tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78400762667809031482024-02-19T06:51:54.904-08:00Lisa McManus LangeSlice-of-Life writing about life and writing - with a touch of sass.Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.comBlogger254125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-74394642145671563802018-10-28T08:40:00.001-07:002018-10-29T09:26:33.154-07:00The Return of the DuckI’ve been busy. I work full time, I’m a mom, wife, daughter and sister. I practice my archery skills at our local range, I go on power walks rain or shine, I’m an amateur photographer and I knit. I live in a place where I am fortunate to have the freedom and the means to do what I want, when I want. I live in a beautiful part of the world where the wonders of nature never cease to amaze me. I truly don’t take what Mother Nature has given me for granted and I know our weather is what draws many to live here. On the West Coast of British Columbia, specifically Vancouver Island, we live in what is considered a tropical rainforest.<br />
<br />
Yes, rainforest. The word alone sounds so....remote and tropical. So ‘Amazon’ – the place, not the online never-ending shopping experience. True we don’t have monkeys swinging from vines, and we don’t have snakes, lizards and creatures more colourful and fascinating than anything a west coast girl like me could ever imagine. Sure we have flowers, but nothing big and grand like what you would find deep in the Amazonian jungle. Our flowers have their own beauty and uniqueness – size doesn’t matter. And sure we have birds not found anywhere else – every country has their own unique animals, after all. Parrots and other birds with colours beyond imagine are kept in cages here – in the jungles afar they fly free by the dozens.<br />
<br />
And now that summer is over and fall is upon us, the rains have started. But up until this point, we haven’t had a lot of rain. In fact, even a week ago I was outside in a t-shirt at the archery range, and I was wishing I had on shorts. Some of the local ponds had yet to fill, and we knew that it wouldn’t be long until they DID fill with water to overflowing, bringing joy and home to many local creatures.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85Abhxe-UeCS5eL9QSlkn9KqwgwNPwCdOOzkxpwmtm4QfhHP3VEqQ1eYQ4HiLp28JpyoJKZWRjbYHKtj2lvXvyQDwvoe7FUq33tAx9BMQWX8wo2g-y_977pIyPfw9l1fa23nY7xr86i-L/s1600/duck+crop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85Abhxe-UeCS5eL9QSlkn9KqwgwNPwCdOOzkxpwmtm4QfhHP3VEqQ1eYQ4HiLp28JpyoJKZWRjbYHKtj2lvXvyQDwvoe7FUq33tAx9BMQWX8wo2g-y_977pIyPfw9l1fa23nY7xr86i-L/s320/duck+crop.JPG" width="320" height="274" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1368" /></a></div>Ducks.<br />
<br />
Mallard ducks.<br />
<br />
The females are brown and considered ‘boring’ while the males are in dark blues and greens - again, seemingly boring – or so as compared to those vibrantly coloured parrots and flowers in the jungles far away.<br />
<br />
But they are OUR tropical birds we so greatly love. The rains that come for what feels like 40 days and 40 nights bring the ducks in rafts. Yes, a group of ducks paddling around in a pond is called a raft, where when in flight the group is called a flock. <br />
<br />
But no rafts are needed for these guys. Their little webbed feet keep them going. They mate for life, and support each other. They return every year to the same place to nest and breed, and the spring heralds fuzzy little chicks that we humans happily protect. A busy highway will come to a standstill to let a little family cross, and firemen and police will go to great lengths to save a little waddler trapped down a drain. People flock to the ponds armed with duck food (bread is bad, dontcha know!) and cameras click faster than the ducks can eat.<br />
<br />
And I’m one of them.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-o9qtpIDVZ1XHdrZXIIJwCnaQ08P7FWwfTF2MqX8egpAZpMeg2tcR7mqDoRqvWmkxqEd8CMNjNGxTK4gwXnape8ebukIyEwNocYW_vF4fbZNPu1uRPkS6aOaZm900OgwJszSr28aHsqb/s1600/DSC_0595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-o9qtpIDVZ1XHdrZXIIJwCnaQ08P7FWwfTF2MqX8egpAZpMeg2tcR7mqDoRqvWmkxqEd8CMNjNGxTK4gwXnape8ebukIyEwNocYW_vF4fbZNPu1uRPkS6aOaZm900OgwJszSr28aHsqb/s320/DSC_0595.JPG" width="320" height="214" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1072" /></a></div><br />
I will never tire of the little beings of our own rainforest. They quack, waddle, flap and paddle all day – sometimes I feel as if only for my entertainment and enjoyment. Like I said, I've been busy - I always AM busy - but these guys force me to slow down and take a moment to just be. I never tire of them, and I have countless photos of them. Some might think of the ducks ‘Heck – you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, right?’ Na – not for me. I love the little guys – and gals.<br />
So as the heavy autumn rains have finally come back to us – non-stop for the last 24 hours as I write this – I know it means one thing. Ducks. The pond at the nature conservatory near my house has been rather dry these last months. I saw a poor excuse of a muddy puddle that had formed there the other day with two ducks mucking about. Were they desperate to make it more than it really was or happy with what they had? I think the later. Because they didn’t care – they still mucked about, happy with what they had.<br />
<br />
As the forecast calls for more and more rain over the next while – and the forecasters sure weren’t wrong this time – all I can think about is ‘FINALLY, the ducks will be back for a good while!’ I am currently charging my camera batteries so my camera is ready for the next break in the clouds. I have spent countless hours at the pond taking photo after photo of our rainforest birds. To anyone else it’s ‘just another duck photo.’ To me, the photos are a treasure – a keepsake – a reminder of what to remember. The ducks are a never-ending source of joy and entertainment. They are MY parrots of MY rainforest.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFF8U74ZaLls8erICEUAAtKoRje0AbFEYyaX8To0Ftg2MVOe-WlUAy-rEguRBS-4yAY1hGhHxpdkRMvbw83h9PNtW_Ok7fBLhLMOfeuJGnTSorir85OD2NX1TdJ17Aq0wEWUiAfkL3pAsg/s1600/DSC_0575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFF8U74ZaLls8erICEUAAtKoRje0AbFEYyaX8To0Ftg2MVOe-WlUAy-rEguRBS-4yAY1hGhHxpdkRMvbw83h9PNtW_Ok7fBLhLMOfeuJGnTSorir85OD2NX1TdJ17Aq0wEWUiAfkL3pAsg/s320/DSC_0575.JPG" width="320" height="214" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1072" /></a></div>They remind me to find and keep the joy in the little things, no matter how small - how seemingly insignificant. Sure the ducks aren’t grand parrots of colour and variety aplenty. And sure around here the ducks are a dime a dozen. But I can lie in bed listening to the rain, and hear the ducks at the pond down the street singing their swan song (that likely doesn’t make sense, but I don’t care) and know how lucky I am to have these little creatures within arm’s reach to entertain me. I don’t have to travel to jungles afar to enjoy these unique and special little creatures who waddle down the path making me laugh. <br />
<br />
And I remember that a silly little mud puddle to one person means the world to another. We are all just ducks in this great big pond. We have to keep swimming, we have to keep waddling, and eventually we’ll get there simply by being ourselves and enjoying what we have. <br />
<br />
Quack!<br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-49326186408662759122018-07-26T14:37:00.002-07:002018-07-26T15:01:25.757-07:00Bats, Elephants and Nuts - Oh My!I have a deep love, passion and obsession of good luck charms and tokens. I love them all – religious and otherwise - but I know there are many I'm unaware of. Which is just as well because if given half the chance I'd be dragging a travel suitcase with me everywhere for all the good luck charms sure to cast spells of good fortune over every reason, need and circumstance. <br />
<br />
So when a friend was preparing to compete in a very big archery tournament overseas – archers are BIG on good luck charms, mantras and routines – I set about researching for what would be best good luck charm I could give. I needed something appropriate to the person and the situation. I honestly didn’t know if my intentions would be well received, so I kept it simple, light and not too ‘woo-woo’.<br />
<br />
So I switched on The Google and my fingers flew over the keyboard determined to help me on my quest. What could POSSIBLY be appropriate? St. Sebastian is the patron saint of archers, but given I was unsure of religious views I opted to stay away from any charms bearing poor St. Sebastian. Plus, despite being the patron saint to archer’s, St. Sebastian's story is very sad so I didn’t want to do the reverse and jinx my friend (yes, I was superstitiously reverse-overthinking). You can read about poor St. Sebastian’s story <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Sebastian">here.</a><br />
<br />
I continued wading through The Google. How about a rabbit’s foot? Nope - very politically incorrect. A red bat? Chinese culture believes them to ward-off evil. Nope - too gothic-looking, plus what if he got bit by one and got rabies? <br />
<br />
I typed on…<br />
<br />
An egg wouldn’t do. Carrying a raw egg around the world would be a bit tricky, plus given the egg is a sign of fertility and rebirth I don’t think my young friend is in the market for having kids at 50-something years-old. AH! An elephant! That’s it! Elephants are symbols of wisdom and longevity, are removers of obstacles and bringers of luck! But alas no, that wouldn’t work either; too big to carry in a suitcase.<br />
<br />
And then I found it - a tiny, easy-to-tuck-in-a-pocket lucky charm. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_z6x4stu3jpe9IflUAVQV4LaySBlF_ndHW47LMOcrYiD62V-QsEIPurgnwcFM4g42UDfa7da97PcRuy10olnbGxluBGIcoxmSf_jXS5rX1FgGpCB335I2_8Vx8tb7MTpMXxfb60PYtaqU/s1600/acorn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_z6x4stu3jpe9IflUAVQV4LaySBlF_ndHW47LMOcrYiD62V-QsEIPurgnwcFM4g42UDfa7da97PcRuy10olnbGxluBGIcoxmSf_jXS5rX1FgGpCB335I2_8Vx8tb7MTpMXxfb60PYtaqU/s400/acorn.JPG" width="344" height="400" data-original-width="434" data-original-height="505" /></a></div>An acorn.<br />
<br />
In English tradition, an acorn is thought to bring luck, prosperity, youthfulness and power. The history and lore behind this tiny gem had me intrigued. From witches to magic to myths and lore, I instantly fell in love with the potential of luck this tiny little nut possesses! Great things DO come in small packages! This <a href="http://luckysymbols.co.uk/acorns/">article</a> pretty much sums it up.) <br />
<br />
I turned off The Google and was on an immediate quest to find an acorn. We live in a part of the world rich in oak trees so I knew they wouldn’t be hard to find. But as I suspected it was a tad early in the season for them to be in ‘season’ so I was a bit worried I wouldn't find one….<br />
<br />
BUT as luck would have it, I found one. Sure it was a bit on the tiny side – autumn in the next few months would yield a greater harvest of the little gems - but I needed one NOW and the small-ish one I found would have to do.<br />
<br />
A week later I presented the lucky nut to my friend, along with my lucky penny and a rock from our archery range intended to be a token of support from home. I know my friend's vast archery skills and experience will go farther in the tournament than any luck a nut can give, but I figure we all need every little bit of help we can get.<br />
<br />
So this autumn when you sweep your sidewalk of those little brown nuts with their cute looking beret-like hats, think twice and slip one in your pocket. You never know where it will take you. I know of one little nut that’s gonna go far and (hopefully) do someone a world of good.<br />
<br />
к вашей победе<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-29262364055609045702018-07-19T10:50:00.000-07:002018-07-19T10:50:50.598-07:00Another Writing Self-help Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wpa48QXjb3SkWKGyRqnE1V7ZTAfJJNaYqpTPdb7CHH7chvfNYOgjiT0QVSb-QTdOKFicIieN2W3uijoW6CkyUeRg2vUBl9ggO27Iz1-a2kIFFdwmrCJwsyjOITmwEwByMfxaLHP8hNw/s1600/IMG_20171213_131036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wpa48QXjb3SkWKGyRqnE1V7ZTAfJJNaYqpTPdb7CHH7chvfNYOgjiT0QVSb-QTdOKFicIieN2W3uijoW6CkyUeRg2vUBl9ggO27Iz1-a2kIFFdwmrCJwsyjOITmwEwByMfxaLHP8hNw/s320/IMG_20171213_131036.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>I recently took a needed hiatus from my writing – self-induced yet situational. I couldn’t write and I needed to step back. Other things took my focus away – family, life stress, etc – and what I needed to do was turn my attention to something completely different and out of the norm for me.<br />
<br />
Archery.<br />
<br />
Writing is and has never been far from my soul, but given that various personal factors were consuming my mind and heart, nothing was making sense. Nothing worked. Words jumbled. Emotions blurred. Fingers froze. I wanted to write. I needed to write. I knew that if I simply wrote something, ANYTHING, that that would be the answer. Sure occasionally I had a few moments of clarity and inspiration, and a first chapter would be written, a few plots fleshed out, and a few ideas entertained and written down. <br />
<br />
But I never got further than those false starts, idea jotting, plot scheming. But, I kept telling myself, at least I still have the desire, the passion, and the want. <br />
<br />
It just wasn’t the right time for me. <br />
<br />
But still guilt consumed my soul; self-doubt made me nauseous. Was I now a has-been? Was I washed up? Was the writer I was before a total sham? Was I a fraud? Was that life I had over?<br />
<br />
Yet, the desire, passion and want – never mind all the plot scheming, idea generating, and false starts – never left me. All that guilt, self-doubt and nausea was a mere second to the passion, desire and want that I knew was still there. I just needed to NOT write for a while. I had to give myself permission to NOT write. I had to allow myself to let go of the guilt, ignore the self-doubt, and simply take a Gravol for the nausea.<br />
<br />
Because deep down I knew I was a writer and always would be a writer. Maybe I was in a writer’s mid-life crisis, I don’t know. And I know even as I write this, I’m still not there, and I have to keep pushing away the guilt-laden mantra ‘you’re only a ‘writer’ if you’re writing.’<br />
Well – screw the mantra.<br />
<br />
I would write when the time was right, and when I was ready. When I had sorted through my SELF and when I knew it would feel right. I kept pushing myself – flogging a dead horse, as it were – and trying for something that wasn’t meant to be AT THAT TIME. And the more I pushed for something that wasn’t there – that wasn’t meant to be – the worse it got.<br />
<br />
I didn’t need anyone else’s idea of what a writer is ‘supposed to be’ to define who I know I am.<br />
<br />
A writer.<br />
<br />
So back to the archery.<br />
<br />
With all that was going on in my life, I had a focus – something bigger than me, something different than me, and something beyond me – and that was archery. It could have been pickle ball, curling, bowling, or cricket – I don’t think it would have mattered. But archery has become something bigger than I had ever imagined for myself. It has been something that has kept me active and moving. Something that has kept me moving forward and not back. You HAVE to erase all that is bugging you at the time in the moment of each shot. The sport has had me toughening up mentally – it truly IS a game of mental strength – and has had me learning how to deal with highs, lows, competition and intimidation. But most of all, I have had to learn to get out of my own head - get out of my own way. Because recently I learned I was my own worst enemy. No snotty competitor, no ‘big shot’ who would try to cut me down because I’m a girl (happens everywhere), and no injury could truly bring me down. Only allowing any of those to get into my head would bring me down, and that would be my fault if I let them in, not theirs. I had to learn that I was responsible for letting people or situations get in my own way. I had to get stronger and tougher. I had to remember that during times of weakness that I was so much more than the guy or girl who could try to knock me down - and most of the time that girl was me. <br />
<br />
And that doesn’t just apply to archery.<br />
<br />
I realized recently that I was responsible for letting things get to me. People or situations, stress or sadness, could not rule me. I had accomplished so much – in life, in my writing, in my little archery ‘career’ that was only in its infancy – so why would I let little things get into my head? <br />
<br />
As I write this – see? I AM writing – my archery club has started a 13-week tournament were registrants from across Canada sign up and each week your score is submitted and tallied against others in your respective category. At the end of the 13 weeks, your top 6 scores get averaged, and a winner in each category is announced.<br />
<br />
I won gold last year.<br />
<br />
I won gold despite during the whole 13 weeks I was a stressed out wreck. Truly. But I get like that. I overthink, I over-do, I over-worry. It’s supposed to be fun! It’s supposed to be engaging! Why was I acting and feeling like a freak?<br />
<br />
But of course, I got in my own way. <br />
<br />
Back-track for a moment to the Spring where I went to a national championship in Maple Ridge. It was my goal to go – just to know, for ME, that I had done that. I had no hopes of winning anything – I was up against big shots – but I wanted to know for MYSELF that I had done that. And despite sitting in the parking lot of the range crying after practice the first day there – I was overwhelmed, felt like a fool and felt like I was way beyond in-over-my-head – I forged on in 32degree temperatures with non-existent mascara that had melted away in the heat and came in fourth.<br />
<br />
And I sang the whole way home in the car knowing I had done that. I. HAD. DONE. THAT. <br />
<br />
Little old me.<br />
<br />
So fast forward to the beginning of January and that 13-week tournament. I’m not cocky, nor over-confident, but I was secure in the knowledge that I could do this – look at all I had accomplished! – and I had the experience both technically and mentally to do things like this.<br />
The first day I was calm. No problem. I can do this. I was prepared for a few false starts, which is natural, and the slate was clean – last year’s gold meant nothing now. I had to just do what I could do NOW.<br />
<br />
And of course, I lost it. I stressed, shook, sweated and near-barfed. I got myself so psyched out for no reason. I let other competitors get into my head. My equipment went wonky. I had cramps. Outside life stresses weighed me down.<br />
<br />
And my first scores were horrid.<br />
<br />
And my second scores were horrid.<br />
<br />
I lost sleep.<br />
<br />
My heart raced.<br />
<br />
I couldn’t shake it off the panicking, all-consuming feelings that made my heart race and my spit dry up.<br />
<br />
I had to get my mental game on and I couldn’t.<br />
<br />
But.....<br />
<br />
But then........<br />
<br />
I fell back on what I knew how to do, and what WOULD help.<br />
<br />
Writing.<br />
<br />
I didn’t write about this immediate tournament, I wrote about that national championship that I had done.<br />
<br />
Chicken Soup for the Soul recently had a call for submissions for an upcoming book ‘The Empowered Woman.’ True, I hadn’t been ‘writing’ lately, but as I said above writing was never far from my mind. I knew I wanted to do a story for this book, but was hesitant – how could I empower others if I, frankly, wasn’t exactly feeling very empowered? What kind of a sham would I be even entertaining writing a story for them on this topic give my constant state of self-doubt?<br />
<br />
But I knew – or at least hoped – that maybe my perseverance and accomplishment of my goal of competing in that national championship MIGHT hopefully inspire someone. I hoped that my own sense of empowerment, independence and confidence gained from competing in that tournament might help someone to do something beyond their insecurities.<br />
<br />
I knew the deadline was sometime in January, so I had to be quick. I knew I had write about what I had done during that national competition to not only help someone else (if they published it), but mostly I had to write about it to for myself. I had to remember what I CAN do, would I COULD do, and what I HAD achieved. If I was going to get through these 13 weeks, I had to get out of my way and remember a mantra I had come up with after that national tournament – ‘If I can do THAT, I can do anything!’<br />
<br />
So I wrote about the experience – and finished it in a day. I wrote SOMETHING and FINISHED it! Writing gave me perspective. It was cathartic. <br />
<br />
It was empowering. <br />
<br />
It was timely.<br />
<br />
And it was only after I finished and patted myself on the back did I think ‘gee, I better go check on the deadline for that.’<br />
<br />
I wrote it on January 9.<br />
<br />
The deadline was January 10th.<br />
<br />
WOW.<br />
<br />
Well if that wasn’t meant to be, I don’t know what was....<br />
<br />
The act of writing my accomplishment – which was both self-serving and hopefully an inspiration to someone else – along with other mental strengthening tactics I acquired, I settled myself down and have, as of today, competed twice more in the 13-week tournament CALMLY and without self-doubt. Without negative thought. I refuse to feel that stress again – this is supposed to be fun! – and I refuse to let anyone get into my head – especially if that someone is me. My last two scores were better than I had ever imagined – but it wasn’t about the scores. It was about me getting out of my own way – out of my own head.<br />
<br />
All I had to do was write.<br />
<br />
<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-23774152377579886632018-07-07T19:18:00.000-07:002018-07-07T19:18:10.873-07:00Since I've Been Gone...Kelly Clarkson has a fabulous toe-tapping, in-the-car-singing tune - "Since U Been Gone!" I take it from the words - and I haven't asked her myself - that it's about how a girl has grown and changed since being away from her guy. Distance, time, and life events all have us growing and changing - we wouldn't be human if we didn't.<br />
<br />
So since I'VE been gone from this blog and the wonderful world of wordsmithing I love so much, I've been growing. Life events have consumed my heart and time - a blank page to fill with meaningful and entertaining words has not been the escape I needed. I have found calm and healing outside in nature's finest - when I'm not pounding the pavement in a healthy/hearty powerwalk with Kelly Clarkson's songs urging my every step faster through my ipod, I've been at the archery range slinging arrow after arrow. In writing, word by word you get somewhere, those thoughts, ideas and creations taking you down paths you didn't know you'd be going. With archery I have found that with every arrow, and all those steps needed to go retrieve those arrows - some on the target and some, sadly, in the 'green ring' (grass) - I have found order and a sense of knowing where I was going. You can only go forward or back on an archery range with only the wind blowing things off course. But wind is just wind - it eventually goes away and you got a bit stronger from having to brace yourself against it. You can't control wind, but you know you can get back on course. Words on the page have eluded me - arrows have kept me going forward. Writing won't ever leave me - just the wind of life.<br />
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None of this likely makes any sense - but that's okay. Since I've been gone the act of putting pen to paper hasn't truly left me - the itch to write is always deep down - but you get rusty, you see. Just like archery, word-spinning takes and needs practice. It's just good to know I can always come back to it - when the time is right and the wind shifts accordingly.<br />
