted with surgical procedures in an effort to keep everything tight and youthful.

It isn’t working.

She tries to carry herself with an air of elegance and sophistication.

It isn’t working.

I smile at her but she doesn’t see me.  She never does.

And I wonder what she sees when she looks in the mirror?

Again I feel an air of sadness emanating from this person.  Is she trying to hang onto a life she thought she had?  What is she hiding from?  Are you scared?

I’m almost at the coffee shop and the mantra to loosen up my body appears to be working.  I’m feeling the energy move through me with much more ease.  Gravity is near normal.  My feet no longer feel as though I have moon boots on.

A petite older woman with dyed black hair and a worn face is approaching.  Her eyes tell the tale. She’s a firecracker.  Present.  In the moment.

She catches my gaze and gives me a sultry grin.

I return it.

And I knew in the brief exchange that this woman had lived a full life.  She’d known great times, she’d known pain.

Other than colouring her hair, she hadn’t tried to stop the aging process.  Had she aged well?

Many factors come into play.  Your gene pool will dictate to some degree how well you manage along with how you lived your life.

Did she live a clean life? Was she unkind to the body she housed?  Can’t say.

One thing is certain, we will all grow old.

At 56 I am embracing this notion.  It is what it is and I will continue to find a healthy balance between saint and sinner.

We are taught to aspire to certain things in this life.

Marry, have babies, be selfless & sacrifice for the family.  Propagate the species.

And what happens when you come from a family where every feeling remained bottled up. I never knew if it was permissible to express myself so I didn’t.  I can assure you that this fucked with the human experience.

Then again, perhaps that’s the point of it.

In the last few years I’ve seen a model life that would be so good for me.  I’ve tasted it.  Liked it.  Flirted with it.

So why don’t I just dive in and give myself over to it?

I’ve got thousands of theories on this.

Excuses perhaps?

An odd smile is playing about my lips at the moment.

What do I project to this world on any given day?  What do you see when you pass by me?

I’ll never know.

Have a great day. Peace.



No Jacket Required

I walked to the Skytrain this morning drinking in a magnificent Spring morning. The sun played and danced over the gentle ripples on the river.   My daughter has been using the car the past couple of days for her move.

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I curled up on the train and pulled out my latest read and let the words tease me. I’m reading Hellgoing by Lynn Coady.

As I disembarked the train a breeze greeted me along with a snow of pink and white.  The blossoms are beginning to fall off the trees giving way to lush, green leaves.  I tried not to step on the freshly fallen blossoms. Somehow it seemed cruel to step on something so beautiful.


Perfumed air washed over me as I walked up to Robson Street along Thurlow Street.

The bushes are all coming into bloom. rhododendrons, heather and a few others inhabit and grace the downtown corridor in certain areas.

A memory came to mind as I stood waiting to cross Georgia Street.

We stood in awe leafing through the pamphlet.  It smelled of money.  Speculation of how much had been spent on this advertising campaign and the cost of these promotional items abounded.  The pamphlet was approximately 12″ x 10″ in size and contained about 20 pages of parchment with images that had been glued to the surface of each page along with inked script.  The whole of it was hand bound in soft leather.

The pamphlet had showcased the building that stood before me at the moment as I waited for the light to change.  The Shangri-la Hotel in Vancouver.

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I found myself considering that type of wealth. This pamphlet had been sent to a select few who were swimming in the same financial pool. One of our clients at the time who is a multi-millionaire had brought it in.

I recall turning the pages gingerly and running my fingers gently over the seagrass that had been braided then fed through holes to bind the document together.  The leather had the rich feel of butter to it.  Each page of parchment adorned with a handwritten script not often seen these days.  High quality images promised a life of never-ending luxury.

Gently I had closed it and passed it along to some of my work mates in the back of the office to coo over.

I had guessed the cost of each pamphlet at approximately $500 to $1,000.  I have no idea how much they were but only about twenty-five had been made and couriered to a handful of the wealthy in Canada and likely a few abroad as well.

As I walked down Robson Street I considered the notion of having unlimited wealth.  I would hope that I wouldn’t be too frivolous with it.cropped-melting-rose.jpg

I thought of the commercials they have up here in British Columbia for the lottery. They show the world as your playground and people living out their fantasies without a care.  A woman sits in a helicopter holding a $6,000 camera with a lens that likely costs twice that amount.

Another woman is on a safari in the Serengeti.

The message a simple one.  Buy a ticket and you could be living this fantasy life.  They’ve had some interesting commercials for this.  They’ve shown guys driving Land Rovers across the mountains while another is flying in a twin-engine plane as they play a round of Tag.  Yes, that child hood game we enjoyed as children now being played out in the extreme.

You might say that it sounds fun.

When I see such things though, I see a great deal of excess.  I see waste actually. A good time to be had for sure, but at what expense?  Oh yeah, I would no longer have to be concerned about that, would I?

The thing is I would be concerned.  And I should be concerned.

Make no mistake that if I were fortunate enough to come into a boat load of cash I would certainly enjoy some indulgences.

And while I currently am trying to make this world a better place, I wonder if having all that money would be of assistance in this endeavour.  I can’t force the idea of my utopian world on anyone.  I know that.

Still, I have an idea of how certain things should be and I would like to see everyone on this planet have the basics at least.

The basics to me are food, clothing, shelter, an education and love.

I could say peace and happiness for all human kind.  As wonderful as it sounds in theory I don’t think it will ever happen.  We will always have our differences.

So let’s focus on the basics.  Give everyone a level playing field and see where we go from there.  It won’t happen in my lifetime but I’ll support initatives that are working toward this.

I stopped and got my morning coffee.  I’ve gotten to know the crew over the years.  Many of them are students with big plans for their life.  We chat about art, movies, travel, etc.  They inquire about what I do, I inquire about what they are studying.

I came out of the coffee shop feeling the warm breeze once again slip over me.  It’s like a summer day today.  No jacket required.  Sandals on with a pair of loose fitting capris and a Tee Shirt.  I’m not dressing particularly corporate today.

I’m fortunate that I live here and have the opportunities that I do.  And I will never take it for granted.

Happy Friday everyone!