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So for now I will savor this moment of writing and I'll think of tomorrow when I'll be back on the archery range. And when I come back from where I've been gone, I'll be a different version of who I am, with that much more to share - and write.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglMuq9sekWyMk6L3RkcJRDcohdM7oN8KYRIbrHPoi2dnW_CzyKO7y7B2eYylNYgW8bmVi8Ze-fQ7EQ7w78AtW8yBGdpneT5uUK32ds1kkxn_Oolc7Ser_zlafIZHkvd-aWdXz246bsHV2/s1600/IMG_20180507_100903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglMuq9sekWyMk6L3RkcJRDcohdM7oN8KYRIbrHPoi2dnW_CzyKO7y7B2eYylNYgW8bmVi8Ze-fQ7EQ7w78AtW8yBGdpneT5uUK32ds1kkxn_Oolc7Ser_zlafIZHkvd-aWdXz246bsHV2/s400/IMG_20180507_100903.jpg" width="400" height="300" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a></div>Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-58221942942226646232018-02-01T10:39:00.000-08:002018-02-01T10:39:32.176-08:00Life Lessons With the 5-Second Rule<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJ_Rw8U9mV9TW89AKgOQm-U4TdjyI_PqsymMACtTai3WBvOmxZjSxGRAZ8lkiZR0clvCPb3Ayf2CU2FrK69gLr98LZkRTEj5CgpJrVyiCthcx0qnCBST1l3vTBTfx8S4nZeSbgAAfXXVP/s1600/Sourdough-English-Muffins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJ_Rw8U9mV9TW89AKgOQm-U4TdjyI_PqsymMACtTai3WBvOmxZjSxGRAZ8lkiZR0clvCPb3Ayf2CU2FrK69gLr98LZkRTEj5CgpJrVyiCthcx0qnCBST1l3vTBTfx8S4nZeSbgAAfXXVP/s320/Sourdough-English-Muffins.jpg" width="320" height="229" data-original-width="370" data-original-height="265" /></a></div>I dropped half of my toasted English muffin on the floor of the kitchen at work.<br />
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And then I ate it.<br />
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It was only there for five seconds.<br />
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It hadn’t yet been slathered with the inch-thick glob of peanut butter I usually apply, so surely nothing would stick to it. I dusted it off just in case, glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was around, then slathered on the peanut butter and chowed down like it was nobody’s business.<br />
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And I didn’t die.<br />
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The muffin was barely on the ground five seconds before I snatched it up. For a brief second I wondered if the ‘open’ side of the muffin – the side one would typically spread something delicious – being face down on the floor would be worse than if it had been the ‘wrong’ side, or the outside of the muffin. But the ‘side’ of the food touching the ground truly wouldn’t matter. <br />
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The food that had been on the floor that hadn’t been washed since God knows when.<br />
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And I didn’t care. <br />
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And again, I didn’t die.<br />
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And as I ate my now likely plague-riddled muffin, I thought about ‘five seconds’ and all that can happen in that seemingly short amount of time - aside from food being near-infected by dirty kitchen infestations.<br />
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The five second rule – when it comes to food, that is – has long been argued, proven/disproven/proven, de-bunked, tested/re-tested, agreed/disagreed and gagged over. Scientists and doctors and myth-busters alike have long queried the probability of bacteria clinging to food in a short amount of time. Many refuse to eat ANYTHING that has fallen on the floor, yet many scream FIVE SECOND RULE at the top of their lungs when something delicious like a brownie hits the floor – as if screaming it will scare the germs away and ward-off disgusted looks from others in the room. But I contradict myself - I often think twice about WHAT the food item is before pleading the rule of 5 seconds before devouring. If it’s a glomb of oatmeal I’m not going to lick it off the floor. If it’s a piece of $20 steak? Well you can bet your barbeque sauce I’ll be snatching that tasty little morsel off the floor faster than the cat can come charging over!<br />
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My peanut buttery, plague-riddled muffin nearly gone, and my body still intact and no worse for wear, I further contemplated those infamous and highly controversial ‘five seconds’ so many equate to food and germs. A lot of GOOD things can happen in 5 seconds. Yes, a lot of BAD things can happen as well, but in the spirit of speaking and acting positive this new year where I’m sure science will, once again, take a turn and discover a new reason not to eat food off the floor, here’s a list of GOOD things we can do in five seconds – to make this world a better place – if only for a second:<br />
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1. Smile. Yep. Just smile. Try it. You won’t break a sweat. You have time – just do it.<br />
2. Say ‘Good morning’ (and fake it if you must). Two words. That’s it. <br />
3. Say ‘Good morning’ AND smile – that’s a double whammy there, but it’s worth it.<br />
4. Say ‘I love you’ and mean it. <br />
5. Hug someone. SQUEEZE them. Squish the snot right out of them.<br />
6. Think a happy thought – but then if you’re like me where one thought leads to the next, then the next, then next, then the next, then the next, then the next, then the next, and then suddenly a whole hour has gone by and you have done nothing but stare out a window and think and then for the life of you you can’t figure how you got to thinking about why the worm you saw that morning on your walk was so big – what DID that guy eat for breakfast? – and you can’t remember what your original happy thought was and then……*deep breath*….you’re exhausted. Just a QUICK happy thought then. One that will only take five seconds.<br />
7. Wipe the crumbs off the counter into the sink. You don’t even have to use a cloth. Just a quick swipe and they’re GONE! (*this is a hint to my family, but it’s a good reminder for all)<br />
8. Stop and admire a tree. Yep – just a tree. Any tree. Walking somewhere with your head down and feeling in a funk? Look up for five seconds and admire that tree standing there waiting for you to admire. It’ll be thankful you paid attention to it for once, and doing so will give you pause out of your funk. Go on – try it. Give BACK to that tree.<br />
9. See some litter? You know what to do….<br />
10. And last but not least – blow your nose (but privately). It’s healthy and socially needed – nobody likes someone who always sniffs.<br />
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Yes, these have gone from the obvious to the absurd, but every little bit counts, I say. But in this world where we are neurotic germaphobes - gloves for this, sprays for that, antibacterial gels strong enough to near-peel the skin off our hands - eating a few germs off the floor will likely do us a world of good (build up our immunity), do the WORLD a load of good by not wasting food, and those POSITIVE five seconds will remind us there truly IS so much good we CAN do – for ourselves AND each other.<br />
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Remember to make the most of every second, and doing great things always happens in little increments – either eating something off the floor laden with germs before five seconds is over, or doing something little like smiling at someone to make their day – it’s what you DO with your time is what matters. Make every second count.<br />
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So drop that steak, brush it off, pop it in your mouth and smile at that tree. You won’t get sick and you’ll be happier for it - and full!<br />
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(Disclaimer - I'm no scientist and have no medical or scientific knowledge or background to support or argue the hygenic/non-hygenic merits of eating food off the floor. It's not for everyone, and to each their own and all that. So like I tell my kids - 'if something doesn't feel right, don't do it!')<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-56926236568747452252017-11-30T12:07:00.000-08:002017-11-30T12:07:39.511-08:00Pineapple Express to Polar Express: Getting in the Spirit of Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirp2j_oFj1xkTF7gayl153lh4MJYl2jKpHoYxijue7scfRPxfFIGRRepkYrKorNm3ObD9p-z8172G3SRD-XbCAZG1A6kde6prFuJwgyYchbJox1aiZUBEMBDS377busZNf9yj2s5NxfabI/s1600/IMG_20171123_114545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirp2j_oFj1xkTF7gayl153lh4MJYl2jKpHoYxijue7scfRPxfFIGRRepkYrKorNm3ObD9p-z8172G3SRD-XbCAZG1A6kde6prFuJwgyYchbJox1aiZUBEMBDS377busZNf9yj2s5NxfabI/s320/IMG_20171123_114545.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>And just like that – Christmas is here.<br />
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People say it every year that ‘Christmas just snuck up’ on us – as if we didn’t know it was coming for the last 364 days of the year. One minute it’s summer, then it’s back to school, then Thanksgiving, Halloween and Remembrance Day (in that order if you’re in Canada), then WHAM! It’s deck the halls, untangle the lights, and start panicking!<br />
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And this year, for me, it simply DID sneak up on me – and I think the weather played a big part in what feels like Christmas’ sudden appearance. Because it truly feels – as cliché as it is – that just yesterday was summer. I spent the summer on the archery range, and even up until the middle of October I was out there with just a t-shirt and shorts. I was still swimming in the lake at the end of September, the trees with their changing leaves reflecting on the waters’ surface. Aside from one FREAK snowstorm one Thursday night merely a few weeks ago, we truly haven’t had much of a winter – yet. They say it’s coming and will hit us hard when it does, but until then we will enjoy all the rain and above normal temperatures we have been getting. A <a href="https://oceanservice.noaa.gov/facts/pineapple-express.html">Pineapple Express</a> weather system courtesy of Hawaii has been soaking our Christmas wrapping paper along my beloved west coast – or should I say ‘wet’ coast. There have been clouds, clouds and more clouds, bringing rain, rain, and more rain. But what is specific to this Pineapple Express is the temperature - warm, warm, and more warm - with temperatures being up around 15 degrees Celsius (59 for those in Fahrenheit). Yes, the buckets of rain we have been getting make playing outside a tad challenging, however not totally impossible, and the warm breeze that comes through when the rain DOES decide to take a break is rather....alarming. I hope Santa brings his bathing suit.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74kthymK_zBp4SOLRnd2YtKNH-v5HhDDdQOqODBNKIaeg7cPWXywqVwQdFD8W99f2Gd_R22U7Vc9oWDhNXWEe2qvBIpAnF71lOKbaEYj3UbAr31Dj0asxuN-i5JeJxQ4HLuSyNOxtLld7/s1600/IMG_20171123_143644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74kthymK_zBp4SOLRnd2YtKNH-v5HhDDdQOqODBNKIaeg7cPWXywqVwQdFD8W99f2Gd_R22U7Vc9oWDhNXWEe2qvBIpAnF71lOKbaEYj3UbAr31Dj0asxuN-i5JeJxQ4HLuSyNOxtLld7/s320/IMG_20171123_143644.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
But Hawaii we are not, and Christmas is coming no matter what the weather. Today (as I write this) the sun is shining for a mere few hours before the rain hits again. No frost, no runny noses, no brisk mornings and chilly fireplace-needing nights. Yet, Christmas is supposed to be a feeling – a season – a way of being of spreading goodwill to all men, no matter what day or time of year it is and no matter what the weather is ‘supposed’ to be. I think it feels like it ‘snuck’ up on us in part because our weather had been so nice for so long that we haven’t had ‘winter’ yet to put us in the mood. But even if we WERE in Hawaii, where when it rains it pours but is gone faster than you can grab your surf board, Christmas would still come and all the lights and baubles would still twinkle and sparkle. Just like here, but hotter.<br />
Most stores were politically correct in waiting until after Remembrance Day to allow ‘Christmas’ to explode all over their aisles and shelves, and I’m so very, very thankful they have finally started waiting until an appropriate time (it didn’t always used to be like that). But I don’t blame ‘lack of decorations’ on my lack of Christmas enthusiasm. I think it’s because I have been in a blur these last few months, changes and transitions making me pensive and reflective and therefore sabotaging my creative spirit. So it’s only been recently when I’ve run into a store and the silver, gold, holy and ivy have smacked me in the face that have I sort of ‘come to’ and realized how much time has passed while I was grey.<br />
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I needed my bells jingled.<br />
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I needed a little sparkle.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSv41_SZ1jdTXCuZHnS-mQDjh0ALJiuUpxZK3-0FYvvsfnuDdn7pgStkAE9Bixv4-HCu9NLUvvkdnPUb6FTBEC25pcq8h5U8V5ypwmTfA3xkDtkUSQYI2vXnb2nry1PZFpQBXqG9hIimg/s1600/IMG_20171127_111802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSv41_SZ1jdTXCuZHnS-mQDjh0ALJiuUpxZK3-0FYvvsfnuDdn7pgStkAE9Bixv4-HCu9NLUvvkdnPUb6FTBEC25pcq8h5U8V5ypwmTfA3xkDtkUSQYI2vXnb2nry1PZFpQBXqG9hIimg/s200/IMG_20171127_111802.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
And despite the rain and dark clouds in the sky and in my head, Christmas decorations are still going up on every street corner while strings of lights are just about all untangled.<br />
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So where I had been in a foggy cloud of pensive self-reflection, I now realize that the Hawaiian Christmas we are seemingly having, along with the materialistic glitz and glam that has thrown-up in the stores and on the streets, is maybe just what the doctor ordered. Maybe seasons, celebrations and annual events are needed to stop and think and assess all that we have, no matter the weather, no matter the tradition, no matter the ebb and flow of the polar express of change. Maybe, after all, it wasn’t the lack of traditional Christmasy winter weather that didn’t get me in the mood, but maybe it was ME that prevented me from getting into the spirit of it all. It’s been a weird year, personally and globally, and despite all the great things I have done this year, despite the most important being that my family is safe and healthy, I let clouds get in the way of seeing the sparkle that is there year round. I think I let the rain we have so recently been deluged with water-down my already non-Christmas cheer.<br />
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But I also realize that Christmas suddenly appearing all over the place actually put me in my place; it woke me up enough to get me out of my pensive cloud. Sure the clouds have ACTUALLY been around for a while – all those pineapples whamming up against the windows and whatnot – but who says I have to keep MY head in the clouds? Who says I have stay in the grey? Yes, things change – transition is always upon us no matter what – but we have to keep going. We have to keep watching for the bright and shiny around every corner, no matter what time of year and no matter the weather. Deep down I know things could be so much worse. Perspective bops me on the head every so often, and right now I guess I needed that candy cane to whack me over the head. Heck, I'm lucky I even get to HAVE 'Christmas' with all it's festivities, glam and glitz, and indulgences. A season is what you make of it - excitement, joy and love are there for the taking no matter one's beliefs. <br />
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I have to keep looking up, and not down at the puddles. Puddles DO eventually go away, and before we know it Christmas will be gone, a new year will be here, and spring will be making an appearance. It’s time to get out of my funk, get creative and get DOING, and get in the Christmas spirit - because time keeps flying by. And I intend on enjoying every moment of the Pineapple Express while I wait for the Polar Express that always comes our way no matter what, no matter the weather.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBhyY8Q2Pdtsu3TNuVOWcTP_Eh4aSO_QirAUNvjYvaH7GVWD8OHIDEDddzWslaE4peM-ueXKyKZMK5HRRh8gdp6mnqCgtbmI7Z12YToccju53IsFhm9sKnixkvSIAsD3XLfJOS6r0Db1H/s1600/IMG_20171123_121141.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBhyY8Q2Pdtsu3TNuVOWcTP_Eh4aSO_QirAUNvjYvaH7GVWD8OHIDEDddzWslaE4peM-ueXKyKZMK5HRRh8gdp6mnqCgtbmI7Z12YToccju53IsFhm9sKnixkvSIAsD3XLfJOS6r0Db1H/s200/IMG_20171123_121141.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6NyoMAMMaHOZJSsYzKGwWUILMsrg1DfVqxNBQNnkNBOpy9_D4A3Ka1S1KSaE7oKN0SkZjj2yY7bAZPn37Ln1EzvuTC2zxFz5spy21gCVlEqEKNxVgGyHefjynknLX9mJti0LCOXTfmAc/s1600/IMG_20171123_143243.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6NyoMAMMaHOZJSsYzKGwWUILMsrg1DfVqxNBQNnkNBOpy9_D4A3Ka1S1KSaE7oKN0SkZjj2yY7bAZPn37Ln1EzvuTC2zxFz5spy21gCVlEqEKNxVgGyHefjynknLX9mJti0LCOXTfmAc/s200/IMG_20171123_143243.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBh9Ohmsg4KhCZP7pqYABF45135rjWbtqeJ83hoiEAZDnKfx4qqbvI7Q5Q77x1u7tbnHvZ6o3YgYF3lDn89N-09pS7juyWtJL75jYGG_oqF5JwXBChRXYlDObecmgrE0cqcwjUhIpomzm/s1600/IMG_20171123_143936.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBh9Ohmsg4KhCZP7pqYABF45135rjWbtqeJ83hoiEAZDnKfx4qqbvI7Q5Q77x1u7tbnHvZ6o3YgYF3lDn89N-09pS7juyWtJL75jYGG_oqF5JwXBChRXYlDObecmgrE0cqcwjUhIpomzm/s200/IMG_20171123_143936.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZb5eirPcVYpVLqi9Ckg7twh5lSFnNfHE398OzRFg7p4MWR8mXjTPj_pDbLJIY_ZqCa6ZimXXg58nVcC9mXVgdaELkcV3B4pdATPyts9vZFjoisrhjifJd9EBZfdzYAkD_CME1ZxSiNVW_/s1600/IMG_20171123_144042.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZb5eirPcVYpVLqi9Ckg7twh5lSFnNfHE398OzRFg7p4MWR8mXjTPj_pDbLJIY_ZqCa6ZimXXg58nVcC9mXVgdaELkcV3B4pdATPyts9vZFjoisrhjifJd9EBZfdzYAkD_CME1ZxSiNVW_/s200/IMG_20171123_144042.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgolMkMBauGaXqx_zgXmmI8AePrjmMhDzpxSwsTyj__DgH-zT_OtUKbBtpKQWQD2bUOoie3M_PRJT3_f0xjCYf8UcDF0l7lM7x2_4-8Po_CcrKy0llXBEEQyfB260O8VzZuNfnSe_QwIMnK/s1600/IMG_20171127_112435.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgolMkMBauGaXqx_zgXmmI8AePrjmMhDzpxSwsTyj__DgH-zT_OtUKbBtpKQWQD2bUOoie3M_PRJT3_f0xjCYf8UcDF0l7lM7x2_4-8Po_CcrKy0llXBEEQyfB260O8VzZuNfnSe_QwIMnK/s200/IMG_20171127_112435.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgT95YUl4sEgdo3Blb4wfNiz21S3VfCbeEkJDteF9n-AKze6OPYO-HX-01rku4Xu2Qmh1yQUG1FhWpmDGI5g02SzAO0QOZqjt-qmUDyDzYkxh_A2reucbVJoQTUYZ5odecZ5Y2E5GIOgs/s1600/IMG_20171128_115142.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgT95YUl4sEgdo3Blb4wfNiz21S3VfCbeEkJDteF9n-AKze6OPYO-HX-01rku4Xu2Qmh1yQUG1FhWpmDGI5g02SzAO0QOZqjt-qmUDyDzYkxh_A2reucbVJoQTUYZ5odecZ5Y2E5GIOgs/s200/IMG_20171128_115142.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxttVSlfFOSG6Hr8D7EDKMsWqz0XertB38_HautPDGu3odc3GNAQmQHzqeEDqh6OcaL0zZ7FV0H4RsJQo1_tKKpm9PWryrNkvFQoAF84AMVzL1HL4hvz6hGfR3lxIc81W_eKnHLw4u7eR/s1600/IMG_20171128_115605.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxttVSlfFOSG6Hr8D7EDKMsWqz0XertB38_HautPDGu3odc3GNAQmQHzqeEDqh6OcaL0zZ7FV0H4RsJQo1_tKKpm9PWryrNkvFQoAF84AMVzL1HL4hvz6hGfR3lxIc81W_eKnHLw4u7eR/s200/IMG_20171128_115605.jpg" width="150" height="200" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmFeXBFH5bP09d2X1UUANKuLK_yoN-cR_NsqFQioJLv1UpO21T0BIEdkoNowmFwMGyEXFgfXjEgcCqwxemqQtQGBSVHkDUIIuyf7CvShh8jKc6WIr6O3WnXq5WZDKZyGqRbZmQEJ8hMA3/s1600/IMG_20171123_143430.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmFeXBFH5bP09d2X1UUANKuLK_yoN-cR_NsqFQioJLv1UpO21T0BIEdkoNowmFwMGyEXFgfXjEgcCqwxemqQtQGBSVHkDUIIuyf7CvShh8jKc6WIr6O3WnXq5WZDKZyGqRbZmQEJ8hMA3/s200/IMG_20171123_143430.jpg" width="200" height="150" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-28498233790605118532017-10-13T14:04:00.000-07:002017-10-13T14:04:01.052-07:00Here's to October the 13th, My Chiropractor and Whatever Else is Out There....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MPS3JZuXdVq5hqWbOF0Kro68Lc2zM8LmlXRYwNZPACqaPewdkwRNbbO5MZmMz3TXSu1ECLinzuhN8dM8hdEH6DnTigmhma5iMqMCtpwzPfOCsm3UC_e5HP7XyGBT_MYEIWJpgP17GwZf/s1600/bad-luckl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MPS3JZuXdVq5hqWbOF0Kro68Lc2zM8LmlXRYwNZPACqaPewdkwRNbbO5MZmMz3TXSu1ECLinzuhN8dM8hdEH6DnTigmhma5iMqMCtpwzPfOCsm3UC_e5HP7XyGBT_MYEIWJpgP17GwZf/s320/bad-luckl.jpg" width="320" height="169" data-original-width="600" data-original-height="316" /></a></div>It’s Friday the 13th, the most ominous day for the superstitious! <br />
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And to make matters worse it’s in October, the most frightfully haunted superstitious month of the year!<br />
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And of course, as always, the day and its ‘meaning’ is on my mind. What will happen today? Should I be afraid? Many pessimists and realists will say, ‘It’s just a date. We are the masters of our own destiny. You are just ‘looking’ for things to happen.’ I believe anything is possible – I also believe in the possibility OF things – so for me, anything and everything is possible. And can happen. And is real.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56CXRp0WhR1-QIUrhVfLH3dYvcoPY6DQf-Ki2AgpzaWGKHDATpwvWm2McOYa4jwZsl_04mMT2eqaHJO8Pj81AtpGvZ1VxrDzsLgK76cWBJ01ny2-5McjB0_EX8r1jg6Gkp2eWJK-3hEWf/s1600/outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56CXRp0WhR1-QIUrhVfLH3dYvcoPY6DQf-Ki2AgpzaWGKHDATpwvWm2McOYa4jwZsl_04mMT2eqaHJO8Pj81AtpGvZ1VxrDzsLgK76cWBJ01ny2-5McjB0_EX8r1jg6Gkp2eWJK-3hEWf/s320/outside.jpg" width="233" height="320" data-original-width="1167" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>True or not, stuff happens, not just on this day, but on any day. And of course, it’s an ominous kind of day out there, the grey clouds overhead reflective of what may or may not happen. A sign, perhaps?<br />
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A few weeks ago after my chiropractic treatment, the doctor and I were looking at the calendar and planning when would be my next regularly-scheduled three-week visit. He flipped the calendar pages – it was still September at that time – and the quiet, soft-spoken man that he is looked up me with a hint of a smirk and said, “Three weeks from today will bring you in on Friday, October 13th. Are you sure you want to do that?”<br />
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I swear I saw devil-like horns coming out of his head.<br />
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I gulped and made the appointment. He wrote down my time on a card and then handed it to me with that same demure, devil-like smirk. He’s a quiet one, but man oh man, it was then that I realized gotta watch him. <br />
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(Note: I have been seeing him for a year and I very much like him, his bedside manner, and the results I have had from his care.)<br />
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So today as I anticipate my chiropractor visit with the joke of it being on Friday the 13th, I contemplate: is anything truly cracked up to be what we think it is? Many folks don’t agree with, or are afraid of, chiropractors. And despite their skepticism some folks have tried that practice of medicine, but without no success. Then there are the folks who don’t ‘buy in to’ the omen-filled Friday the 13th. Those same folks don’t believe that things happen for a reason, citing that our destinies are solely within our control. <br />
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<i>‘What works for one might not work for the other.’ </i><br />
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I believe in the practice of chiropractic medicine – it works for me. I believe in the spookiness of Friday the 13th, and this one being in October is a double-whammy. The practice of chiropractic medicine has been around since the late 1800’s, and October the 13th has been considered a most unlucky day since what seems like forever – depending on who you ask, of course. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/0/friday-the-13th-why-is-it-so-unlucky/<br />
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So is it a matter of IF we believe in something hard enough then - in our minds at least – it’s true? Is anything really real? They say our minds are more powerful than what we really realise – so powerful that we can out think reality and what is true? But who’s to know WHAT is true? And who has the final say in the matter? Is anything we experience really REAL, or just an over thought figments of our imagination; if we believe it to be real, then it is real.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96Kggt3rUhomSAzPEvXibOewI3cXiDwRg5oG7GVrXV4mLJ4L6Ikjfl_tUCcUfiuSO1zh9IUiPF4oX3HH5D5FhFJ15yq5OL4L1GG2SoeOhd5zNNzVylchGB6jL4RGYPJ3tVgdIyMhTbb08/s1600/635928118532119034-789826585_philosophy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96Kggt3rUhomSAzPEvXibOewI3cXiDwRg5oG7GVrXV4mLJ4L6Ikjfl_tUCcUfiuSO1zh9IUiPF4oX3HH5D5FhFJ15yq5OL4L1GG2SoeOhd5zNNzVylchGB6jL4RGYPJ3tVgdIyMhTbb08/s320/635928118532119034-789826585_philosophy.jpg" width="320" height="215" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1073" /></a></div><i>Wow, Friday the 13th is making me very philosophical! But I’m no philosopher and have never had a philosophy class. I’m just a girl who thinks a lot and feels a need to write about her thoughts, whether they make sense, are contradictory of each other, or erratic.</i><br />
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Some people that had previously sworn off ‘this or that’ were made a ‘believer’ simply through experiencing it themselves. Then there are those who believed in ‘this or that’ and automatically became NON-believers when something didn’t go their way. Did that mean they still actually believe in it, even if it means believing against its’ possibility?<br />
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<i>Again, the heavy thoughts today….</i><br />
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I go to the chiropractor because I believe in the practice. I keep my wits about me as I venture outside on this Friday, October 13th. I know what I believe, and I’m content.<br />
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So today as I wish I was still curled up in bed, and the rain comes down, and the clouds stay grey, and I anticipate my much-need chiropractor visit, and I throw salt over my shoulder and avoid black cats like the plague, and wish those same clouds would clear tonight so I could wish on a falling star because one WILL appear right when I want it to if I believe hard enough, I also know….<br />
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…given that I can write about any of this tells me I’m upright, alive, thinking, being, hurting, healing, fearing, believing, contradicting and existing, and that I’m pretty lucky I get to experience all that, and more. And that’s a fact.<br />
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Believe it or not.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWgcIxJToQ76ivFecHuEB8LbR6hMRDdJ8YKx-GpHlgZ1c6UOEPsv_4NmLLgRZDFrhBvVw2T64phfwrfeKYP1d_OCjIb-uZk1wkL-bEAGlAG4FV-bABCZ8GSZTJdhdgUIX8isgpqEu1pIf/s1600/happy-friday-the-13th-clip-art-free-1379852.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWgcIxJToQ76ivFecHuEB8LbR6hMRDdJ8YKx-GpHlgZ1c6UOEPsv_4NmLLgRZDFrhBvVw2T64phfwrfeKYP1d_OCjIb-uZk1wkL-bEAGlAG4FV-bABCZ8GSZTJdhdgUIX8isgpqEu1pIf/s320/happy-friday-the-13th-clip-art-free-1379852.png" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="300" data-original-height="300" /></a></div><br />
Authors note:<br />
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The often-considered controversial practice of chiropractic medicine has been around since 1890. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_David_Palmer">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_David_Palmer</a><br />
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The history of the unlucky belief of Friday the 13th is also controversial in its origin <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/0/friday-the-13th-why-is-it-so-unlucky/">http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/0/friday-the-13th-why-is-it-so-unlucky/</a><br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-43484041231080232692017-09-28T13:55:00.001-07:002017-09-28T13:55:59.058-07:00Cleaning Out the Closet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_lrmPcYtrboTeBo4uVxor2PwDowvnyIk2YvfZ6qrSP7k4PQ2EvLK8XYcHEnlONot9SLUUch1485XNw5ON3qd5cYCt0mX9SVe8ESWW032xLzJatmSO9Vz-1ejIKXFl2ONJT3xOH5pT-x5/s1600/lovely-hangers-in-closet-thomas-northcut-getty-images-jpg-bedroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_lrmPcYtrboTeBo4uVxor2PwDowvnyIk2YvfZ6qrSP7k4PQ2EvLK8XYcHEnlONot9SLUUch1485XNw5ON3qd5cYCt0mX9SVe8ESWW032xLzJatmSO9Vz-1ejIKXFl2ONJT3xOH5pT-x5/s200/lovely-hangers-in-closet-thomas-northcut-getty-images-jpg-bedroom.jpg" width="200" height="133" data-original-width="724" data-original-height="483" /></a></div>It fit me like a glove and I felt good wearing it.<br />
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Made of red cotton eyelet fabric – lacy and feminine but not too revealing, if you know what I mean – and with a hint of ruffle on the cuff of the sleeves, my favourite blouse was girly, but not too girly. Sure it needed ironing after being washed, but the cotton was sturdy so I didn’t have to worry about any snags.<br />
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But after a few years – it lasted THAT long – my favourite blouse had finally had enough. The unrepairable wear-and-tear practically screamed at me that the time had come; it had worn-out its’ welcome and the time had come to hang it up for good.<br />
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But good-byes aren’t my thing and I have a hard time letting go – of anything.<br />
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It was my favourite blouse and I knew I’d never find another like it. I wonder if in some weird neurotic recess of my brain was hope that if I just hung it up in my closet and left it alone that it would repair itself. I mean, why else would I hang on to something that couldn’t be fixed, right?<br />
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So it sat there in my closet, its finery longingly gazed at every so often, holding court among all the dispensable clothes I could so fickly let go of at the drop of a hat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrmupBC5BUxPUX1FFUnGUXUPsBXscRIP7RU31KOpIPRqEkDcWq2UjHkJuEE92wco1utngzYe0R7uG4CIvGVxv6ZuEcPxw2rgVLNvgVprPb1of2oLX6o9QMCrokOMNh_wQH0AANR-6ZAEO/s1600/keds-champion-mini-daisy-crochet-lace-sneaker-d-201704171705393-532406_100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrmupBC5BUxPUX1FFUnGUXUPsBXscRIP7RU31KOpIPRqEkDcWq2UjHkJuEE92wco1utngzYe0R7uG4CIvGVxv6ZuEcPxw2rgVLNvgVprPb1of2oLX6o9QMCrokOMNh_wQH0AANR-6ZAEO/s320/keds-champion-mini-daisy-crochet-lace-sneaker-d-201704171705393-532406_100.jpg" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="466" data-original-height="466" /></a></div>Fast forward four years – yes, that’s how long it had been – and we were yet again at that time where summer changes to fall seemingly overnight. Running around downtown for work wearing light and airy little skirts with my little white KEDS runners and my legs bare just wouldn’t do any more. It was time to pack away summer to the far reaches of the closet and switch over to fall and winter attire. <br />
And as I rearranged, sorted, and put too big/small/outdated clothes in a bag for charity, my favourite red blouse silently hung waiting for me to make a move. With hope and nostalgia coursing through my veins I tried it on – it still fit! – and then I analysed the fabric for any remote chance of repair.<br />
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Finality and truth washed over me and my shoulders slumped in acknowledgement: The time had come, to say good-bye. It was time to let go.<br />
So with a heavy heart I by-passed the charity bag and my favourite blouse went right into the garbage. It would be insulting to send it to charity – the blouse was that far gone – and if I was sewing like I did many years ago, I’d be savvy and re-purpose any salvageable fabric. But it was done. There was no going back. I had to move forward and let go and let the past be the past and let the memories of wearing that favourite blouse carry me forward and know I had definitely gotten my money’s worth out of it and, and, and…..<br />
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But as I finished sorting my fall and winter clothes I realised one thing: I had been managing just fine all these years without my favourite blouse in regular circulation. Maybe I didn’t really miss it, but I just missed the idea of it. Other garments had come and gone and still made me feel good wearing them, and I was never forced to go to work naked (just like those ‘showing up at work naked’ nightmares we sometimes get?) <br />
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My life didn’t change without that red blouse (and I never showed up at work naked, either!). My sense of self-worth and being didn’t come to a grinding halt without it, either. Leaving it in the closet taking up space didn’t change anything. I had other clothes I could wear and there were bigger, far more important issues that needed my attention. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fbWE6SiWcKdlFKs2KqK_uO8Fqb5xRaIz8nNoCRgyN1l_gPeJwvtnQB15FfUzQvXC5jRefYuowcR1HbsOvv6ADfwlkVVDZ5VhkF3tPoIM-5sOw7sVkQCu7dcfT8l_4kk0HH9WIdMvPZin/s1600/Goodbye-Summer-Hello-Fall-Free-printable-791x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fbWE6SiWcKdlFKs2KqK_uO8Fqb5xRaIz8nNoCRgyN1l_gPeJwvtnQB15FfUzQvXC5jRefYuowcR1HbsOvv6ADfwlkVVDZ5VhkF3tPoIM-5sOw7sVkQCu7dcfT8l_4kk0HH9WIdMvPZin/s320/Goodbye-Summer-Hello-Fall-Free-printable-791x1024.jpg" width="247" height="320" data-original-width="791" data-original-height="1024" /></a></div>And despite hanging on to it for all those years, I had been forced move on and forced to accept change – without even thinking about it. Just as September usually speeds along and the mornings get cooler and cooler, we naturally throw on a little sweater or jacket and go on about our days. We go with the flow, are no worse for wear in assimilating into fall, and still chug along despite summer being over. Summer lovers despise us autumn lovers – those of us who rejoice at the first sign of cooler days and crunchy leaves on the ground. But seasons come and go whether we like it or not, and we have no choice BUT to get used to the new season at hand. Things – objects – can’t stay forever, and in the end they are only that – THINGS. Adjusting and making accommodations is all part of life. <br />
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The bag of clothes went off to charity and my favorite blouse went in the garbage - as well as a few thread-bare socks and unmentionables that had been taking up space in my drawers. A lot had happened over those four years of the blouse taking up space in my closet, and when I look back now, I realize I really truly didn’t miss it – and it really didn’t matter in the great scheme of things.<br />
<br />
My thinner closet and drawers made me feel a whole lot lighter, freer, and not as bogged down. Stuff is just STUFF, and that red blouse was a reminder to just let stuff go and keep that closet of in our minds as clutter-free as we can. I held on to the blouse hoping it would miraculously change, but of course it never did – things often doing miraculously change on their own, and we still get on with our lives inspite of it all. I DID carry on without that blouse and it’s only purpose all these years was to take up space in my closet that could have been use for other important things (I also store books in my closet!).<br />
<br />
So while everyone mumbled and moaned about the end of summer and the inevitable arrival of fall and all the ‘bad’ weather it brings (which is a matter of opinion – I LOVE the rain), I skipped through the fall leaves at the promise of a new start – a fresh start. And what made the skip that much skippier was the realization that letting go was the best thing I could have done for myself, and I ended up with a cleaner closet, at that!<br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-85888417217508971382017-08-06T07:55:00.000-07:002017-08-06T18:55:05.688-07:00Who I Am<i>Who am I?</i><br />
<br />
It’s an age-old question – and is there ever truly a correct, definitive answer? We ‘think’ we know who we are at various stages of our lives, but do we ever truly KNOW? The question of ‘who am I?’ is all very philosophical and a philosopher I am not, so for my own purposes – and for the purposes of this writing – I will be exploring ‘who I am’ in the sense of my nationality and ethnicity, from a very SIMPLE point of view.<br />
<br />
<i>And I know I will likely be blurring nationality with ethnicity, but I’m a simple girl trying to figure out who her simple self is, so work with me here....</i><br />
<br />
Take, for instance, the concept of ‘we are what we eat,’ but in a cultural sense. What we eat can often define who we are and where we come from. And apparently as a Canadian, and a West Coast girl at that, there are certain foods I’m supposed to like or eat on a regular basis - just because of where I live. But what if I don’t like those things? Does that mean I’m not Canadian? Does that mean I’m not truly a West Coast girl? So then, therefore, who am I? <br />
<br />
Historically speaking, and to make it all sound so much more glamorous than it really is (for the sake of entertainment), I was born on an island – Lulu Island aka Richmond to be exact – surrounded by ocean and river waters. Confusing, but true. Years later I moved to another island - Vancouver Island, to Victoria to be exact – only to be, yet again, surrounded by ocean waters. So being surrounded by ocean water means that seafood is BIG in these parts, with salmon and crab on many menus.<br />
<br />
But I guess I’m a disappointment to all Canadians, West Coast folks, and especially my family because I don’t like salmon or any kind of fish, crab or any other kind of shellfish. However - just to contradict myself - I like tuna from a can, shrimp that comes frozen in a bag, de-veined and de-everything-ed, crab or lobster that has been de-shelled for me and looks nothing like it's original form, and fish and chips that are made for me, and all preferably in a restaurant. But not salmon in any form.<br />
<br />
When I tell people I don’t like salmon, they are simply AGHAST – especially people I meet from across Canada or overseas (I live in a tourist town, so I meet lots of folks). They are shocked to know I have always lived here yet don’t indulge in any of the local fresh seafood, and even more shocked to know I don’t go fishing.<br />
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I know it’s all very contradictory. I WISH I could be one of those people who goes down to the boat docks and buys fresh seafood right off the boats like everyone else. And I know people come from MILES to experience what I have right in my own backyard.<br />
<br />
So does all this mean I’m not a West Coast girl? It’s ONLY seafood after all.<br />
<br />
But then am I still Canadian?<br />
<br />
So I have to really wonder about my Canadian-self because I don’t like poutine and I have never had a Beaver Tail. I hate smoked meats, and don’t get me near at tortiere (a meat pie made with all kinds of ‘meats').<br />
<br />
Buy maybe there is hope for me yet, as I love Tim Horton’s, Nanaimo Bars, Butter Tarts (I didn’t know butter tarts are ‘Canadian’), potatoes, and Labatt’s Blue beer. Finding this <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2013/06/28/canadian-food_n_2869764.html">list of ‘Canadian’ foods</a> sent me on a further tailspin, but at the same time gave me hope. (click <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2013/06/28/canadian-food_n_2869764.html">here</a>)<br />
<br />
I was born and raised in this country, still live here, so I truly <i>do</i> know I’m Canadian. My birth certificate tells me so and my driver’s licence, however horrible the picture, tells me so, as well. But am I really who I think I am?<br />
<br />
And does hating all these culturally specific foods make me a fraud? Am I not who I think I am?<br />
<br />
I have to talk to my parents on that one, I guess…..<br />
<br />
Aside from my birth certificate telling me I’m from British Columbia, Canada, I DO know I have strong Irish roots on both sides of my parents (don’t many of us?), so maybe that plays a part in my hating all these different kind of Pacific Ocean grown seafoods. I’m more of a meat and potatoes kind of girl, or more to the point, potatoes in any format. I love stews, tea, butter and bread. I’m no expert in Irish foods, but when I read this <a href="http://www.food.com/ideas/traditional-irish-foods-6326?c=21036">list of Irish-typical foods</a>, my stomach growled and my heart longed….until I noticed their affinity for salmon and shellfish. (click <a href="http://www.food.com/ideas/traditional-irish-foods-6326?c=21036">here</a>)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirB-1wiV1EuLPUERHCogwvTEqqN9u_wlRNDHCx5ErwojOGaWT84es_q1CXD0yCkE954uTMZ951rqLS6T-XcSmBnaDhTP7ofJEugltDl-0Xv5qkkolIClGVooZmB8J6ZIjvTAjvYGG7vNls/s1600/19251106_10156464387673852_474151117_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirB-1wiV1EuLPUERHCogwvTEqqN9u_wlRNDHCx5ErwojOGaWT84es_q1CXD0yCkE954uTMZ951rqLS6T-XcSmBnaDhTP7ofJEugltDl-0Xv5qkkolIClGVooZmB8J6ZIjvTAjvYGG7vNls/s320/19251106_10156464387673852_474151117_n.jpg" width="181" height="320" data-original-width="542" data-original-height="960" /></a></div>Despite the landing papers from my great, great grandfather showing him arriving to Massachusetts, USA from Galway, Ireland, I still wondered…<br />
<br />
Right about this time during my self-identity crisis, my sister took a DNA test through Ancestry.com – you send in a sample of saliva, and your DNA ‘will be analyzed at more than 700,000 genetic markers then with in 6-8 weeks, you get an email with your online results.’<br />
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To think that these days our ethnic and geographic origins are basically at our fingertips with a few spits of gob! Who knew spitting would actually be useful versus disgusting (at least we aren’t doing it on sidewalks). We can finally answer the age old question - Who Am I?<br />
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So with technology making our ancestry and heritage questions more easily answered, maybe we can all be a bit more sane and settled with ‘who we are.’ (Except for the cases of discovering information about ourselves and ancestors that can be shocking and life-altering, but that’s another blog post in itself.)<br />
<br />
So given she’s my sister and we ARE related (AS FAR AS WE KNOW), we all watched her live performance of ‘extracting’, sealing and mailing her precious spit, then waited in anticipation to find out who we are – and more importantly, WHO I AM.<br />
But of course with the Pony Express having imperfections as we all humanly do, the spit got lost in the mail. All that waiting only to have her spit lost and leaving us wondering if someone is going to clone her (hey, that would make for a good story….)<br />
<br />
So again, my conflicted inner self had to wait and wonder about who I am for a while longer....<br />
<br />
So again with another kit in hand, my sister extracted her spit and again we waited with baited breath - our own spit intact. I secretly wondered if some sordid family history would be revealed – it would make for good daytime TV drama, if nothing else.<br />
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And the day finally arrived....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPU7ePnUzmulqkaUeoQ9zSoY6x-0_oMAENE6A467ju5ooHDZmQJbRxaJll6uLX4ItlS2J1w7R4oJiMnhcJyBCyqUagbAJEetu7VYnrCX1FCvO9qtGZMxODIIiFuWHZUo1f6flbtilWxmk/s1600/sue+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPU7ePnUzmulqkaUeoQ9zSoY6x-0_oMAENE6A467ju5ooHDZmQJbRxaJll6uLX4ItlS2J1w7R4oJiMnhcJyBCyqUagbAJEetu7VYnrCX1FCvO9qtGZMxODIIiFuWHZUo1f6flbtilWxmk/s320/sue+1.jpg" width="180" height="320" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="960" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGRb8JUh66fLn85_KkJmOqVdbZvMStczTVK9tQmqgfWS5oW8YRKxUk_o2cfW5VrJ5OLGc4lE8-BBt240w-nr_oA2ip18CAGQKWuJTlZJyPGiqZSoF_kYmlaBplrkE1ypx13RsVsfW0v9M/s1600/sue+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGRb8JUh66fLn85_KkJmOqVdbZvMStczTVK9tQmqgfWS5oW8YRKxUk_o2cfW5VrJ5OLGc4lE8-BBt240w-nr_oA2ip18CAGQKWuJTlZJyPGiqZSoF_kYmlaBplrkE1ypx13RsVsfW0v9M/s320/sue+2.jpg" width="180" height="320" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="960" /></a></div><br />
The results: a high percentage of Irish decent with a good percentage of....Scandinavian? THAT was a surprise! Now I know that each sister would have a slightly different test result, otherwise we'd be twins, but it's safe to say that I 'THINK' we are all pretty much the same. Although we didn't expect the Scandinavian influence (wanna go Viking anyone?), the results were pretty much as expected. <br />
<br />
But the Irish AND Scandinavian mix still has me a bit perplexed, however. They are all big seafood lovers, why aren't I? <br />
<br />
And is one little DNA test or one little fish really gonna tell me WHO I am?<br />
<br />
Not only does it go to show you aren’t always what you eat – and for that matter, you can‘t be judged on what you do and don't eat - but at the end of the day spit, blood, landing papers, and epicurean tendencies cannot truly define who you are. Yes, we all have a genetic, cultural root basis, and just like the tides in the oceans separating me from my lands of heritage are always changing, who we are is always changing. I know I'm Canadian. I know I'm of strong Irish decent. I know I hate seafood, except for all my caveats and contradictions. Maybe I WILL like seafood one day. And heck - for all I know maybe I will move and become a citizen of Vanuatu (Google it) one day. Who knows?<br />
<br />
But as my family, who are only merely separated by geographic location and nothing else, all watched my sister spit in a tube via the wonderful thing called the internet, I realized: no DNA test is going to change us. We are who we are NOW.<br />
<br />
And just as importantly, I know who I am NOW, I love where I live NOW, and I love what what I do NOW. And I know I will always love and adore my family near and far for all time, no matter who they are.<br />
<br />
Because at the end of the day that's all that really matters, and that's all I need to know, and my family is more important to me than worrying about the never-answered question of who I am.<br />
<br />
Now off for some fish and chips....<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-37845732631848173612017-07-14T08:11:00.000-07:002017-07-14T08:20:30.321-07:00Be Bold and BarbequeOn the July 1st long weekend when everyone was out celebrating Canada’s 150th birthday, we were home having a barbeque funeral...<br />
…not a ‘funeral barbeque.’<br />
<br />
Yes, we were having a funeral for our barbeque – and in turn had a barbeque to celebrate the barbeque funeral.<br />
<br />
Confused? Grab a cold beer, sit back in your lawn chair, and try to follow along…..<br />
<br />
Many years ago our dear friends handed-down their older super-SUPERsonic barbeque to us; stainless steel all over, multiple grills, burners on the side, the lid so massive you need two hands to lift it. We were overwhelmed by its extravagance yet we knew we had hit the big time owning something so elaborate! This thing could cook anything, DO anything, BE anything and I suspect if I knew the right magic words it could transform into half barbeque/robot/spaceship.<br />
<br />
It was a very generous gift and we DID use it but we eventually realized it was a bit….daunting. The thing weighed more than me – even during my extra-chocolate days. It took up a better part of our small patio and was somewhat overkill for us simple folk. We aren’t big time barbeque-ers, but we DO like your run-of-the-mill burgers, hot dogs, and chicken. It was a bit finicky to start, as so we were warned by our kind friends, but because it was more of a chore to start/use/clean because of its finicky ways and size, we didn’t use it as much as we should. In turn fun things like backyard barbequing (despite it being in the front yard) were all but non-existent and I hadn’t made potato salad or swatted flies off food for eons. I was itching to do something summery.<br />
<br />
And with the cover on the fancy barbeque was just a big black in-the-way monstrosity. I felt burdened and weighed down by this ‘thing’ we weren’t even using. We just kept walking by it day after day, year after year, ignoring it, pretending it wasn’t there yet acting like we ‘should’ keep it, all while feeling…..closed in.<br />
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Added to that - I was terrified of it.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t just the size that intimidated me but the scary combination of gas, sparks, flames and smoke that kept me near my indoor stove top. Sure I might be able to flip a few patties on it, no problem, but start it up with a spark and some gas? Forget it. <br />
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At least we knew I’d never grow up to be an arsonist.<br />
<br />
So the fancy barbeque I never used sat right outside our kitchen window and not only was the perfect perch for neighborhood tomcats to taunt my indoor kitty, but the cover was a perfect place for the same tomcats to ‘mark their spot.’ <br />
<br />
Gross.<br />
<br />
Maybe it was the celebration in the air what with Canada turning 150 years old, but we suddenly found our long-dormant barbeque-bug itching to get barbequing. So we half-heartedly pulled off the gross barbeque cover and after wading through all the mold, too many bugs to count, bits of fur from creatures I dared not guess, and trails from slugs who had travelled from afar found under the lid, we couldn’t get the great beast started. No amount of tinkering or fiddling was gonna get it going; it was old, dead, gross, and falling apart (exactly how I feel on those extra-chocolate days). <br />
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We will be forever grateful to our friends who gave us the barbeque but sentimentality aside, we just didn’t have the wherewithal to try to get it fixed. And to be honest, its passing was a relief. Not only did the barbeque’s death mean we would gain much-needed space on our patio, but it meant we could get something smaller yet big enough to make just burgers or hot dogs – never mind simple enough for me to start without worrying about blowing up the island on which we live.<br />
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So the older, heavier version was upgraded – or downgraded depending on how you look at it - hence the barbeque funeral.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi25mczWIwGIPu82hx970vvAK3ynmEbsfoRFAueiGcbISZj6zCmr7TXbrwiwIpsUjW9dwCialOutmEVabKzkPH2USV2G8-SJyyxTJs2P4o9X3eGycGb6i0AGUFK2LKcKaYKePHQE_XgYzie/s1600/bbq3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi25mczWIwGIPu82hx970vvAK3ynmEbsfoRFAueiGcbISZj6zCmr7TXbrwiwIpsUjW9dwCialOutmEVabKzkPH2USV2G8-SJyyxTJs2P4o9X3eGycGb6i0AGUFK2LKcKaYKePHQE_XgYzie/s400/bbq3.jpg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="720" /></a></div>We got a simpler, much smaller, single grill, one switch, light-lid barbeque that weighs less than me. I can turn it on without too much fuss and stress (I still get nervous), we can make run-of-the-mill burgers or hot dogs, and we have room on the patio to jump out of the way in case I set the food on fire.<br />
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We feel free, liberated, lighter, and decluttered. The new barbeque has inspired us to have more dinners outside (plus the cat is a lot happier), therefore fostering more family get-togethers with my boys. You’d think we never had barbequed before!<br />
<br />
But I realize now that getting rid of the old barbeque and getting a new one really meant so much more than just a few greasy burgers….<br />
<br />
The last year or so has been one of many changes, so getting rid of the barbeque was just one more final ‘letting go’ of what had been weighing us down and holding us back - from doing fun things like backyardin’!<br />
<br />
And ‘letting go’ also means letting go of fear. I had previously deemed this year the year of doing what scares me – to do what I fear most. <br />
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Getting a simple-start barbeque was, I realized, on the menu. Yes, we needed something smaller so as not to feel cluttered, but being bold and barbequing without fear, stress, drama or injury was freeing in itself (and I’m not the only one out there who is afraid of barbequing, as I have come to learn). Sure gas, sparks and flames are still involved but with this barbeque they are on a MUCH smaller and manageable scale – plus I have lots of room to jump out of the way if things go awry.<br />
<br />
I will always be so very grateful to our friends for giving us their very extravagant barbeque, and our desire for something a little simpler is not a reflection of our seemingly lack of appreciation - au contraire! It was just time to get back to barbequing, and on a smaller scale! <br />
<br />
So in the coming weekends as I crank the gas and flick the switch to spark a flame, I’ll throw on a few patties, blink the smoke out of my eyes, enjoy my family, and be proud of my newfound skills – and be bold and barbeque!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-35637222590841160992017-07-06T07:30:00.001-07:002017-07-06T07:30:57.240-07:00Interview With an Illustrator<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAkxLywL6KCWoXH6Lb0f0_NiOtBJP1MnDxFhzgkVKCmRW0VOLIdkKQ0ll8HhkXaNo3TKa3d27V513NX94-SfajRFzv4EsR-rvea5ANQKKD62rYSz98XsImVnu-6J8z67z9ACaA3zsJ5I8/s1600/Joanna+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAkxLywL6KCWoXH6Lb0f0_NiOtBJP1MnDxFhzgkVKCmRW0VOLIdkKQ0ll8HhkXaNo3TKa3d27V513NX94-SfajRFzv4EsR-rvea5ANQKKD62rYSz98XsImVnu-6J8z67z9ACaA3zsJ5I8/s200/Joanna+1.jpg" width="143" height="200" data-original-width="685" data-original-height="960" /></a></div>Joanna is like a crow. She sees something shiny and she instantly wants it – or more like draws it.<br />
And it’s not diamonds or emeralds that sends her her heart aflutter. Things made of metal weighing up to 3,000 lbs and sporting a diamond-like finish are what grabs her attention and has her swooping back around for a better look - or picture. As an illustrator for most of her life, Joanna Szasz Vandervlugt has found her niche in drawing anything with wheels – cars, motorcycles, bicycles, the list goes on - things women are not typically known for drawing. No matter the shape, size, age and import, with a wave of her pencil, marker, and brush, Joanna can bring out the sparkle in any mode of transportation.<br />
<br />
And not only does she do commissioned portraits of people and vehicles from clients around the world, but her work has been made into greeting cards which not only does she sell for charity, but are featured in stores around the country.<br />
<br />
<b>Lisa:</b> Thank you so much for joining me here, Joanna! Tell us a bit about yourself…When did you start illustrating? What got you started? Did you go to school – take classes have a degree? How many years doing cars and motorcycles?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98H9zvhtjdgLl-abQh14YGGSGYhLgvUFG8pBbgPJyzlWFnNRoLPuWjWghTNnuz8SpTogHPdbcXlaqV_THWBITalIDi1IOl9KYLKDqjlozx9s2Q1EqnzZ-p1xQcc_xIxg5cHGxV3Krjidd/s1600/Joanna+Charcoal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98H9zvhtjdgLl-abQh14YGGSGYhLgvUFG8pBbgPJyzlWFnNRoLPuWjWghTNnuz8SpTogHPdbcXlaqV_THWBITalIDi1IOl9KYLKDqjlozx9s2Q1EqnzZ-p1xQcc_xIxg5cHGxV3Krjidd/s200/Joanna+Charcoal.jpg" width="177" height="200" data-original-width="851" data-original-height="960" /></a></div><b>Joanna:</b> <br />
I drew as a child and in my teens I created charcoal portraits. As soon as I went to college, I stopped. I blame my Economics class. I then met my husband, got married, and had children. Twenty years later I tried drawing again, but I was disappointed at my result. I figured I had lost “the eye.” I crumpled up my sketch and never talked about it. Ten years later (at age 48), I started drawing again at the encouragement of my best friend. I remember how pleased she was when I told her I bought a bigger sketch book. After about 6 to 8 months, the drawing skills came back, and so did “the eye”. I’ve been drawing and illustrating for 3 years now, attending a handful of art workshops, but I’m basically self-taught.<br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> Did you start with pencil then go on to paint and marker? Was there a progression? What did start with and what do you use now? What is your favorite medium?<br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> As a teenager I used charcoal pencils. I did an illustration of Colin Farrell a couple years back with charcoal pencils….it’s not that easy. I started creating illustrations with watercolour pencils. Then one day I saw the fashion illustrations of Hayden Williams (a British Illustrator) and his illustrations blew my mind. To create art with such vibrant markers, I had to get some and soon six markers grew into 72.<br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> Did you always draw cars? Always people? Was there a subject matter you mainly illustrated in the early days and If different than vehicles, how did you evolve into doing cars and motorcycles? <br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> Given I started drawing in the ‘80s during the Supermodel era; I’ve always loved drawing people. I’ve drawn Linda Evangelista, Christie Brinkley, Andi MacDowell. My mother wouldn’t let me have a boyfriend, so I survived puberty by drawing the members of Queen over and over and over again. I would draw using People magazine photos or record album covers. That’s how I taught myself. My mother was amazed and I think relieved that I could spend 6-hours on a summer’s day, drawing. She knew I wouldn’t stop drawing until I got it right.<br />
I started drawing cars because a very good friend, Lisa Verhagen, asked me if I would illustrate her husband’s Sprint car. I said sure. One car illustration led to another car illustration. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhguPsFhepKJ68LxFKg8CDahLKZdim-NOAhrAEu2XNEdwl6862VztGLI-Qz6I5vomoaK-1Pl8xMc7HDEUnLTs-Q93W0vYk1Pfy8mStmSSlfVu3rFpdnYtXGRzN3yC0gKiJLo-IVonBqzSVb/s1600/joanna+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhguPsFhepKJ68LxFKg8CDahLKZdim-NOAhrAEu2XNEdwl6862VztGLI-Qz6I5vomoaK-1Pl8xMc7HDEUnLTs-Q93W0vYk1Pfy8mStmSSlfVu3rFpdnYtXGRzN3yC0gKiJLo-IVonBqzSVb/s200/joanna+4.jpg" width="200" height="163" data-original-width="960" data-original-height="784" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBf6493NupzX-T6TdpxION7tLZy1Y_vcmppRZi2XqS9fPmG05B3h4OGeJWeWryl2EmjN5wwyjEIDhFXsYyvKVn9d8KJNZhIYte5BL0mD9jWcnSnT_NFylV4_qxSK97l4ZM82ipN8HKBhn/s1600/joanna+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBf6493NupzX-T6TdpxION7tLZy1Y_vcmppRZi2XqS9fPmG05B3h4OGeJWeWryl2EmjN5wwyjEIDhFXsYyvKVn9d8KJNZhIYte5BL0mD9jWcnSnT_NFylV4_qxSK97l4ZM82ipN8HKBhn/s200/joanna+5.jpg" width="200" height="148" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="1062" /></a><br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> What’s your favorite to illustrate? <br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> I love illustrating people, especially their clothes and if they’re involved in movement. The motorcycle illustration of the girl, those jeans took me 2 hours to colour. I loved it. My favorite illustrations involve people, motorcycle and cars. One day I hope to have an illustration involving all three.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboqwvUN5EItDeT-0wpCC1IgJw5xOm0EJvXOnbhiviTaq_zj8Qr60l_8olLUeGYD50zFWLgwX7AtItfQ-NXtd8o8_mcn3VbASJ4-2nYYvvDPryio_5olcZV6PVIYqf1kyh_H8-ec9adxYn/s1600/joanna+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboqwvUN5EItDeT-0wpCC1IgJw5xOm0EJvXOnbhiviTaq_zj8Qr60l_8olLUeGYD50zFWLgwX7AtItfQ-NXtd8o8_mcn3VbASJ4-2nYYvvDPryio_5olcZV6PVIYqf1kyh_H8-ec9adxYn/s320/joanna+6.jpg" width="320" height="280" data-original-width="960" data-original-height="839" /></a></div><b>Lisa:</b> Do you have a favorite car? Old or new? Classic or modern? <br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> It depends on the car. The classic cars are full of curves and character and there’s usually a story behind how the owner obtained that car. I like hearing about the back story of a particular vehicle. Yet the European sports cars, such as Porsche and McLaren, wow! But besides cars, motorcycles are really cool to illustrate, lots of bends with pipes and air valves. I have learned that tires, be it car or motorcycle, are not round. Tires are oval. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyW4UCv6O02VBTgcWFsaBMCszPfUyWoGxrJJptLeDiTqJ2OeKIZ5jcKDc5wwUvriPDUTSK1O7Y8Lc9pAIoW18BKkT-iEbBad7T8qI55m34XNFlPj4BLnjKyBM_AQGSIFdiIfY55ZHDEUk/s1600/joanna+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyW4UCv6O02VBTgcWFsaBMCszPfUyWoGxrJJptLeDiTqJ2OeKIZ5jcKDc5wwUvriPDUTSK1O7Y8Lc9pAIoW18BKkT-iEbBad7T8qI55m34XNFlPj4BLnjKyBM_AQGSIFdiIfY55ZHDEUk/s200/joanna+9.jpg" width="200" height="138" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="996" /></a></div><br />
<b>Lisa:</b> How do you feel as you are creating? How do you feel when a project is finished? <br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> I feel like I’m doing what I was born to do. I get so into the process. You and your fellow writers will totally get this, it’s like I’m not in this physical space. My husband once called me from work and he thought I had been napping. I explained I had been drawing. His next question was if I had lunch. No. then I better eat something. When I’m really close to finishing, I won’t stop. When I’m done, I’m happy. Sometimes if there’s a quick turnaround time to get that illustration to the client, then I’m also a little sad that I’m letting that picture go so soon. I’m also excited to give that picture to the client and see his/her reaction. I feel like I’m giving that person a gift. That’s a pretty special feeling. <br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> Do you ever get ‘stuck’? If so, how do you deal with it? How do you work through it? What do you do to get out of it? How do you get ‘unstuck’?<br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> I get stuck. Sometimes when I’m really wondering how to colour something, I’ll colour that object last. Windshields are always tricky, the least favorite part of the vehicle I like to colour. I actually have a process when starting to colour a picture. I always start with the black areas. The drawing process is long and I feel a little uneasy when I first put down the colour, that’s why I start with plain black to build my confidence before I move on to the trickier colours. I will also get my husband’s input. I’ll never forget my first car illustration, it was the Sprint car, and the drawing looked great, the spouse being a car guy, looked at it and said, “It’s too small. The client’s husband races this car. The car needs to be bigger.” You can imagine the look I gave him, but he was right. My husband is my biggest fan yet also my biggest critic. It’s perfect. There have been 3 commissions which I have started drawing over again. It’s got to look right, and I won’t hand it over unless I think I’ve got it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0sAu9zYO6bAHzLlV-r3Avo9BRYT8WrTPoKa21FYT_qt-E46gZ8Lc2gRXWz-lIAhQ_tLfWJWXzD-TQJAF5AxDqXBOWwjKHfUZGyK5NblaZcz2l6j4f3MkE74O6UOenbXSrhXfPFGsCfkQ/s1600/joanna+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0sAu9zYO6bAHzLlV-r3Avo9BRYT8WrTPoKa21FYT_qt-E46gZ8Lc2gRXWz-lIAhQ_tLfWJWXzD-TQJAF5AxDqXBOWwjKHfUZGyK5NblaZcz2l6j4f3MkE74O6UOenbXSrhXfPFGsCfkQ/s200/joanna+7.jpg" width="200" height="138" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="990" /></a></div><br />
<b>Lisa:</b> What inspires you? WHO inspires you? <br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> The everyday people who take the risk to do something different. My daughters inspire me, both of them are pursuing different careers. The Bear Mountain shuttle guy, who is touring Canada with his band. The risk takers who are pursuing their dreams. With risk there is success and disappointment, but by not pursuing my dream, I’ll have a greater disappointment in myself than if I had tried and been rejected. Keep trying. Three years ago I never thought I would be communicating with a Professional Brazilian Motorcycle Driver or have a lady in Germany buy one of my art cards. <br />
My icons are David Downton, a British Fashion Illustrator who has been commissioned to illustrate the Obamas, and he has illustrated Fashion icons, and the late William Davies, a Canadian illustrator. William Davies used reference photos, and learning that made me realize its okay using a reference photo. I’m very hard on myself when it comes to art. <br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> What are you dreams or goals for your creative self? Where would you like your career to go?<br />
I’m shooting big. I want to be known internationally as “that female car and motorcycle illustrator.” Go big or go home, right? I want to ship art to Brazil or Germany or London, to communicate with clients overseas about their car illustration.<br />
I would also love to spend 6 months in London, Paris or Venice creating art. Start the morning by walking to a local bistro, get my coffee and head back to where I’m staying and start creating my next illustration.<br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> What do you fantasize about doing in your creative career? Commission a drawing for Mario Andretti? If there is one car or motorcycle you would love to draw, which would it be?<br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> Prime Minister Justin Trudeau sitting in his father’s, Mercedes-Benz 300SL, and for race car drivers, I would like to illustrate James Hinchcliffe standing beside his race car.<br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> Is there a famous person who you dream about illustrating?<br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> (smile) Yes. Benedict Cumberbatch. <br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> What advice would you give someone who is struggling with their progression? Struggling with a piece they are working on? On the verge of giving up? <br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> Never give up. Scribble. Doodle. Try a different medium. If an artist is struggling with a piece, ask why that piece is so difficult? Maybe it’s the subject matter. Maybe that artist loves to illustrate gardens and has found herself/himself illustrating a house. After each piece I complete, I take a 24 to 48 hour break. I’ve tried jumping right into the next art piece and it never works. There’s always some sort of mistake made when I do that. Remember why you’re creating. Numero uno, I create for myself. I also need to get something out of that commissioned illustration.<br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> Do you have any pets? If so, do they inspire you? Get in the way? Become models for your illustrations?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7q5-Hs0GQaunbfs6yMznWX7dC78FXqrdLzC8oTK3BbhmiJ91qwI7AntNZSAP38nNt7PZL42ScxWWKyF_ZrZWSufsP7-WPCxRmMjHWd1ZKKd2TNGH8LcJNnY5LMxTCZiWBDJ-Puap6Dikl/s1600/Ozzy+the+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7q5-Hs0GQaunbfs6yMznWX7dC78FXqrdLzC8oTK3BbhmiJ91qwI7AntNZSAP38nNt7PZL42ScxWWKyF_ZrZWSufsP7-WPCxRmMjHWd1ZKKd2TNGH8LcJNnY5LMxTCZiWBDJ-Puap6Dikl/s200/Ozzy+the+dog.jpg" width="200" height="150" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="1080" /></a></div><b>Joanna:</b> I have my miniature schnauzer Ozzy. That dog is good for my soul. I know I’ve been drawing/colouring too long, when he comes up to me, stands on his back paws, and paws my leg with his right paw. That always makes me feel guilty.<br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> I understand you do commissions and that some of your work has been printed as greeting cards? Where are they sold?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2XPZnv0hv1UduhD9ZJJQS8PjyfLENgvVqfgKr1fl9sPBGNQKv1Etpa80xqpS0ol6gfT0kioHifQyVKr2NS84_HZZFOCVLLB-cshKyB-KOZ__yjJpsZtuvybi2douqI8HAXnRiyuVynpL/s1600/joanna+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2XPZnv0hv1UduhD9ZJJQS8PjyfLENgvVqfgKr1fl9sPBGNQKv1Etpa80xqpS0ol6gfT0kioHifQyVKr2NS84_HZZFOCVLLB-cshKyB-KOZ__yjJpsZtuvybi2douqI8HAXnRiyuVynpL/s200/joanna+10.jpg" width="200" height="166" data-original-width="960" data-original-height="797" /></a></div><b>Joanna:</b> My Etsy store is <a href="https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/JoannasArtandCards?ref=search_shop_redirect">JoannasArtandCards</a> and I just sold my first greeting card to a lady in Germany. Yes, my car illustrations are made into art cards and available on my Etsy site. However, when it comes to portraits, those I do not sell to the public. I consider portraits very personal and should not be mass produced. If an individual would like a car illustrated or a portrait done, I just need to be emailed a reference photo at joanna.vandervlugt(at)gmail.com <br />
I’ve sold art cards locally and a large supply was purchased by the <a href="http://www.metpitstop.com/home.html">Metropolitan Pit Stop</a> in North Hollywood, California. Over $300 was raised with the sale of the Puppy Love cards and the proceeds from those card sales went to <a href="https://brokenpromisesrescue.wordpress.com/">Broken Promises Rescue</a>, a local volunteer organization that rescues all animals, dogs, cats, horses, etc. In terms of my 11 x 14 illustrated portraits, I’ve sold many locally and just recently to a professional motorcycle racer in Francisco Beltrao, Brazil.<br />
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<b>Lisa:</b> Is there anything else you would like to share about your work?<br />
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<b>Joanna:</b> I’m on Instagram as Jvandervlugt_illustrations and Facebook as Joanna Szasz Vandervlugt. I’m very selective in friend requests on FB, so if you’re interested in following me on FB, maybe just drop a line that you’re a fan of my work after reading this article.<br />
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Thank you for joining me, Joanna! I hope everyone enjoyed getting the behind-scenes-peek into the life and work of such a talented illustrator. Be sure to check out Joanna on line!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT4K-olnYdiQTWTM21_1NTQd9JW4Hi8eCnjzE2sPVKm2oM_6JorNZWfqwquLPdjDhpNUGDEVXtGHTcbhcFPAYNlTfBzhjOQOmdzLVWdR3j-Ap_Or-56N2fqHqE5Qu-cngIMxVjKAljGoWa/s1600/joanna+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT4K-olnYdiQTWTM21_1NTQd9JW4Hi8eCnjzE2sPVKm2oM_6JorNZWfqwquLPdjDhpNUGDEVXtGHTcbhcFPAYNlTfBzhjOQOmdzLVWdR3j-Ap_Or-56N2fqHqE5Qu-cngIMxVjKAljGoWa/s320/joanna+2.jpg" width="320" height="204" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="919" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6pDxFJws__QERB4Fqq_k95D8YL61c8C8p1TWin-sfChq3qVq0q3w_QcY6lc8b4W_htB3UTU4YvHhckh8B799dgYob_-usG_XtbXqaVJ4IJ7prptQLE1M3qqZz6Q_DfAt2t54UgQsuNtx5/s1600/joanna+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6pDxFJws__QERB4Fqq_k95D8YL61c8C8p1TWin-sfChq3qVq0q3w_QcY6lc8b4W_htB3UTU4YvHhckh8B799dgYob_-usG_XtbXqaVJ4IJ7prptQLE1M3qqZz6Q_DfAt2t54UgQsuNtx5/s320/joanna+3.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="1080" /></a></div>Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-66939794395118015632017-07-01T11:12:00.000-07:002017-07-01T11:12:42.994-07:00Happy Canada Day, eh?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TwR3q1vieKZdXJJBZur5tix13TKdnnTI0DXC3LFVjrSGNXsN3aL3XAUAP9-OIjvU5d3BHKVy-f1oMrT9dCTYMa1EhyphenhyphenWNa4LHvJ9hIwD6xkdC-RkgRxmWImPH8WK_TT_-Ds7bJfOzWG32/s1600/Canada+Day+150++Logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TwR3q1vieKZdXJJBZur5tix13TKdnnTI0DXC3LFVjrSGNXsN3aL3XAUAP9-OIjvU5d3BHKVy-f1oMrT9dCTYMa1EhyphenhyphenWNa4LHvJ9hIwD6xkdC-RkgRxmWImPH8WK_TT_-Ds7bJfOzWG32/s320/Canada+Day+150++Logo.png" width="320" height="282" data-original-width="346" data-original-height="305" /></a></div>Here we are - the moment we have been waiting for. The build-up for Canada's 150th birthday has been a big one, and there are festivities everywhere! If you are one to brave the crowds (unlike me), I hope you have a great time out there - lots of sunscreen, lots of water, and lots of patience!<br />
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For me this long weekend means some time off work and not only spending time with friends and family, but also tackling a huge to-do list. But aside from all that, it's a time to be thankful for where we live, our sense of fellowship and pride, and our freedom to think, write, and speak freely. I am proud of where I live, proud of who I am - and just proud to be Canadian!<br />
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So while I'm busy getting through my to-do list, I'll be embracing my friends and family, enjoying a bit of Tim Horton's, enjoy saying 'Happy Canada Day, eh?' to everyone I meet, and wearing proudly wearing red.<br />
Happy Canada Day, eh?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEZHkehAGCSj15VVISzC28zXw2Nnv5Q_UfOHQYMKlCK_GjTxSiKC3-0sPIctz1S1yPgbpLLckQkyJ5jftoRM9hpYC9e_j0yYUXK2jll8_tBqnbHPvthhY5ard0pOUVhxEOGkdc1_KqJcUz/s1600/me+can+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEZHkehAGCSj15VVISzC28zXw2Nnv5Q_UfOHQYMKlCK_GjTxSiKC3-0sPIctz1S1yPgbpLLckQkyJ5jftoRM9hpYC9e_j0yYUXK2jll8_tBqnbHPvthhY5ard0pOUVhxEOGkdc1_KqJcUz/s320/me+can+1.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="720" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVeuPfaoZmzMOpkZ5UJoUKjj8b4oFdavfle342EQd8sB0xeV44lYLN2T9GNnUtbd5lsPpMQQ9yKRtVNlfUbI9dGURPeTeMskNPNZQW3fvbsDi_VfAhIP6mEHzaALDqyCjr1ma8YmfJELI8/s1600/me+can+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVeuPfaoZmzMOpkZ5UJoUKjj8b4oFdavfle342EQd8sB0xeV44lYLN2T9GNnUtbd5lsPpMQQ9yKRtVNlfUbI9dGURPeTeMskNPNZQW3fvbsDi_VfAhIP6mEHzaALDqyCjr1ma8YmfJELI8/s320/me+can+4.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="720" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpksWveghUgNBK0gJJM8l2kHPNZpY19FwDmsIKCesHb8tpCV4v0fflD41pTogQeEMRaPaTyUhfzV76bdSyYrprrskmf9dA8Z6C3AN6XHyqxVp5etHloxCwpMX81C7qYAVJUZXrCUF0bk2q/s1600/me+can+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpksWveghUgNBK0gJJM8l2kHPNZpY19FwDmsIKCesHb8tpCV4v0fflD41pTogQeEMRaPaTyUhfzV76bdSyYrprrskmf9dA8Z6C3AN6XHyqxVp5etHloxCwpMX81C7qYAVJUZXrCUF0bk2q/s320/me+can+2.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="720" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCGd9-bUKpANPhdw6k6wusV5XBhGuyT8VYudzm0lMiDj98qIt-jy5ATLWnTGUCrGIUvh5v0Ihlivie0Hua5sCKi3uDjzytW4Eula6k8kti31OI3ch5-3MVvmiPvTt3ioCpw-fgzVWE7Cg/s1600/me+can+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCGd9-bUKpANPhdw6k6wusV5XBhGuyT8VYudzm0lMiDj98qIt-jy5ATLWnTGUCrGIUvh5v0Ihlivie0Hua5sCKi3uDjzytW4Eula6k8kti31OI3ch5-3MVvmiPvTt3ioCpw-fgzVWE7Cg/s320/me+can+3.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="720" /></a><br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-57503363195848249182017-06-01T07:57:00.000-07:002017-06-01T12:41:34.990-07:00Rhubarb, Rhubarb EverywhereWhen I was a kid I hated rhubarb. <br />
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HATED IT.<br />
<br />
Sure, I MIGHT have occasionally enjoyed a fresh deep-crimson stalk dipped in too-much-sugar-to-mention, and I was always hopeful it would change in flavour each time I tried it. But I was always wrong. The fact that we had the leafy plant growing in our yard didn’t encourage me to like it anymore, either. It looked like a weed, and it tasted like sour celery. It would take at least half a pound of sugar to make it barely tolerable. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAGVd2mPNdr7k1LbA-k3RckM8S7lIqgsGe7F-Vh3qwlsKTMsfDzjmv1jYFPXoBgeXrF7-O-OAPyuVyYBqpMUVbU7dJwTBTYseYfBI4ibIA-QeF8uaJf1cCFFHWFloWaaTkNVfi3eKd9ka/s1600/Rhubarb2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAGVd2mPNdr7k1LbA-k3RckM8S7lIqgsGe7F-Vh3qwlsKTMsfDzjmv1jYFPXoBgeXrF7-O-OAPyuVyYBqpMUVbU7dJwTBTYseYfBI4ibIA-QeF8uaJf1cCFFHWFloWaaTkNVfi3eKd9ka/s320/Rhubarb2.jpg" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="1000" data-original-height="1000" /></a></div><br />
Barely.<br />
<br />
But my mom and dad loved it – LOVED IT – and my little-kid mind took that as a measure of ‘adulthood,’ that it was a ‘grown-up’ food. Every summer my mom would make a pie or two for the family. NOT to disregard my mom’s efforts or baking abilities, but I hated it. I remember the first time I tried it was I was so excited because it LOOKED sweet like a strawberry or cherry pie – my favorites. But the first bite had me puckering and quivering in revulsion. Sure it was sweet, but not THAT sweet, and every summer when my dad would get excited at the prospect of one of mom’s rhubarb pies I, in turn, shrunk in further revulsion and disappointment.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNntBx8tzw3OrI3qKsYf7DAjXv8Ehyphenhyphenl7lBbINPzIu2PHEZG0YFHMqYhN4u9al6YcwLKKSEmyJ7HUqN12IHYtqB8uFeoFww0xOP3y9hHaapMLNWLjmFeSvf8fmeEEsVc2yoGpvCxxtxzr1y/s1600/rhubarb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNntBx8tzw3OrI3qKsYf7DAjXv8Ehyphenhyphenl7lBbINPzIu2PHEZG0YFHMqYhN4u9al6YcwLKKSEmyJ7HUqN12IHYtqB8uFeoFww0xOP3y9hHaapMLNWLjmFeSvf8fmeEEsVc2yoGpvCxxtxzr1y/s320/rhubarb1.jpg" width="320" height="214" data-original-width="468" data-original-height="313" /></a></div>I contemplated mowing down the plant with the lawn mower.<br />
<br />
But that adult-only rhubarb as I had come to deem it would follow me around my whole life.<br />
<br />
When we were first married, my husband and I visited his uncle's cabin deep in the interior of BC. An old vegetable patch from a previous owner was still there, un-tended, but rhubarb had continued to grow over the years like a weed. Deep in the bush where we were the soil was rich and pure so everything grew bigger and lusher. The rhubarb stalks were almost as tall as me, and the leaves could easily protect me from any rainstorm. My husband saw the potential and I learned (with disgust) that he TOO loved rhubarb pies. We transplanted some and brought it home. <br />
<br />
I made it clear, however - I would NOT be making any rhubarb pies. NO WAY.<br />
<br />
But I humoured him and nurtured that little plant as best as I could. The novelty of growing it was enough for me. However too much sun and little water on our west-facing balcony of our apartment was too much for the transplanted little plant, and it withered away to nothing.<br />
<br />
I wasn’t exactly sad.<br />
<br />
I eventually upped my domesticity and started canning, but mostly jams. I found a recipe called Strawberry Jam Spoof and it took – of all things – rhubarb. The recipe also used peach flavoured Jello as the ‘gelling’ agent and the rhubarb as the ‘fruit.' Curious, despite my aversion to rhubarb, I made it and not only did it work, but it tasted great! No taste of icky sour rhubarb to be found!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3miT_wcYHwYXECfsm_Bmyz1kJ-ePbxB7hG4_bWtI9Z7AmgYw-RTM_iAkxM68A9AhI3Lsn1z4j9OxPlzjD39A25oK0fOSikm3NA04jn42oRLMVlCX2OQoakZM4b0HOoEYiuapSGjkXJp3f/s1600/jam+book.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3miT_wcYHwYXECfsm_Bmyz1kJ-ePbxB7hG4_bWtI9Z7AmgYw-RTM_iAkxM68A9AhI3Lsn1z4j9OxPlzjD39A25oK0fOSikm3NA04jn42oRLMVlCX2OQoakZM4b0HOoEYiuapSGjkXJp3f/s320/jam+book.JPG" width="238" height="320" data-original-width="601" data-original-height="808" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggX4vR737zwYB1hIG4FPfRmQ3bruiIDCvXeFBCt5y9wpDAfNHsrN5fcjWpmDkHvSm5DgF9G1y55h-ZNar1bYNhYurMLRyZXYATDfTzWs-k0N0vvv9NiVQU4Eex7KaI6cRF6xsIoPc6Z3K_/s1600/jam+recipe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggX4vR737zwYB1hIG4FPfRmQ3bruiIDCvXeFBCt5y9wpDAfNHsrN5fcjWpmDkHvSm5DgF9G1y55h-ZNar1bYNhYurMLRyZXYATDfTzWs-k0N0vvv9NiVQU4Eex7KaI6cRF6xsIoPc6Z3K_/s320/jam+recipe.JPG" width="217" height="320" data-original-width="589" data-original-height="868" /></a></div><br />
Life went on and every time rhubarb appeared in my life, I cowered in horror, my salivary glands kicking into overdrive at the thought of the red stalks' sour, bitter bite (I may seem a bit over-dramatic but I <i>REALLY</i> didn't like it). Social functions where desserts were served were always a challenge, and I was always careful. It only took once of getting caught and I learned my lesson – just because a scrumptious looking square has a red fruit filling DOES NOT mean it’s strawberry or cherry or anything else pleasing to my palette (I’m not a fan of raspberries either, but that’s for another time).<br />
<br />
Recently I was at a three-day out-of-town archery tournament and my sister and her husband were kind enough to let me stay with them. During those long and exhausting yet fun days my sister kept me well fed. The outdoor temperatures soared up to the 30’s and the heat, along with exercise, nervous tension and long days outside on-the-go worked up an appetite. Every evening when I arrived back at her house I was hungry enough to eat….anything. One night she showed me a pie she had for dessert, and my interest piqued beyond words. Until…..<br />
<br />
She pointed out that it was a rhubarb (gag) cherry (yum) organic (?) pie. Now, I’m not against organic things, per se, but when I’m THAT hungry all I want want is sugar, fats, carbs, and everything unhealthy. I asked if there was sugar in it, in light of it being 'organic'. She assured me there was and insisted it was very very good.<br />
<br />
The ‘athlete’ I am (not) should have been more open to an organic fruit pie. TRUTH: I’m not that much of an athlete, I have a sweet tooth that has me craving chocolate by 10am every day, and if I had my choice I’d smear REAL butter on everything – especially 2-inch slices of sourdough bread. But I fake it and try to exercise as much as I can, eat as healthy as I can, and avoid bread and real butter as much as I can. As for organics? Well…<br />
<br />
So I kept an open mind and gratefully accepted a hearty slice of pie along with a dollop of each vanilla and pistachio ice cream. <br />
<br />
My salivary glands shuddered in fearful anticipation. I knew – just KNEW – this wasn’t going to go well. Yes, there was the thought of cherries mixed in with the pie, and at LEAST I had the ice cream to serve as a ‘chaser’ - something to dull the unpalatable rhubarb that was threatening bring me down. But I would be a good house guest. I would be grateful. I would eat it. I would be polite. I would conduct myself in a lady-like manner.<br />
<br />
And most of all, I told myself, I would LIKE it.<br />
<br />
I took a forkful and readied myself. <i>If need be</i>, I consoled myself, <i>I could inhale the slice as fast as I could before I could taste it</i>. And there was always the ice cream.<br />
<br />
I lifted the fork, took a bite, and….<br />
<br />
…and chewed….<br />
<br />
….and chewed…<br />
<br />
And guess what? <br />
<br />
I didn’t DIE.<br />
<br />
<i>I’m just hungry,</i> I surmised. <i>There’s no possible way I could actually like…</i><br />
<br />
I took a bite of ice cream, then another bite of pie.<br />
<br />
And again, I LIKED IT.<br />
<br />
Yes, the cherries were saving me from self-induced extinction, but beyond them I could taste the rhubarb, and it was GOOD. I pushed aside the ice cream. I didn’t need it any more. I had more pie. My salivary glands were in heaven. I loved it and fought to lick the plate. What was wrong with me? Was I just so hungry that I couldn’t think straight? Was I just so over-heated I was losing my mind? <br />
<br />
Or maybe – just maybe – I was finally becoming a – gasp! – a GROWN UP!<br />
<br />
This VEGETABLE often confused as being a fruit had threatened to plague my existence all these 40-something years. <i>Had I been wrong about it along?</i> <i>Had I never truly given it a fair chance?</i> <i>Maybe if I had tried it prepared in different ways I would have liked it sooner...</i> <br />
<br />
Before I could go down that never-ending curving road of what 'might have been' and ‘if only’, I stopped and had a pie-induced revelation - no better time than the present to start something new! Maybe I <i>had</i> grown up – my taste buds only, at least! I know they say tastes change as you get older – maybe this was one of those times. <br />
<br />
Last year someone gave us part of their rhubarb plant and my husband was ecstatic. He knows I won’t bake with it, but he likes the novelty of having yet another plant to grow in our tiny backyard. But as I watched the leaves unfurl as winter turned to spring, and the stalks grew longer and redder with every day nearing summer, I've been wondering….<br />
<br />
Maybe it was time to grow up just a little more…<br />
<br />
NOPE.<br />
<br />
<br />
(PS - pistachio ice cream is best on it’s own)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRagTmDIPEjbr8xxreascW3h5IojkIpW86E2SN4VI1zDHmUhR8WNk6I6I5vOI8I2-wT7ByJB-620zvNbVwxOALTmrQ_yqJ6_kHhf1ZeKPpM355NX9ToZJ0w5T0pfjkQOAgMhxu7qaxOf-R/s1600/exps2570_CS1677C68.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRagTmDIPEjbr8xxreascW3h5IojkIpW86E2SN4VI1zDHmUhR8WNk6I6I5vOI8I2-wT7ByJB-620zvNbVwxOALTmrQ_yqJ6_kHhf1ZeKPpM355NX9ToZJ0w5T0pfjkQOAgMhxu7qaxOf-R/s320/exps2570_CS1677C68.jpg" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="300" data-original-height="300" /></a></div>(PSS - I'm going to 'try' to make Rhubarb Cherry Pie - must ease into these things ya know <a href="http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/rhubarb-cherry-pie">http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/rhubarb-cherry-pie</a><br />
<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-84659803150414730942017-05-12T06:46:00.001-07:002017-05-12T06:46:17.333-07:00A Flash in the Pan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbueueufN9EqBcW5gFlW2aRLU0-K4d1yX_hooGHiTuUMBwPR6wnpFTU0Uyu5oIqw01GhAqQ0HaeKBy8-JMQc2sSz7i1S1iKM9Qg-M84js7qvXZw3ji8q19tPs75-TZNOb7nZfEAjIuJ4Xy/s1600/2014131-grilled-cheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbueueufN9EqBcW5gFlW2aRLU0-K4d1yX_hooGHiTuUMBwPR6wnpFTU0Uyu5oIqw01GhAqQ0HaeKBy8-JMQc2sSz7i1S1iKM9Qg-M84js7qvXZw3ji8q19tPs75-TZNOb7nZfEAjIuJ4Xy/s320/2014131-grilled-cheese.jpg" width="320" height="213" /></a></div>I have a house full of men.<br />
<br />
They eat a lot.<br />
<br />
And they're messy.<br />
<br />
But that's okay.<br />
<br />
I try to teach them independence and domesticity as best as I can. I tend to ‘over mother,’ as many would say, but we are all growing and spreading our wings together, which means I’m having to learn to ‘let go’ as well. Part of the growing also means testing what works and what doesn’t work individually and together as a family. What might work one day, might not work the next. We all have our limits, strengths and weaknesses – no one is the same – and when things aren’t working personally and/or in the domestic life-skills department, we try, try again.<br />
<br />
So I try to keep my boys on track in the life-skills department as best as I can. Most important lesson: how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I say that if all else fails in life, you can always make a grilled cheese and survive (don’t forget the ketchup!). So over time they have mastered the basic grilled cheese sandwich of buttered bread and cheese on a frying pan. No big deal. After a few burnt sandwiches, however, they learned the intricacies of minding the stove.<br />
<br />
I’m not a gimmicky-type of person, always quick to get the ‘next big thing’ that comes out. I’m kind of old fashioned and sometimes stuck in the bubble I tend to keep myself in. Despite how adventurous I can be sometimes trying something new is a challenge. The good old ‘tried and true’ always feels most comfortable. <br />
<br />
But in the spirit of fostering independence and broadening the horizons of my boys, a few years ago I decided to try something new. I know I can’t let my fears and inhibitions hold them back from venturing and adventuring out in this great big world, so I took a deep breath and was bold and brave:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQIH1LM3qmPzYDJM3yXsl7uVGobKwe9BSSYaA7nL-fWa4duU5kupLbKetpFTbNsfGbbfwpRLXGC-YCtWvBCPSbXRVceJ5xpEZjfvc13Y09LCr5p0tBZV2SksjJhGV2Okpp03ZZDlyhHCx/s1600/sandwich+maker+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQIH1LM3qmPzYDJM3yXsl7uVGobKwe9BSSYaA7nL-fWa4duU5kupLbKetpFTbNsfGbbfwpRLXGC-YCtWvBCPSbXRVceJ5xpEZjfvc13Y09LCr5p0tBZV2SksjJhGV2Okpp03ZZDlyhHCx/s320/sandwich+maker+1.jpg" width="320" height="320" /></a></div>I got a sandwich maker. <br />
<br />
The sandwich maker was nothing super high-tech, but despite the simplicity of it I hoped to expand their menu options. This particular kind was an electric little grill that when filled and closed tight can make a little hot-pocket-like sandwich. Sure the boys were masters at making a grilled cheese sandwich with a frying pan, but I figured the gizmo would be a nice change for them. The actual sandwich content possibilities are a little more varied with the concept of a closed grill-like contraption, so I was excited at the notion of my boys trying new things. And the bottom line was no matter what they put in the sandwich they were making it themselves.<br />
<br />
It started out fine with just a bit of a test-and-go-process in learning how it worked. It wasn’t a super industrial-strength grill you see in restaurants but it did have a built-in timer/sensor. When the indicator light goes on once it has warmed up, you load it with your yummy to-be-grilled sandwich, close it tight, then remove the gooey cheesy deliciousness when the indicator light says it’s ready. Simple. And ‘simple’ was good to start with given we were modernizing ourselves way from the boring old frying pan. <br />
<br />
But then the problems started. <br />
<br />
We soon learned that cheese cut any thicker than razor-thin slices was bad. Sure the cheese would melt, but it would also ooze out the sandwich and down the sides and back hinges of the machine. Like ALOT. I know there are far worse tragedies in this world than mis-managed melted cheese, but this truly WAS an atrocity. The challenge to clean, never mind the challenge of getting my men to actually CLEAN the sandwich maker properly was - to put it nicely - a CHALLENGE. No matter how much I fussed and scraped, and no matter how many toothpicks or tines of a fork I used to get into the tiniest of nooks and crannies, none of us could get out all the caked on melted cheese. And it’s not like the maker is something you soak in a sink of hot soapy water, either. Upping how much I nagged my men to clean it wasn't going to help, either. And it's not that I'm an over-picky neat freak, either, but this BAD. <br />
<br />
Added to all that misery, the sandwiches were kind of soggy.<br />
<br />
But I fought to brush off the disappointment and kept a positive perspective: we were modernizing and experimenting and getting away from the boring old-fashioned.<br />
<br />
Eventually the novelty of the sandwich maker wore off and it sat on the counter unused. I know now that denial prevented me from trying to understand WHY it sat there unused, and so for what I excused as 'space reasons' I stored it away in the cupboard.<br />
<br />
Time heals all wounds and all that, and the frying pan was getting a workout anyways so all was well in our world.<br />
<br />
Until recently while cleaning and re-arranging the cupboards I found the sandwich maker. <br />
<br />
The memory of the stress of it all had faded over time<br />
<br />
<i>Maybe we weren’t using it right,</i> I reasoned: out came the instruction book.<br />
<i>Maybe it was harder to use than I thought</i>: bring on Google.<br />
<i>Maybe we were putting on too much cheese between the bread: try UBER-razor-thin slices.</i> But that means boring, nearly just-bread sandwiches.<br />
<br />
So for two days we tried the machine again, but it was two days of frustration and disappointment…and soggy sandwiches. I'm not about to knock any brand name, nor dismiss sandwich makers entirely, and maybe we <i>were</i> simply using it wrong, but this was just...wrong.<br />
<br />
But none of that mattered because right then I realized that the fight was over. The sandwich maker thought it had won – but its’ victory was backfiring on itself.<br />
<br />
Because no matter how hi-tech this particular sandwich maker thought it was, at the end of the day it had lost the battle to the frying pan.<br />
<br />
Sometimes nothing beats the good old tried ‘n true. Sometimes all the modernizing in the world is not for the best and we have to stick with the basics. I have to keep teaching my kids the basics – keeping them grounded by knowing the root of it all – if they are going to get by. Technology will always change, and yes, there definitely IS a place for some gizmos and modern hi-tech appliances in our lives.<br />
<br />
But at the end of the day when all else fails and the gizmos-of-the-day promising to save you from yourself have let you down, go have a crispy, oozy-cheesy grilled cheese...made on a frying pan.<br />
<br />
And stick with the old tried 'n true because sometimes anything else is simply….a flash in the pan. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-68553490080689290092017-04-16T08:38:00.000-07:002017-04-16T08:38:01.136-07:00Easter Sunday........time to count more than just eggs....<br />
<br />
As I write this it's early on Easter Sunday. I've been for a walk, my turkey is having a little soak in the sink before finding it's way to the oven, and the Easter Bunny officially arrived at my house for my menfolk this morning.....<br />
<br />
...but not for me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dr5h5Y5GII0t0KPy4RcjYE28OTbMNBYhepdA-977S2ALJOTbWlTA-8JADQl1QHBHC4keialKBKlkHjG-lyXhNCO68-cEU-1M18v7TvwKfdorECAPbCJYAoAs0HaLSMbhd1S7fpQbTjVg/s1600/easter+candies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dr5h5Y5GII0t0KPy4RcjYE28OTbMNBYhepdA-977S2ALJOTbWlTA-8JADQl1QHBHC4keialKBKlkHjG-lyXhNCO68-cEU-1M18v7TvwKfdorECAPbCJYAoAs0HaLSMbhd1S7fpQbTjVg/s320/easter+candies.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div><br />
Yes, my men are much older and bigger than I (my youngest just celebrated his 17th birthday this weekend), and no matter how old they get and no matter where they go in this world, the Easter Bunny will always find his way to them. Yes, this time a time of reflection for some - a time of new beginnings, even for the not-so-religious - and with Spring here (sort of - depending on what's happening right outside your window at the exact time you read this), it's a time to remember and celebrate what we have. Time is of the essence, we never know how much of it we have, so why not share a little joy here and there, no matter what the age? <br />
<br />
But sometimes the Easter Bunny doesn't find his way to all the mom's out there - mom's are always giving the Easter Bunny a helping hand. Yes, my true gifts are my own little Easter Bunnies asleep in their beds (they'd be mortified if they heard me talking like this - but I don't care), and I'm beyond grateful for what I DO have, but my sweet tooth beckons for a little attention. <br />
<br />
But I DID, in fact, get a few treats here and there this week, and my pals at work were beyond good to me....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAucVXyMVOQ44PKAKCwNX9ZxpA9Jj0QsXdRpCNNBvbhpLJIRXQEphqkXYAYVWbjo6lF05bLVqB3fQTmKuvzErN0FwHT485h9ATvL8Bjwgq0OwOh8vRP-V5oaNwYhbI6iX_JxXHyBkbG5rS/s1600/easter+candies+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAucVXyMVOQ44PKAKCwNX9ZxpA9Jj0QsXdRpCNNBvbhpLJIRXQEphqkXYAYVWbjo6lF05bLVqB3fQTmKuvzErN0FwHT485h9ATvL8Bjwgq0OwOh8vRP-V5oaNwYhbI6iX_JxXHyBkbG5rS/s200/easter+candies+2.jpg" width="150" height="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigX3EzRO1G_E0U9WKjYjjCV4iiujbiotXZu6kuZLWjwL52EUmojnE9teTjey-JE1M21jjdl0fYmM8Ca_F83czURPbQmFZNBWqpsIXtPEaQIbbKzvH24tSw09PL9MC01RPExlmf-QhkQT1h/s1600/easter+candies+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigX3EzRO1G_E0U9WKjYjjCV4iiujbiotXZu6kuZLWjwL52EUmojnE9teTjey-JE1M21jjdl0fYmM8Ca_F83czURPbQmFZNBWqpsIXtPEaQIbbKzvH24tSw09PL9MC01RPExlmf-QhkQT1h/s200/easter+candies+3.jpg" width="150" height="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmzvhpRfEvgZvFs3NjvlSK8z0AwhKk-3_MSPINP0YHfbxD_KLi26oL5FkndL_xyYTW9Vt2A-JSaPbBW1M_eN4IvzSwJxd2HibErChi_s9Y-up7ecHFMfHnmb35UTZ6WN38oCE4PpmixqI/s1600/easter+candies+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmzvhpRfEvgZvFs3NjvlSK8z0AwhKk-3_MSPINP0YHfbxD_KLi26oL5FkndL_xyYTW9Vt2A-JSaPbBW1M_eN4IvzSwJxd2HibErChi_s9Y-up7ecHFMfHnmb35UTZ6WN38oCE4PpmixqI/s200/easter+candies+4.jpg" width="150" height="200" /></a></div><br />
But then I forgot them at all at work and all this long weekend I had been thinking about them. Given I had exhausted all my - ahem - personal Easter supply at home, I took drastic measures...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh98pg5wRaSuatA3pURmvY1aMJWD1YMaoOfDQATH-4HaOyDE-OMr_oMTd-AbhkFmLx__db7uwxe7teRY3DDxYUvjAnSPBEaTsXVMo3DfSfGxrARS6byrLr2pe8ep95VO_sASWzazRtjHdKd/s1600/chipits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh98pg5wRaSuatA3pURmvY1aMJWD1YMaoOfDQATH-4HaOyDE-OMr_oMTd-AbhkFmLx__db7uwxe7teRY3DDxYUvjAnSPBEaTsXVMo3DfSfGxrARS6byrLr2pe8ep95VO_sASWzazRtjHdKd/s200/chipits.jpg" width="150" height="200" /></a></div><br />
Easter candies aside (there's always sales at the stores tomorrow), I have beyond too many blessings to count. I have three men who DO care for me very much year-round and I have friends and family near and far who support and put-up with all my crazy antics. I have a turkey I'm about to put in the oven, and while that's doing it's thing, I'll be heading to the archery range to get a little exercise and fresh air with family and friends.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAzFhB7mbmIm3dycIjQvM1HVusgXU7lq3xcoxLoUdf9PK2qgnp-U6_PQwQdvG07sZzfXXyTSoFdOeL5AWMJbu-MysxBzZk-14peWg1j7GoHuJUka5yanU4oBVaWw95MGAmjrouzD9Sz7-/s1600/easter+target.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAzFhB7mbmIm3dycIjQvM1HVusgXU7lq3xcoxLoUdf9PK2qgnp-U6_PQwQdvG07sZzfXXyTSoFdOeL5AWMJbu-MysxBzZk-14peWg1j7GoHuJUka5yanU4oBVaWw95MGAmjrouzD9Sz7-/s200/easter+target.jpg" width="200" height="200" /></a></div><i>(photo courtesy of World Archery)<a href="https://www.facebook.com/WorldArchery/"></a></i><br />
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By the time I get home, the turkey will be done, and I'll have all my men, including a dear friend, over for dinner - all of us together at the SAME TIME.<br />
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I'm a pretty lucky girl.<br />
<br />
So no, I didn't wake up this morning to the Easter Bunny having had stopped by my house for me (maybe he'll come back and clean it while I'm at the archery range), but I got so much more....<br />
<br />
So don't count how many Easter Eggs you don't have, count all that you DO have. They are everywhere, all year long, and always appearing when you least expect them. If you look to hard you won't find them all - it's always when you aren't looking, that they suddenly appear.<br />
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Easter Blessings to you and your families....<br />
<br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-43307771393451216702017-04-14T09:10:00.000-07:002017-04-14T09:10:05.157-07:00Paint Job<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihs2iDUh8x3xYI8dEQnK46tbg7zeijZC-w6Gk5cIqJXpCz961Ccx2bKV2MaJfcuIeWO2QJcYYDWX1Yd9jkV9dnaLGtRFYVXT5y5MYz8G0unBAQuwq0HSSI5_J58bmi4nzH9r8hoomXBTLQ/s1600/stuck-in-a-rut-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihs2iDUh8x3xYI8dEQnK46tbg7zeijZC-w6Gk5cIqJXpCz961Ccx2bKV2MaJfcuIeWO2QJcYYDWX1Yd9jkV9dnaLGtRFYVXT5y5MYz8G0unBAQuwq0HSSI5_J58bmi4nzH9r8hoomXBTLQ/s320/stuck-in-a-rut-1.jpg" width="315" height="320" /></a></div>I had been in a rut the last while - I froze. And not just from the not-so-fabulous weather we had been having this last while. Funky health in March, too much going on generally all around, and not taking a step back to sit, think, ponder and evaluate - and just giving myself a bit of a break - overwhelmed me and I froze. My writing along with many other things took a hit. Too many fingers in too many pots? Maybe. Very likely, actually. But I realized I was expecting too much from myself - I was pushing myself beyond what I could handle - and that along with many external forces that were zapping me of all creativity had me knowing I had to stop. My creativity seriously left the building and honestly, I don't think I really wanted it back. <br />
<br />
But I was lying to myself. I didn't want it gone, I just needed a break. But inch by inch I'm coming back. I had to change - had to re-asses and re-evaluate what I'm doing, where I'm going, and how I'm gonna get there. <br />
<br />
But getting there would have to be on my own terms.<br />
<br />
So as I'm slowly coming back - and not to what I once was, but as a newer fresher version of the old writing-me, I had to have a make-over. A paint job. Part of the reason for my frozen state was that I was stale. Yes, I had burned out on so many levels of my writing and my creativity, but I was also very stale. Very outdated. It was time for a change. The old is not totally gone and never forgotten. I'm thankful for what I've had in the past - it's help make me the ME I am now. But I just had to figure that out on my own, first. It's time to move on and keep moving forward, with renewed energy, a bit of a fresh look, and the knowledge that it's okay to give myself a break once in a while. Most of us loves a new set of clothes, rearranging the furniture, new hair or nail polish - a new look. I'm still the same me, but just a slightly different version of ME. I had to acknowledge what got me in a rut in the first place, and reinvent myself a titch and go forward - without fully leaving the old me.<br />
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Get it?<br />
<br />
Anyways, here is a bit of a new me. We're always evolving - always changing - and this won't be the last change I make. Sometimes less is more - not so bulky and overwhelming. It's up to us to shed what holds us down and get ourselves out of that rut we can sometimes find ourselves in. It's okay to get in that rut, but it's how we get out of it that matters.<br />
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And a new coat of a paint can never hurt....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFD-LkJPgxXcxbUMfRBfkGyGN_H-fHJUWRnzcwhQnwPTphD5GSzjm0VnTVZqTgFZaoCf2EV2xJokNyLPvcffgxNXuw85PgsavtubAOYDDAsqPasYcbTTrXpfwktaWpOBkwuIkjxq1IHG6b/s1600/Learn-How-to-Paint-on-Walls-12-300x218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFD-LkJPgxXcxbUMfRBfkGyGN_H-fHJUWRnzcwhQnwPTphD5GSzjm0VnTVZqTgFZaoCf2EV2xJokNyLPvcffgxNXuw85PgsavtubAOYDDAsqPasYcbTTrXpfwktaWpOBkwuIkjxq1IHG6b/s400/Learn-How-to-Paint-on-Walls-12-300x218.jpg" width="400" height="291" /></a></div>Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-16432142685964189252017-03-08T06:10:00.000-08:002017-03-08T07:43:13.483-08:00Weather Talk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6iMiwhVY0a1Y22AdXQsCuobvfaVkzTyg9oJTwzQmqpeTLMEqkBWbtwg1hldb7eB3ePtOiz72ad_LZdCPYARxU24Q1iSGcpUaiwlnIDdJb8NvjocNWfGGHPxTzNHAurYbqsWqHydalKgk/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6iMiwhVY0a1Y22AdXQsCuobvfaVkzTyg9oJTwzQmqpeTLMEqkBWbtwg1hldb7eB3ePtOiz72ad_LZdCPYARxU24Q1iSGcpUaiwlnIDdJb8NvjocNWfGGHPxTzNHAurYbqsWqHydalKgk/s320/Snow+blog+pic+4.jpg" width="320" height="214" /></a></div>March is suddenly/finally here and spring is around the corner.....or so we thought.<br />
<br />
It’s been an interesting New Year around the world so far, to say the least, and unfortunately the bad things going on overshadow the good in most conversations. But of the many topics to talk about these days, the weather has been a big one among folks on the West Coast of British Columbia. It’s been an interesting winter both on the Coast and Inland, and it’s leaving folks a bit…disgruntled. Yet of all the topics of all the icky things we could be talking about, the easiest, tamest, most non-controversial but best-for-escaping topic to chat about is the weather.<br />
We can’t control what’s happening in the skies, we can only work with it, and let’s be real – we know whatever is happening at that moment right outside our windows won’t last forever. Snow melts and rain dries. The sun comes and goes leaving us hot or cold depending on the month and how far away/close we are to the burning ball of gas in the sky. Before you know it worry about sunburns and sweaty armpits will replace the angst caused by unexpected snow and ice. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVblRUU9yIMAzDY34GDvyT7u0n0bktylkO8UzZ3ya8ezFIdV1IheYQIhci9GcYFe4LeAvTHNxq5RjEUSm79JBCxSgt3eb1oXAajCqelhQirPm0RTMZVVlHixPR727j9e9TZz-VM4nItRy/s1600/Snow+Blog+pic+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVblRUU9yIMAzDY34GDvyT7u0n0bktylkO8UzZ3ya8ezFIdV1IheYQIhci9GcYFe4LeAvTHNxq5RjEUSm79JBCxSgt3eb1oXAajCqelhQirPm0RTMZVVlHixPR727j9e9TZz-VM4nItRy/s320/Snow+Blog+pic+1.jpg" width="320" height="266" /></a></div>It IS still winter, after all, and many other places DO have more ‘challenging’ weather conditions to deal with. And besides, there are worse things that could be happening – far worse than a few topsy-turvy inclement-weather days.<br />
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Not that I’m in denial of what’s going on in the world. But the icky things going on in the world has perspective shining brighter than any sun. Perspective makes Mother Nature’s moods tolerable; frizzy hair, runny noses and chapped skin, manageable. If our only problem where we are is strange weather, then we have it good.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FnBwDI79CkV6ureifIYQhoUpc8vY9QMsiZn5IvXSpHCn8NhZi7hpHIxmTkOsBiMbJztLQ6owPEL-Xa398TdCIAINHaZ6bT3QYh2_X7KTno4pqOBqBJmgbCJRbbY54YEE4_CY-Wh-bO3f/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FnBwDI79CkV6ureifIYQhoUpc8vY9QMsiZn5IvXSpHCn8NhZi7hpHIxmTkOsBiMbJztLQ6owPEL-Xa398TdCIAINHaZ6bT3QYh2_X7KTno4pqOBqBJmgbCJRbbY54YEE4_CY-Wh-bO3f/s320/Snow+blog+pic+2.jpg" width="320" height="214" /></a></div><br />
And really, the weather is a safe topic – an easy topic. It’s an escapist topic. “Oh, Weather, what would we do without you? If we didn’t have you, would we talk about?” We love it, hate it, loathe it, wish for it, debate over it, and lose sleep over it. We blame everyone for seemingly ‘unpleasant’ weather – the meteorologists, Mother Nature, the Gods/Spirits/other-world-entities (the list is endless) – for miss-reading and controlling the weather. We blame thy neighbor when he mows his lawn too early, a sure way to jinx the seemingly perfect weather du jour - rain always seems to follow. And for the love of all that is good and pure do NOT step on a spider. Not only is it not nice, but superstitious folks will blame you for bringing on the rain with such an inhumane act.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qUUlJxVYblf1aIsIgsTRvHV5JU-HdpSKUoihDbYHGupVI-4gEXe_RVt7TawpiXkCaKmOJWIYn4gJyr24uLwNAZ7bS1kQA5Fx1R4hknaYsbyWXw8rIaRCSKGllRxEmIUOcDy4XqD9MFJS/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qUUlJxVYblf1aIsIgsTRvHV5JU-HdpSKUoihDbYHGupVI-4gEXe_RVt7TawpiXkCaKmOJWIYn4gJyr24uLwNAZ7bS1kQA5Fx1R4hknaYsbyWXw8rIaRCSKGllRxEmIUOcDy4XqD9MFJS/s320/Snow+blog+pic+3.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div>But actually, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea….<br />
<br />
…because lately in these parts where we pay exorbitant amounts to live in ‘supposed’ mild weather, we have had snow – and lots of it. And yes, yes, yes – I know many other places across Canada have it worse. It’s not that we have had more snow than any other place, it’s just that the abnormal amount we have had has been a shock to our systems – our roads, our highways people, our city workers, our furnaces (our utilities companies are happy, at least), our skin, our hair, our creaky joints, our ….everything. Folks had recently started pruning their fruit trees, only to be faced with flash snow-blizzards – very bad for any freshly pruned tree.<br />
<br />
But when you are used to a certain way, and the unexpected tosses everything off course, it’s alarming, it’s unsettling, and it throws everything and everyone off kilter. One bad weather day – okay – but more than that? Forget it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodQoFIgO2XZ-WniuwCbCZPryPpD4bvpv8_PuxWL0bn5I2yg-G8JBrP_Mr6NMXi_XnalepXVVdagC8G-C_IGnPGUt7cZj62TMvn7k8ZhbYIwKjqD0rug1-7_FqGJDC4fMY-Sej3sP98vSH/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodQoFIgO2XZ-WniuwCbCZPryPpD4bvpv8_PuxWL0bn5I2yg-G8JBrP_Mr6NMXi_XnalepXVVdagC8G-C_IGnPGUt7cZj62TMvn7k8ZhbYIwKjqD0rug1-7_FqGJDC4fMY-Sej3sP98vSH/s320/Snow+blog+pic+6.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div>But at the end of the day it’s important to remember that, as with anything, nothing stays the same forever. Like the tide, the weather will change. Before you know it this crazy winter will be a not-too-distant memory. When in a few months we are too busy seeking-out shady spots in the glaring hot summer sun, we’ll sip our iced teas and think back: “Remember that awful winter of 2017? It was something else, I tell ya…”<br />
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So be thankful for the weather no matter what it’s doing. It could be so much worse. Because OF all the things we COULD be talking about, at least we’ll always have the weather.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfkrps_PKT0OJgSk8pRlH4uUhYHtwhhAw-GTbGzxQaujFly3ie4qBht2n8dbpMVtsKTLZ51FGQf_VBI1YftLBeCvA-XErBno8sMRoTz3jTamSSsJPMznLgCFRjN1WKeKqTPF3VekmT_h-/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfkrps_PKT0OJgSk8pRlH4uUhYHtwhhAw-GTbGzxQaujFly3ie4qBht2n8dbpMVtsKTLZ51FGQf_VBI1YftLBeCvA-XErBno8sMRoTz3jTamSSsJPMznLgCFRjN1WKeKqTPF3VekmT_h-/s320/Snow+blog+pic+7.jpg" width="320" height="209" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRogrKe_DHYm2SNO9KOyCyjDx_8F3EGqoGvrhOW5oXyXvadDWFLCMtREYYyc0UlzUME2Xn63lEZPKw-j15L912jaJxMNMT_U1wpZmgJJs2vU6N4MscmLb8Gbio_cQ1RAwXnNOByGAKcNL/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRogrKe_DHYm2SNO9KOyCyjDx_8F3EGqoGvrhOW5oXyXvadDWFLCMtREYYyc0UlzUME2Xn63lEZPKw-j15L912jaJxMNMT_U1wpZmgJJs2vU6N4MscmLb8Gbio_cQ1RAwXnNOByGAKcNL/s320/Snow+blog+pic+8.jpg" width="320" height="214" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggD97vQnOKDmuVADr2QSTdQYBnsKUUQCOf9-7MlFznMGZoPvpBrm7Y1FG5OfK70DGlSKaMhn_7kazOIZyXwwvSZzJJGNJdET4w9bH6L9vP4bfRj0aKGV2qQweZZxSWE9Pv183BjAe9dv0M/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggD97vQnOKDmuVADr2QSTdQYBnsKUUQCOf9-7MlFznMGZoPvpBrm7Y1FG5OfK70DGlSKaMhn_7kazOIZyXwwvSZzJJGNJdET4w9bH6L9vP4bfRj0aKGV2qQweZZxSWE9Pv183BjAe9dv0M/s320/Snow+blog+pic+9.jpg" width="214" height="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDVh4CAl9yAOVIM0NE30-nvMmqVGq8jOKf2bLtZM16-E-vg7rw5kJT-omMt4ZZXhaYrRfmHsPSExKs_3YPf2GtBjLgCMn2gnxpbHA_cni_sQa6T9eru9skBCXCbl-3fpLfqxtm6zu-FzW/s1600/Snow+blog+pic+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDVh4CAl9yAOVIM0NE30-nvMmqVGq8jOKf2bLtZM16-E-vg7rw5kJT-omMt4ZZXhaYrRfmHsPSExKs_3YPf2GtBjLgCMn2gnxpbHA_cni_sQa6T9eru9skBCXCbl-3fpLfqxtm6zu-FzW/s320/Snow+blog+pic+11.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div><br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-69336489255551614662017-02-22T09:56:00.002-08:002017-02-23T07:39:43.773-08:00Pink Shirt Day February 22 2017<a href="http://pinkshirtday.ca/"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19S9SICv0vlckybvHeW8UFv8P6kR3C2b5u7T4CT5uAqQKKR-5ZWd9x7-Vc8wD-0hJlUlny5mqckN22IvhD8LqDqvDb_lV7vKMXeAToSHLgrddD270xC26wLFFkmlyxdfjdcqro6wKBWQ/s1600/pink-shirt-day-2017.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19S9SICv0vlckybvHeW8UFv8P6kR3C2b5u7T4CT5uAqQKKR-5ZWd9x7-Vc8wD-0hJlUlny5mqckN22IvhD8LqDqvDb_lV7vKMXeAToSHLgrddD270xC26wLFFkmlyxdfjdcqro6wKBWQ/s400/pink-shirt-day-2017.png" width="400" height="91" /></a></div></a><br />
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Today is Pink Shirt Day, a movement started by teen boys who saw a wrong and stood up for what is right. Although a day has been marked for everyone to come together and support the movement – bringing awareness to bullying everywhere, no matter the age – awareness, action, and support has to be year-round. The Pink Shirt movement started with a couple of courageous boys who took action – actions speak louder than words – so remember to show your support and commitment to anti-bullying and wear pink, and think pink, today and all year long.<br />
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Visit <a href="http://pinkshirtday.ca/">www.pinkshirtday.ca</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3_qqf7_zmR1Emm9Ek-SKBizmwc200uOlw_BRSdhsO2LRfwpeW__yDQYdbsJO4LlkdepTtS-f6bHvJZYOgVCLHXIWUpBR6vOUoz-xObLQEw1TOHyptevRDLHcWBPJmDDlJzC6ROhypgw/s1600/pink+shirt+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3_qqf7_zmR1Emm9Ek-SKBizmwc200uOlw_BRSdhsO2LRfwpeW__yDQYdbsJO4LlkdepTtS-f6bHvJZYOgVCLHXIWUpBR6vOUoz-xObLQEw1TOHyptevRDLHcWBPJmDDlJzC6ROhypgw/s320/pink+shirt+day.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgZpSCpJRScKAldHsZXGzJbZS3V8DWCyBF3becgyY_zQ3OFQQJAn3pJH5mrLtcfPq4AqoInxvO2bzN7bva6_BRICeKRKTUJBkQ5WpxagzHHaxoetxHdfwliXslYok1ZjrMEXQoDn96Uk/s1600/Kindness-Logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgZpSCpJRScKAldHsZXGzJbZS3V8DWCyBF3becgyY_zQ3OFQQJAn3pJH5mrLtcfPq4AqoInxvO2bzN7bva6_BRICeKRKTUJBkQ5WpxagzHHaxoetxHdfwliXslYok1ZjrMEXQoDn96Uk/s320/Kindness-Logo.png" width="243" height="320" /></a></div><br />
Be sure to check this video by <a href="http://www.arnoldlimvisuals.com/index">Arnold Lim</a> of <a href="http://www.vicnews.com/news/414554983.html">Victoria News</a> of Pink Shirt Day happenings that took place around BC.<br />
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<a href="http://www.vicnews.com/news/414554983.html">http://www.vicnews.com/news/414554983.html</a>Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-76604878115517525462017-01-26T15:28:00.003-08:002017-01-26T17:59:08.119-08:00Gratitude Gathering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzx_mXp1sjoImU4mxhOKAmBF1XILfw0_8V-qSU1ZJGnFjl6o8U3iFPBsUpzDu1WqQIHy79Cx5tcNLDI2lv94d5LtkCCbnJ-YraX73SDWiRUr6OESroFaZSNFd0GJ-nigq9FXv-mrSOmzE/s1600/gratitude-button.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzx_mXp1sjoImU4mxhOKAmBF1XILfw0_8V-qSU1ZJGnFjl6o8U3iFPBsUpzDu1WqQIHy79Cx5tcNLDI2lv94d5LtkCCbnJ-YraX73SDWiRUr6OESroFaZSNFd0GJ-nigq9FXv-mrSOmzE/s200/gratitude-button.png" width="200" height="200" /></a></div>My pal <a href="https://lovindanger.wordpress.com/">Jo-Ann Carson</a> - author of smart, sexy suspense with a touch of magic - came up with the perfectly fabulous idea to have a Gratitude Gathering – a group of bloggers coming together and share what gratitude means to them and hopefully spread a little positive perspective during these dark and dreary days of winter and while the world feels like a topsy-turvy place. Jo-Ann's concept: 'Bloggers write a post on Gratitude on their own blog, 1-3 things you feel grateful for this month.' <br />
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Recognising what you are grateful for can be done at any time - no matter what the season and no matter what is going on in the world. Acknowledging gratitude for what we have and putting a perspective on what we think we don’t have can only lead to happier peace-filled days – sharing what we are grateful for can only spread like a dandelion’s seeds and foster thankful goodwill in others.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIrxZC_RgUB6MmUgVqupy1b6ygrs-MLfCvkdo98P63mWx2T4s4XAMpHOEMGcegpnIN26zAb0tKUhKMfI94jGBOrMxaEyIzc7Xwm8ne1CfFEhznuoCqpRE-ox2_RBExX1CSjGNx1WOPKdO/s1600/wish+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIrxZC_RgUB6MmUgVqupy1b6ygrs-MLfCvkdo98P63mWx2T4s4XAMpHOEMGcegpnIN26zAb0tKUhKMfI94jGBOrMxaEyIzc7Xwm8ne1CfFEhznuoCqpRE-ox2_RBExX1CSjGNx1WOPKdO/s320/wish+2.jpg" width="320" height="214" /></a></div><br />
On the day I got Jo-Ann’s invite to participate in her Gratitude Gathering, I wasn’t exactly having the best day - never mind the best week. True, we all have bad days – they are inevitable and we are allowed to have them. But on that day where I felt gross, my hair was awful, I hated my wardrobe, I was three days away from payday and there was nothing ‘good’ to eat in the fridge (translation – junk food), the people on the bus were driving me crazy and I was clumsier and klutzier than ever, I scoffed at first at her invite. <br />
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<i>How the heck was I supposed to find GRATITUDE given the day, never mind week, I was having?</i> I thought with a snarl.<br />
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But…<br />
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But her invitation was enough to stop me in my tracks and have me giving myself a whoop upside the head. I always try to practice – note the word PRACTICE – being positive and keep an upbeat outlook on things, but at the end of the day we are human and emotions and truly catastrophically life-altering events are bound to throw our gratitude out the window. It’s important to take stock of what we do have and be thankful – even for the little things.<br />
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Here are a few of the things that were bringing me down that I was able to turn around and therefore appreciate:<br />
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1. The bus: I’m lucky to be even able to RIDE a bus. It means I have somewhere to go, somewhere to leave, and the money to even do so in the first place. And given I mostly use the bus for going to and from work – WHOAH! That means I have a job! And a paycheque! Being squished on a stinky hot bus can mean so many things if you look at it from a different angle (plus I’m saving money from parking and gas – the list keeps on going!). I’m pretty lucky that I am able to, and have the means to, never mind reason, to ride the bus. Gratitude #1 – check. <br />
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2. Feel gross/bad hair/hating wardrobe: I lumped all these together as I realized it was a matter of personal opinion and my own grey mood overshadowing all I should be grateful fo. You ever have days where you are having the WORST HAIR DAY EVER and someone compliments your hair? You’re not having the worse hair day ever – it’s all in your head (not just on top!) I’m fortunate to even have my good health so that I can actually FEEL those gross days – and it only be so because I’m having an ‘off’ day and not because I’m sick or anything. I have clothes on my bad – I’m not without. Truly. I have shampoo AND hair products AND the means to get it cut (never mind even HAVING hair on my head). All those things – feeling gross, bad hair, hating wardrobe – are just insignificant stuff on the surface that can all be remedied with a bath and a good long look in the mirror and in my closets. I have a lot to be thankful for. Gratitude #2 – check.<br />
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3. No ‘good’ food in the fridge: well aside from the obvious that I am lucky to even have anything in the fridge at all, maybe remembering to eat the healthy ABUNDANCE of food I do ACTUALLY have would help fend off those days where I feel gross and the clothes I DO have don’t fit right. I am grateful for the food I DO have in my seemingly empty fridge - translation: the fridge isn't really empty. Gratitude #3 - check. <br />
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Gratitude check = Reality check = perspective check: Jo-Ann’s invite came at the right time. It was a much-needed exercise to sit down and remember that I truly DO have so much to be grateful for. I am healthy, safe and sound, and loved. I have friends who invite me to share such an exercise with, along with having the ability and freedom to write what I want, when I want. I’ve got it pretty good – those ‘bad’ days are nothing.<br />
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Gratitude # 4 – check.<br />
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Be sure to check out what other author's are grateful for at Jo-Ann's site - <a href="https://lovindanger.wordpress.com/2017/01/24/want-to-participate-in-a-gratitude-gathering/">www.lovindanger.wordpress.com</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=692507"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ypilwl9GQfQ4N5LezRRm6jpGcVD-jopfVGR5IWeGNZPn0X-XORnr_8OJ2010NU7UB2EcuQK_5rqqGqA-LCxztVZhuDfuk2Zfb4zFSb4-0cU89-eoDloR_WuqG59fuWru-GLHViCgNzDa/s1600/wpImg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ypilwl9GQfQ4N5LezRRm6jpGcVD-jopfVGR5IWeGNZPn0X-XORnr_8OJ2010NU7UB2EcuQK_5rqqGqA-LCxztVZhuDfuk2Zfb4zFSb4-0cU89-eoDloR_WuqG59fuWru-GLHViCgNzDa/s200/wpImg.png" width="200" height="54" /></a></div></a><br />
Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-42567160593930596682017-01-22T12:34:00.000-08:002017-01-22T12:39:08.183-08:00In My Own Backyard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOgyrDG1EcfQp-cHtGbXB7ABJzub3p2MXJYqfMrepi_Is2Zb4X89kP4tzcRIq4O6CMV-cF_GCPDAO6KBEyq8DeqIVcgYrIsTCPJtC82bNx5BYMFdurSTH_H0L08XvbnJ2OcCSA_eNoySiu/s1600/Capture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOgyrDG1EcfQp-cHtGbXB7ABJzub3p2MXJYqfMrepi_Is2Zb4X89kP4tzcRIq4O6CMV-cF_GCPDAO6KBEyq8DeqIVcgYrIsTCPJtC82bNx5BYMFdurSTH_H0L08XvbnJ2OcCSA_eNoySiu/s400/Capture.JPG" width="400" height="269" /></a></div>25 years ago my husband and I bravely ventured out from Richmond BC to his uncle’s newly-acquired cabin. 50 miles in the bush of Golden, BC, the ‘hunter’s cabin’ was aptly nicknamed ‘The Ozone' as it was so far out and away from life as we knew it. The only running water we had was from a hand well pump in the kitchen sink as well as a big one outside. We are not hunters but were keen for an adventure and with only a dog-eared, crease-worn aerial map typically used for logging as a guide, getting there as an adventure in itself. My husband’s uncle and aunt had regaled us with stories of the wildlife in the area so I was (naively) excited at the prospect of seeing animals so different from home.<br />
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We found the beyond-rustic cabin and once we side-stepped the fresh grizzly scat and removed the bear-mat from the front door we settled in for a nail-biting stay. A bear mat is a piece of plywood riddled with up-turned nails to deter the most toughest of bears from entering the cabin for a snack. <i>Uh oh.</i> We were in remote back country, the furthest out I had ever been, I was immediately aware of ‘whose’ territory we were in. We kept ourselves busy by mowing over-grown grass (as a favour), and chopping wood. I suspect we were given these tasks to keep us from worrying about the resident grizzly and the wolves that would later circle the cabin as we slept up in the ‘watch’ (yes, I actually saw wolves).<br />
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Serene nature walks in the woods nor sunbathing with headphones were NOT on the agenda - mosquitoes weren’t the only thing that could sneak up on you – we had to keep our wits about us. But despite my grizzly-bear-frazzled-nerves I found great joy in watching the numerous wild birds not typically found along Coastal BC where we were from. <br />
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I grew up in the City of Richmond, BC surrounded by farms, bogs, marshes and ocean. Richmond is actually on Lulu Island and ‘back in the day’ the dyke-surrounded island was a huge farming community. If you go to the outer-est outskirts of the city and look between the shopping malls, you will see hints of farm-life the island was once known for. <br />
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Local birds such as Mallard Ducks, Canada Geese, herons, cranes and Stellar’s Jays, along with the wild pheasants that roamed the fields near my house, were what piqued my amateur bird-watching ways when I was a kid. Those feathered friends comprised the extent of my wildlife experience.<br />
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So years later when I found myself 50 miles in the bush worrying about grizzlies and wolves, the last thing I expected to find – yet much, MUCH to my delight – were hummingbirds. <br />
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Up at 'The Ozone' the rich and pure air and soil makes everything bigger - the chipmunks, the wild-growing rhubarb we found in the old horse corral and especially the bugs! But I soon realized that what I thought were huge flies overheard were, in fact, hummingbirds.<i> I couldn’t believe my luck!</i> To this city girl hummingbirds were a mystical, rarely-seen magical creature! I was hypnotized by how they buzzed, twittered, dove and spun all day long. We didn’t have a hummingbird feeder to attract them - all the summer wildflowers were what kept them busy.<br />
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I knew our stay at the old cabin would be forever memorable, but it would be the hummingbirds who would always be at the forefront of my memories.<br />
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Fast forward a few years and we have moved from Richmond to Victoria, BC and have expanded our world with two little boys to keep us busy. The hummingbirds I once saw were not forgotten but I had more important things to worry about – my own two hungry little birdies. I still considered the tiny birds rare and knew I would only ever seen them again at some magical place like 'The Ozone.' <br />
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One day right around Christmas I was cuddling my then-7-month old in the rocking chair next to our patio door. We had a little garden with shrubs and trees in patio-size pots and we had decorated some of the smaller trees with outdoor lights. It had snowed so even in the day when the lights were off our little yard was bright with the reflection of the snow. Just as I felt the weight of slumber overtake my little baby boy, and I started to nod off myself, a movement just outside caught my attention and I was instantly awake.<br />
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Because there, investigating a bright red Christmas light bulb on the tree just outside the patio door, was a hummingbird. His red throat shimmered and rippled with every movement as he tried to ‘drink’ from the bulb. <br />
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I couldn’t breathe – I dared not move (despite the sleeping baby in my arms). WE ACTUALLY HAVE HUMMINGBIRDS IN VICTORIA? I wanted to scream – but again, the baby.<br />
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WOW! The elusive little birdie – or so I had thought was elusive – was right there, in my own backyard. I wasn’t anywhere remote – we had no grizzlies or moose. The wildlife we had were deer and cougar commonly seen near my older son’s elementary school, despite us being 5 – 10 minutes away from huge shopping malls and highways. We had Mallard Ducks, Bald Eagles, and cranes - and of course Canadian Geese.<br />
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But what was the little bird doing here? Was I seeing things? Was motherhood exhaustion getting the better of me?<br />
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Or had they literally been in my backyard all this time but I just didn’t know it?<br />
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Although I was extremely intrigued by the sighting, I didn’t have time to worry about the little dears. But as I saw them more and more over the years, and when time would permit, I’d occasionally do a bit of research about them. Although typically a migrating bird, their numbers have increased along the West Coast, especially on Vancouver Island, over the the last fifteen years – which was right about the time I was rocking my youngest son to sleep when I first saw one on the Coast. As for all those years ago in the interior? Well I suspect we happened to be in the right place at the right time – in their migratory path with all the summer wildflowers in bloom and with no grizzlies chasing them (although I think they are too fast for a grizzly).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2u3BXpFAr5yUBk71zHUdr4ajLllJehySeUZ9Y0P6_nEU0l1LWGoY7Dm2yHLbSuP1YcuPAw9OtAWq9BxQf5C55Bns2fzUGEw58StQijRZMUG-L73ocQF4NTF2jC2IFdxATkPqs8ascrciy/s1600/hummingbird+pic+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2u3BXpFAr5yUBk71zHUdr4ajLllJehySeUZ9Y0P6_nEU0l1LWGoY7Dm2yHLbSuP1YcuPAw9OtAWq9BxQf5C55Bns2fzUGEw58StQijRZMUG-L73ocQF4NTF2jC2IFdxATkPqs8ascrciy/s200/hummingbird+pic+1.jpg" width="200" height="134" /></a></div>Fast FAST forward to now. My kids are older and the amount of time at my disposal to notice things like hummingbirds has changed. Although I’m still busy working full-time while trying to referee/clean/maintain my house, I DO have time to sit at my kitchen table and write – and watch the hummingbirds. Years ago we hung a hummingbird feeder (a gift from my youngest ‘rocking chair son’) just outside the kitchen window beside where I write. The little birdies' numbers have grown and although they can be a distraction from my writing, they are a perfect one, at that. They are much tamer than the ones I saw in the interior years ago – they swoop and hover as I re-hang their freshly filled feeder. I have come to know their chatter and chirps of defense and warning as they wait then dive in before I barely step away. I can hear them as I sit at the kitchen table and when I'm washing dishes - they are never too far away.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbWNWGirCd3x29DmnelhMlDPT8uxbhJgU3gWhUfCDjQBWGrpShYpDurljFOEWatP1-f5OEBZ4mYI-gjIWj-5Va-RS7LQeYxSZEDEYMwGg7M_fhVcg1OgWT9DTcucOABcqYMosOpKw75Hn_/s1600/hummingbird+pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbWNWGirCd3x29DmnelhMlDPT8uxbhJgU3gWhUfCDjQBWGrpShYpDurljFOEWatP1-f5OEBZ4mYI-gjIWj-5Va-RS7LQeYxSZEDEYMwGg7M_fhVcg1OgWT9DTcucOABcqYMosOpKw75Hn_/s320/hummingbird+pic+2.jpg" width="320" height="214" /></a></div><br />
The once-thought elusive little bird who is for now, as it seems, a permanent fixture in my life have been here for good reason - they make me slow down and stop even if only for the few seconds they hover at the feeder. And now, thanks (but not THANKS) to global warming and who-knows-what-else, it seems as though they are here to stay - and I didn't have to go somewhere remote to see them. <br />
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I know our mild weather makes their year-round existence easier - winters are hard up in the backwoods of Golden BC - and the abundance of flowers Victorians are proud to grow makes where I live more attractive to them. It's a perfect place for a hummingbird, I'd say, and even more perfect that they are right in my own backyard.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlA7eEq-frkQvVs5AF8oKAckD9a-Jd3XhHxUlrUkTFQiJoXoFLaebw5rawa-vdxQWpxjgS0u0E-ZCsUbuagktfFpg38M3MMpiOYOix2aDpJ_Z0JOx7P9Ai1YNA7gnq5gR11_2cHCO8ATV/s1600/hummingbird+pic+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlA7eEq-frkQvVs5AF8oKAckD9a-Jd3XhHxUlrUkTFQiJoXoFLaebw5rawa-vdxQWpxjgS0u0E-ZCsUbuagktfFpg38M3MMpiOYOix2aDpJ_Z0JOx7P9Ai1YNA7gnq5gR11_2cHCO8ATV/s320/hummingbird+pic+3.jpg" width="320" height="214" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Bhlg7RB4FA8RhSNk8CH_yP5PZNK1GwTblYEjhCa5A94Fs8Od4_4VGPNy79Qg8AIT3T3TohF9goIA9QuCdOgUxJtAnABRxBmHtYmMX8si2BbZwvjRbopEai7d6O8CHe8SzEzhhQW_qU2_/s1600/hummingbird+pic+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Bhlg7RB4FA8RhSNk8CH_yP5PZNK1GwTblYEjhCa5A94Fs8Od4_4VGPNy79Qg8AIT3T3TohF9goIA9QuCdOgUxJtAnABRxBmHtYmMX8si2BbZwvjRbopEai7d6O8CHe8SzEzhhQW_qU2_/s320/hummingbird+pic+4.jpg" width="320" height="214" /></a></div><br />
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Research is always being done on the busy little birds - to find out more about them visit the Canadian Wildlife Federation <a href="http://cwf-fcf.org/en/resources/encyclopedias/fauna/birds/hummingbirds.html?referrer=https://www.google.ca/">here </a> and as well at <a href="http://rpbo.org/index.php#"> the Rocky Point Bird Observatory</a> - visit <a href="http://rpbo.org/index.php#">here. </a><br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-25856480736385908352017-01-07T15:29:00.001-08:002017-01-07T17:13:40.949-08:00Protect Your Passion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5pSizZypH_NFaQlr7cqtbheZayqgC_Tt9cHV7toa6dfOt8Sfu4Ci4oXx8X1KtUE-6xXMQovIytjCM5kWxccwnDm-mgDbmVyJBwx6kR5RyI57IfY022qgdu2_YYT9d9TZ1Cl83gUkpSIS/s1600/2017-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5pSizZypH_NFaQlr7cqtbheZayqgC_Tt9cHV7toa6dfOt8Sfu4Ci4oXx8X1KtUE-6xXMQovIytjCM5kWxccwnDm-mgDbmVyJBwx6kR5RyI57IfY022qgdu2_YYT9d9TZ1Cl83gUkpSIS/s320/2017-1.jpg" width="320" height="200" /></a></div>Ah yes, here we are, 2017 – a bright, and shiny new year. For many folks this means reflecting on the past year and making resolutions for the year ahead. Dreams, goals and vows are made by many to better themselves. We promise ourselves to either loose one thing or gain another. We do away with the old and embrace the new. We’re determined to make this ‘the best year ever’ and for some it means improving our inner AND outer selves often with the plan of trying something new – a hobby, sport or job. OR, if it’s not starting something new, it may be to improve on what we started last year. <br />
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Some of us already understand the concept of setting and keeping a routine. The three-weeks-to-make-or-break-a-habit rule gets put in place and by the end of January we want to shout LOOK AT US GO! We are sticking with what we started and are enjoying ourselves. We’re on our way! We’re excited, positive, passionate and eager to move forward and keep progressing.<br />
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But how do we protect what we started from going off the rails throughout the year? What can knock us down and threaten that passion that got us started in the first place? <br />
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The doubters, the belittlers, the naysayers - those who threaten to bring us down.<br />
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They might not be spewing negativity directly AT you but they generally generate negativity into the air like a bad fart (however any medical professional will say that farting IS healthy – I’m just stating a fact, not trying to be gross). Those naysayers are the ones who make you feel ‘less-than,’ insignificant, unimportant, not good enough, weak...the list goes on. <br />
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And while those naysayers threatening to crush your passion stand by and so readily fart at will, there you are breathing it all in. And by hanging around them, you are letting their negativity crush your passion – and your sense of smell. <br />
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Do you continue to hang around them, letting their negativity permeate through your skin and ruin your good time? You and only you can keep them at bay – at a distance. You and only you are responsible for your happiness and fostering and maintaining your passion. No one else.<br />
And that goes the same for self-doubt.<br />
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Oh that icky self-doubt (it’s almost worse than those naysayer’s bad farts). We all have a certain amount of self-doubt in us. But the key, as in everything, is learning how to stay strong and not let that self-doubt crush us – and to not let those negative farters feed our internal negativity. If you’re passionate enough about something your inner-strength you didn’t realize you had will see you through that self-doubt. A little bit of doubt is natural, but beating it sometimes doesn’t come so naturally. Determination and remembering your passion will help you kick that self-doubt where it counts. It takes practice to ignore the negativity – inside and out – that can threaten what you love, but if you want it bad enough, you’ll do it. <br />
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So when you feel yourself cracking under the weight of that negativity – that bad smell – and your passion is at risk ask yourself, “How badly do I want it?” Reminding yourself of the answer – “I want it bad” – will make you impervious to those negative, smelly ways. Surround yourself with positivity. Distance yourself from those who don’t share your bright outlook. Protect your passion. Negativity is like a bad fart – it can hang in the air for a bit, and sure the smell goes away eventually, but it sure isn’t forgotten, boy oh boy. <br />
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I had a floundering year where I ALMOST let – and in some cases, completely let – external forces weaken my reserve and crush my passions. Those external forces seeped into my internal resolve. I struggled to maintain the momentum on some things I started, and in other things I stopped completely. I started to blame every situation and/or person taking away my drive, will and determination from things I loved and wanted to do. But when things didn’t change and went from bad to worse, I soon realized I only had myself to blame for allowing outside factors threaten my plans, resolve, or well-being. I knew I had to make a change and learn from the past years’ set-backs. <br />
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True, sometimes things are unavoidable. But perspective is key and we have to not be so hard on ourselves. Taking FULL responsibility for everything happening to oneself can be a heavy, spirit-crushing burden in itself. It’s okay to say “Okay, this and that happened beyond my control, so what can I learn from it all to make me better and stronger?” Learning from those moments will only build up a stronger defense against those naysayers (inside and out) and will only make protecting our passions in the future, easier (plus a good gas-mask always helps).<br />
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So this year, as a result of icky things learned (and smelled) from last year, I came up with my own little motto – Protect Your Passion. Even as I write this, little flecks of self-doubt threaten to creep in. <i>What if I fail? What if I’m weak and I let THEM, and ME, win? What if writing this is silly? What if my motto is dumb? What if, what if, what if....?</i> There will always be self-doubt - the trick is to knowing how to work past it.<br />
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They say that the pen is mightier than the sword - true that. But the heart trumps all. Writing this was only the first step in committing myself to what I want to achieve and protecting my passion. An icky year taught me that if I’m truly passionate about something – if it’s what I want deep down in my heart - I will do what it takes to protect what I love against the naysayers and against my own self-doubt. I know I will only have myself to blame for not following through. I’m determined to listen to my heart and protect what it loves. Sure there will be setbacks, but I will have only myself to blame for letting anything, or anyone, get in the way of what I want to achieve. I have lessons-learned and determination to help see me through.<br />
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<i>Protect your passion and you will go farther than you ever imagined. </i><br />
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I can’t wait to see what the new year brings.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9b_U6VpJexFOwZokI7CUVxGIJXxNFBE1h3Y0xU9AyQshBy7yXU8C1L4cgUAjyQyy-Qnp8k7Vt8u7NapfrAPUV2lJbw9cG66g5y8W4XNWQ5Aedb3Lp_XH_vL54MQqPIwfMCsKB9jMfZmXd/s1600/recite+this+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9b_U6VpJexFOwZokI7CUVxGIJXxNFBE1h3Y0xU9AyQshBy7yXU8C1L4cgUAjyQyy-Qnp8k7Vt8u7NapfrAPUV2lJbw9cG66g5y8W4XNWQ5Aedb3Lp_XH_vL54MQqPIwfMCsKB9jMfZmXd/s320/recite+this+3.png" width="320" height="265" /></a></div><br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-57777373298579551312016-12-19T21:17:00.000-08:002016-12-20T06:39:18.664-08:00Saved by Boots‘These boots were made for walking’ – and indeed they were.<br />
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And although I would love to hear the stories my little hiking boots could tell, I think its best at this stage of their life to give them a well-earned rest. It’s time someone told THEIR story. <br />
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A long time ago in a generation and time barely remembered, I was a naive little 14-year old. I had signed up for a 50-mile hike in the interior of British Columbia with my Air Cadet Squadron - a group for youth interested in aviation and outdoor adventures – and I truly had no idea what I was in for. And although my dad was keen on my participating in such an adventure, I think he was a tad worried how his first-born daughter was going to fare. We would be hiking in and around 70-Mile House in the interior of BC and mostly along either paved or gravelled roads. Even though it was in the summer we had to prepare for all kinds of weather and all kinds of terrain. A skinny little body and tiny feet not used to such long travels required some proper hiking gear.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_73CbciCMyjpOiq2_uSvnFXAjsT2r8_yonymiSQhKgWLMB9LpqQzC2ex_-ANpWfJjKtgDqRS4VPx3paxD8V6kUDknWzkzM6hd8JtsgTrFHREqc2th9dilzZKpTsruM35xSed6GeDrOx5/s1600/boonie+hat+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_73CbciCMyjpOiq2_uSvnFXAjsT2r8_yonymiSQhKgWLMB9LpqQzC2ex_-ANpWfJjKtgDqRS4VPx3paxD8V6kUDknWzkzM6hd8JtsgTrFHREqc2th9dilzZKpTsruM35xSed6GeDrOx5/s320/boonie+hat+2.jpg" width="320" height="320" /></a></div>So we went on a shopping excursion I would never forget. How nervous my dad was about my venturing into the wilds of the great wide world was evident in how he shopped for my adventure. A large frame backpack, rain gear, army surplus water canteens, jackets and a camouflage boonie hat was only the start of my hiking gear. Every tool, gizmo and gadget was needed - with spares for back-up, of course. Today’s ‘Survivor Man’ would be proud.<br />
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But the most valued and still-cherished piece of hiking equipment he got me were the best kind of hiking boots money could buy. My dad knew if I was truly going to survive the wilds of BC, good footwear would be my greatest weapon. Those boots cost a pretty penny but it was a smart investment at the time - and an investment neither of us realized would go on as long as it would. <br />
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They looked nothing like the other kids’ boots. I had never owned a pair of hiking boots before but I knew what REAL hiking boots looked like, and these were not them. My teenage self thought they looked weird. I remember the store clerk – an outdoorsy kind of guy with bushy hair and just-as-bushy beard – recommended I treat them with wax. So I took my weird-looking little boots home and upon the advice of the bushy-haired store clerk I melted on layer after layer after layer after layer after layer of leather-preserving, water-resisting, ice-deflecting, bear-repelling, protective wax with a hairdryer. If my face got sun-burn, wind-burn, or frost-bite my feet, at least, were gonna be well-preserved.<br />
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But I’m not ungrateful for my dear dad’s compassion and care for my well-being. The parent I am now understands his apprehension of letting his child out in the great wide world.<br />
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And those boots proved to be the best bit of equipment I could have ever had. Their non-typical hiking boot shape was for a reason: my dad got what he paid for.<br />
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Because within two days of our hike along the back roads of 70-mile house everyone was limping and whimpering due to the most horrible blisters I had ever seen – everyone except me. I wore two pairs of socks which I changed regularly; tube stocks layered with army-grey wool socks. My feet stayed dry and blister-free. I came home in one piece and 20 lbs lighter, yet heavy with memories and experiences I would relive for years to come.<br />
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And I still have the boots to show for it.<br />
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And they still fit.<br />
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And I still wear them.<br />
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After that 70-mile hike, I wore them on another trip with the cadets, but that adventure found us in sub-sub-zero temperatures where we camped on snow and frozen cow-pies (true story). Where some kids suffered frostbite, I returned home unscathed. <br />
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I wore them through my 20’s and 30’s, and now my 40’s. My sisters have even borrowed them. Those boots have been camping and hiking all throughout BC, through lakes and rivers, through snow and ice. They sat in the back of the closet in the early years when my kids were babies, but were dusted off when those same kids were old enough to get pulled around in a sled in the snow. Then when those same kids were too old for me to pull in their sleds, those boots took me hiking in the woods with my kids happily trailing along.<br />
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My kids are now, sadly, at an age where hiking with mom is SO not cool, which means I’ve gotten older as well. Those boots I once thought were not cool are now the coolest, and securest, thing I know – they save me from slipping and falling in the snow and ice. Tripping and falling when you’re 45 years old is a heckuva lot different than when you’re 14 – more body parts tend to get destroyed.<br />
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So this winter when the snow and ice made an appearance on our usually mild temperature Southern Vancouver Island, my boots were ready to go. On a Friday the week before Christmas the threat of a another few centimeters of snow dared to show up in the forecast. Everyone was in a panic; grocery stores were in near-chaos with everyone buying amenities for the great rare snowstorm that was supposed to hold our rainforest island under siege for a few days. <br />
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I was ready. I had my boots.<br />
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But the day before the storm I was overcome with my own panic.<br />
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Just like my 45-year-old body is starting to come apart at the seams, so was one of my boots.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7yg_d6us_IXDFCN8bprTXPwKT6t1U8dApZmbq97fZYXOiPWJAcPprTDY76FaBapgLQmDM3LeCSW8jpYAJsxQakYPWH5rmtNOQ3EYvZZK8deHHpsJndOzyUHz1CCXW-OkftgABpuRtnPv7/s1600/boots+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7yg_d6us_IXDFCN8bprTXPwKT6t1U8dApZmbq97fZYXOiPWJAcPprTDY76FaBapgLQmDM3LeCSW8jpYAJsxQakYPWH5rmtNOQ3EYvZZK8deHHpsJndOzyUHz1CCXW-OkftgABpuRtnPv7/s320/boots+2.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div><br />
The sole was separating from the rest of the boot.<br />
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<i>This could not be!</i><br />
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I was going to save those boots as they have saved me! Determined to hold on to this bit of history and nostalgic gift from my dad, I hustled to the cobbler and showed them my precious 31-year-old boots. I had told my dad of my plight. He was in tears about it all. "But I paid good money for those boots!" <i>Don't worry, Dad, </i> I mentally vowed as I made my way through the door of the shop. <i>I will preserve your good name!</i><br />
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“Can you save them with some super-super-super-sonic glue?” I begged the cobbler as I held out my boots. “We are due for another snowfall and I NEED them! These 31-year-old boots are my LIFE!” <br />
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And a few hours and $15 later my <a href="http://www.vasque.com/USD/womens-footwear;pgid=u45EoY7l3MdSRpbTjy0hwQWM0000Bv_GEroH;sid=QfU36YYCIpsy6d5WbwY26YZ97r0OiylKeJeYob9g#category=hiking">Vasque boots</a> that have stood the test of time – much better than my body has – were back in action and ready for the snowstorm...<br />
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...that never came.<br />
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But my boots, at least, are ready for another 31 years.<br />
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And I am too – I hope.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbnCL8npenAYbSnrlnCrjPr7kaA90EEk7xHEtZLIWLkyv4O8z796hD6NBo4lcKN8jLNwdJls9WMYdspgDhy1VxM8vGHz52EnoPqRhbeERWbvmnpAd-jPz8mDj6QjCE3N28ZDYl5kfz4Wm/s1600/fixed+boot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbnCL8npenAYbSnrlnCrjPr7kaA90EEk7xHEtZLIWLkyv4O8z796hD6NBo4lcKN8jLNwdJls9WMYdspgDhy1VxM8vGHz52EnoPqRhbeERWbvmnpAd-jPz8mDj6QjCE3N28ZDYl5kfz4Wm/s320/fixed+boot.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div><br />
For product information about the best boots - and the only boots - I will ever own, visit <a href="http://www.vasque.com/USD/womens-footwear;pgid=u45EoY7l3MdSRpbTjy0hwQWM0000Bv_GEroH;sid=QfU36YYCIpsy6d5WbwY26YZ97r0OiylKeJeYob9g#category=hiking">www.vasque.com</a><br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-21431658639929979902016-10-26T08:25:00.001-07:002016-10-26T08:25:56.309-07:00Where Has the Time Gone?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WqiZMYhze8e98sW02uWHTCe39dCXpfCbMB4xcbjdSmTdlSlhGOgKwqO1X2ote1hTiAGfaLrNISUpR6GZCDmz3PnTbOG6pItvQRYucuB8qc1VgNSEyXfLo7A1pNmGT2SY97k7ABU5Alh_/s1600/daylight-saving-time-clip-art-free-cliparts-that-you-can-download-to-Dw2WhH-clipart.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WqiZMYhze8e98sW02uWHTCe39dCXpfCbMB4xcbjdSmTdlSlhGOgKwqO1X2ote1hTiAGfaLrNISUpR6GZCDmz3PnTbOG6pItvQRYucuB8qc1VgNSEyXfLo7A1pNmGT2SY97k7ABU5Alh_/s320/daylight-saving-time-clip-art-free-cliparts-that-you-can-download-to-Dw2WhH-clipart.jpeg" width="320" height="176" /></a></div>In just a few weeks, we’ll be changing our clocks for Daylight Savings Time – again. Didn’t we just do that? We just did all that in March! It’s October already? Time sure flies!<br />
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So in order to save time – and daylight - we’ll be going backwards an hour; as if we’re trying to have one over on the sun. It’s all very confusing, but it’s nothing to do with going back in time or ahead in the future. <br />
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The bi-yearly time-changing event that occurs in the fall and spring is a hotly-argued topic with many questioning the necessity of it at all. It is felt that the original reasons for changing our clocks forward or back twice a year are longer relevant. Times have changed; the world has changed. Where many countries opted out of partaking in Daylight Savings Time, Canada opted in around 1908. The various reasons for opting in or out are plentiful – too timely to explain them all here – but the root purpose of Daylight Savings Time was to get folks up and at ’em earlier in the day, in relation to sunlight availability and energy saving. Confusing? It is to me. If I was a scientist I could probably explain it but I’m not so to save confusion for us all I hope you’ll visit: <br />
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2016/10/11/daylight-saving-time-2016_n_12440072.html">Daylight Saving Time 2016: When Does The Time Change This Fall?</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.timeanddate.com/time/dst/history.html">History of Daylight Saving Time — DST</a><br />
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Not only does trying to understand it all greatly confuse my already sleep-deprived mind, but when we lose or gain an hour it throws me off so much I feel as though I have jet leg. Oh how I wish I could blame jet lag on feeling out of sorts during the few days following the time change! It would mean I would have hopefully been somewhere fabulous.<br />
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But alas, no fabulous cross-time-zone trips are in the future, or were in the past, and all this worrying about time coming and going and whizzing by has me exhausted. Quite frankly, I just wanna go to bed - on time and only have to get up when I have had enough sleep. That’s what being forty-something will do to you, I guess; time flies by too fast and then you lose sleep from worrying about all that you have to do in the time you have.<br />
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In trying to understand not only HOW the time change works and WHY we do it, never mind trying to deal with the gain/loss of an hour, I’m exhausted. All this hour-changing is the last thing I need to worry about. It’s bad enough I don’t have enough time in the day to get everything done. And then I worry because the so-called adult I’m supposed to be still has to ask her mom whether to turn the clock back or ahead and hour before bed. And then I STILL worry throughout the night about the time change as I’m afraid my clocks’ alarm will be off and I’ll be late for work – which really wouldn’t matter because I would have likely been awake most of the night worrying anyways!<br />
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I guess I should be happy to have something so seemingly trivial to be worried about. If all I have to worry about is Daylight Savings Time, then I truly DO have it good. And with that profound perspective comes the realization that time’s a’wasting and I know we must keep moving forward and keep perspective about such matters. There truly ARE a lot worse things out there I could be worried about. <br />
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I recently listened to a radio call-in show specifically about the time change and the relevance of it. Callers were mad! But why get so mad? Why spend all that time on hold only to talk about the time change and the hour you potentially ‘lose’ for half a year when you could be doing so many great things with that 20 minutes you spent on hold. (You don’t really ‘lose’ an hour – things just get shifted back or forward.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYOZet3k9ZU-emgUHsIBz0PfAqxpq5k5G8IUlx87sAoL3I8GZz3cLbl7yH3_WAMZJr92jrMIe09R-R4gb5nS_xkikX2wgiSY3O6YMOcpjnOXyz3OQJbUFe6DC5oIHWsTM_1rTYZsK_aSE/s1600/daylight+savings+time+ends.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYOZet3k9ZU-emgUHsIBz0PfAqxpq5k5G8IUlx87sAoL3I8GZz3cLbl7yH3_WAMZJr92jrMIe09R-R4gb5nS_xkikX2wgiSY3O6YMOcpjnOXyz3OQJbUFe6DC5oIHWsTM_1rTYZsK_aSE/s640/daylight+savings+time+ends.JPG" width="640" height="237" /></a></div><br />
With all this worry and sleepless nights in wondering about the sun’s appearance and the clock, I was reminded that perspective IS key – time is so ‘short.’ ‘Time’ is so much more than a dictated time change. That same time, no matter what season we are in, is ticking. We only have so much of it so make the most of it, I say. Stop arguing and hug someone. We’ll look back on this one day and laugh about it, I know, but until then I’m determined to make the most of the now – leave the past behind, don’t worry about the future – and keep my eye on the clock.<br />
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And really - I was surprised we were at a time change already when it just felt like we JUST had one. Where did all the time go between last March and now? What have I accomplished? What haven’t I done? Who haven’t I hugged, loved, acknowledged or spent time with? And why?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSqlj3ztQAW8fVX3Xou-qGzhRJ3GoDxwbJnsQ9PIrkSBZns1zLCreaWOR3F3-kn00_2VwLnKINS9VlXP8gLp1KskvN1bL-GqnU9UhxGTgLiVP_eHBdOmVgJaPW9W4fBsq4rOt8J3zAa4h/s1600/Wooden_hourglass_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSqlj3ztQAW8fVX3Xou-qGzhRJ3GoDxwbJnsQ9PIrkSBZns1zLCreaWOR3F3-kn00_2VwLnKINS9VlXP8gLp1KskvN1bL-GqnU9UhxGTgLiVP_eHBdOmVgJaPW9W4fBsq4rOt8J3zAa4h/s320/Wooden_hourglass_3.jpg" width="158" height="320" /></a></div><br />
As the next time change approaches I hope I can turn myself around and make better use of the time – no matter whether we are in Daylight Savings Time or if it’s ended. Time will still be around, no matter whether we have ‘gained’ or ‘lost’ an hour in our sun-filled day. But you can’t get it back, all that time that has passed. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Time will still keep on ticking – make the most of what time you do have and go for whatever you can squeeze into as much time as you can. I know it’s all very cliché, contradictory and mind-boggling, but I can’t waste any more time on it all; I must run. Must keep going. November 6th is right around the corner....<br />
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Tick tock…..<br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-77814251955851363642016-10-17T10:47:00.000-07:002016-10-17T10:49:32.317-07:00Contradictory Cranberries and StuffingIt’s that time of year where many folks are cooking elaborate and/or not-so-elaborate seasonal meals. First is Canadian Thanksgiving in October – the United States celebrates Thanksgiving in November – and the colder weather all around is perfect for cooking traditional turkey dinners. It’s during this time when Christmas baking plans starts to swirl around many culinary minds. I used to bake a lot, and I used to be more adventurous in my cooking, but lack of time and energy has me slowing down. Whether cooking a hopefully-edible entree or baking a sugary treat, my time restraints have me looking to cut a few corners here and there, all while trying to stay ‘traditional.’ My men of three don’t seem to mind what I do or don’t do – they are truly grateful and thankful for whatever food I have in the house. <br />
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One thing I DO try to always do at this time of year is make cranberry jelly, preserved and sealed in a canning jar. I love doing it and have done so for years, and the one year I couldn’t make it I felt as though I had truly dropped the ball in my domesticity. Things just didn’t feel quite the same without it, as though I was ‘missing something.’ <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaW0MoL1aOzQM9qVUL-e8IxC0og9SdwdR2qatN3W8FKmj3I08YbkTyWLHNuT8uUm13a7PZYeLaJ-K_XtqSZgn8YSCAKym_MR-t-DoAwx6cErq9vuvWT131efnGXbPl1YBbg-5gyCcHHG4/s1600/preserves+book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaW0MoL1aOzQM9qVUL-e8IxC0og9SdwdR2qatN3W8FKmj3I08YbkTyWLHNuT8uUm13a7PZYeLaJ-K_XtqSZgn8YSCAKym_MR-t-DoAwx6cErq9vuvWT131efnGXbPl1YBbg-5gyCcHHG4/s320/preserves+book.jpg" width="211" height="320" /></a></div>The recipe I use is from one of the <a href="http://www.companyscoming.com/">‘Company’s Coming’</a> line of cookbooks. The little cookbooks are my go-to for simple, corner-cutting, down-home easy cooking. This simple jelly recipe has no added pectin and I’ve never had it fail – knock on wood. I have made it so many times I have the process down pat; even in my time-limited life I can manage to get a batch done. But to be honest – and many would scowl at me as if having bitten down on a tart cranberry – I can’t taste the difference between mine and canned. Okay, MAYBE mine tastes a tiny bit better and is better for you (no added preservatives, etc). Canning aficionados will likely send me hate mail now.<br />
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But time restrictions aside I go through the ‘work’ of making it because I love doing it - so for me it’s not ‘work.’ The simmering of the fruit, the separating of the juice from the pulp through a sieve, the re-boiling of the juice with sugar, and then the sealing/processing - I love doing it all. Even waiting for each lid to ‘pop’ signalling each jars’ airtight seal gives me a kick. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghawYZ0F1dSM21n56MOw8cVQ2qg6MHlG6ppxsr4GjfmJ8i3RSoNGK8HnCZMWVs1CGkImrxiLCKokImQoRd0ChaYaWq9JVnOthy54vGx4LvDK8Cpd3AJ3-rdVAYcv-Sxkvl8_Ddrc0egrb4/s1600/jelly+recipe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghawYZ0F1dSM21n56MOw8cVQ2qg6MHlG6ppxsr4GjfmJ8i3RSoNGK8HnCZMWVs1CGkImrxiLCKokImQoRd0ChaYaWq9JVnOthy54vGx4LvDK8Cpd3AJ3-rdVAYcv-Sxkvl8_Ddrc0egrb4/s320/jelly+recipe.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div><br />
Many would say ‘Gosh, Lisa – here you are complaining about lack of time, but you STILL go to all that effort and work (and don’t forget sweat) of doing all THAT? Why not just go buy a can of it and be done with it all?’ <br />
Yes, it’s all so very contradictory of me, but there you have it – I’m a major contradiction, and I know it. But there’s something so down-to-earth about the whole process - so back-to-basics, so down-home, so…old fashioned – that it makes me love doing it all the more. It’s as if I have a deep-seated need to retain some sense of tried-and-true from-scratch cooking. I make enough jars for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter dinner, as well as a few to give as gifts. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklqU1LBsfJ0PZBRcZ35yEdaJ6ebDWqcol2D8fAjQ4wxH0BosjPDoQInLd-5dbbtEObkm_mewDbPDL_Yoh5cXb5P4h7dKRphLlN-jFvosptsSYJTsA8PHIeR9ml6MeYrFMBz_Y5li6BJDD/s1600/cranberry+jelly+jars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklqU1LBsfJ0PZBRcZ35yEdaJ6ebDWqcol2D8fAjQ4wxH0BosjPDoQInLd-5dbbtEObkm_mewDbPDL_Yoh5cXb5P4h7dKRphLlN-jFvosptsSYJTsA8PHIeR9ml6MeYrFMBz_Y5li6BJDD/s320/cranberry+jelly+jars.jpg" width="240" height="320" /></a></div>My men of two teens and a husband love it and as I watch them hungrily scoop massive spoonfuls of the jelly onto their dinner plates I wonder if they think the turkey-accompaniment is a relative of Jell-O and they’re getting to eat dessert WITH their dinner - a sinful treat to be sure. <br />
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And every year at this time when I say I’m making turkey dinner, their first question is always, ‘With your cranberry jelly?’<br />
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And before I can answer, ‘Yes’, their second question is, ‘…and with lots of <a href="http://www.kraftbrands.com/stovetop/">Stove Top© Stuffing</a>?’<br />
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And when I answer yes, they dreamily sigh in relief and gratitude and ask, ‘When’s dinner?’<br />
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Yes, you read that right. The not-made-from-scratch stuffing that everyone knows by its’ brand name – of which I so readily promote as I love it, too – is what they want. They politely ‘like’ my homemade stuffing – Grandma’s is better, of course – but what they really, really want is Stove Top Stuffing, right out of the box.<br />
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So I get 6 boxes, enough for leftovers and then some. If I run out of their favourite I might have a mutiny on my hands and after cooking all the other fixings all I want is peace.<br />
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I know it’s all very contrary. Why have a whole turkey dinner complete with mashed potatoes and vegetables – all lovingly peeled, diced, boiled and so on – as well as the homemade-from-scratch cranberry jelly, only to (seemingly) ruin it all with instant stuffing from a box?<br />
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Because it’s what they truly want. It makes them happy, and if it makes them happy, it makes me happy - plus making the stuffing-from-a-box save me a whole bunch of time. And it’s just us for dinner – we don’t invite the Queen – so who cares? Who cares if our dinner plates look like one big contradiction? And who says you even HAVE to have ‘certain’ things at certain seasonal meals. <br />
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But the 6 boxes waiting on the counter the day of the big dinner makes me giggle at the opposite-ness of it all – at the contradiction of having stuffing from a box alongside home-made canned cranberry jelly.<br />
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Life is full of contradictions. Yes, some corny clichés can make my pumpkin pie curdle, but sometimes cliché’s are there for a reason – and many are true. But at least I am fortunate and lucky to live a place where I CAN have contradictions – that it’s okay to have them. And where I’m thankful for the freedom to have these contradictions, I’m also thankful for the means to have so many choices in what I get to cook. Homemade stuffing or boxed? Store bought jelly or homemade? Pumpkin pie or cheesecake? Although we might not have the means to have as fancy as a meal as others, there is nothing wrong with what we DO have – and many don’t have any at all. <br />
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Most folks might gag at not only having boxed stuffing but also at the sheer ‘un-proper-ness’ of it all. Who cares? Even if we had spaghetti on Thanksgiving, at least my family was having a meal together, never mind a meal at all.<br />
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So bring on the contradictions, I say, and be thankful we can even have them in the first place.<br />
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Oh – and just to add to it all: I keep a can of store-bought jelly in the back of my cupboard, just in case. You always gotta have a back-up.<br />
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Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7840076266780903148.post-61349537582854259112016-09-27T08:31:00.002-07:002016-09-27T08:31:59.678-07:00Banned Books Week - September 25 to October 1, 2016Banned Books Week is from Sept 25 to October 1, 2016, and is an annual event celebrating the freedom to read - anything and everything in between, especially books deemed unorthodox or unpopular. To learn more about banned books visit <br />
<a href="http://www.ala.org/bbooks/bannedbooksweek">http://www.ala.org/bbooks/bannedbooksweek </a> and <a href="http://www.bannedbooksweek.org/">http://www.bannedbooksweek.org/</a><br />
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My other writing self also writes teen fiction and my young adult book THAT NIGHT is published by Evernight Teen Publishing. To honour and celebrate Banned Books week, all ebooks at Evernight Teen are on sale (discount at check out). Hope you'll stop by!<br />
<a href="http://www.evernightteen.com/that-night-by-lisa-mcmanus/">http://www.evernightteen.com/that-night-by-lisa-mcmanus/</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuUvEUIn8kI9l0DljKlRo3NH1AhrPWMJcdfl-uJCNtYqOdtha0x_PyPk-5l-ITfoaIkD27Kk5pzDlb8bG9xUQIf0n8t007-nrMjIvbAtOqX6Xr7dLZcdfGEmHWw2C-f0CdVn8UdDlgiM/s1600/evernight+banned+sale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuUvEUIn8kI9l0DljKlRo3NH1AhrPWMJcdfl-uJCNtYqOdtha0x_PyPk-5l-ITfoaIkD27Kk5pzDlb8bG9xUQIf0n8t007-nrMjIvbAtOqX6Xr7dLZcdfGEmHWw2C-f0CdVn8UdDlgiM/s400/evernight+banned+sale.jpg" width="400" height="332" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz99uMvkowBdBHOY7IOT1NMPmY2KXuVdpFEfdRdV-MtScJke4Fn1wBQ1CDDrvmULW-FhFnbS6JyZ8239ZlwmUSFX7Y0PhrQU-Qx6fiNeWedhc0uaSqRCk0EtynlTramluCGSAVpIvmz5w/s1600/thatnight5__47504.1447976395.432.648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz99uMvkowBdBHOY7IOT1NMPmY2KXuVdpFEfdRdV-MtScJke4Fn1wBQ1CDDrvmULW-FhFnbS6JyZ8239ZlwmUSFX7Y0PhrQU-Qx6fiNeWedhc0uaSqRCk0EtynlTramluCGSAVpIvmz5w/s400/thatnight5__47504.1447976395.432.648.jpg" width="267" height="400" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://lisamcmanusbooks.blogspot.ca/">www.lisamcmanus.com</a>Lisa http://www.blogger.com/profile/02022672900968890261noreply@blogger.com0