and so she soars on wings like eagles

Today I am trapped in my memory, remembering the woman who inspired me to be myself. After more than 9 decades on earth, my grandmother, my father's mother, finally passed from this world into eternity.

Isaiah 40:31 "those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

My mom always told me that I have my grandma's hands. My grandmother's hands, which by all rights should have been calloused and weathered from years of hard work, were always unimaginably soft. Her hands felt like feathers. She had an insationable green thumb, she grew the most amazing garden and would always let me pick her flowers.

She gave life to everything she touched.

Even when she moved into a small apartment in a retirement building, her balcony was overflowing with life. As an adult, nearly every time I went to visit her I would bring her flowers, we joked that it is payback for all the flowers I picked over the years. God, I miss her.

I spent a lot of time with my grandma growing up. I was parented by a single mother, who never worked less than 2 jobs for most of my childhood to make ends meet. In many ways my grandmother filled the void where my father should have been. In my last blog entry I shared that I was a hideously awkward adolescent. I spent most every Saturday at my grandma's during my junior high years. I don't know how else to describe it other than to say that my grandmother loved me so much that she made it impossible for me not to love myself. She was there for every major event in my childhood, everything from my first broken bone, to my highschool graduation, to my baptism. Losing her feels like I am losing a parent.


I have been estranged from my father, her son, for nearly 15 years, which is almost all of my young life. When I travel home to say one last goodbye to my grandmother I will see my father, my abuser, for the first time since I was a child. I will be strong, will forgive him, and I will close the book on my relationship with my father forever.

From my grandmother I learned to love and be loved, I learned to forgive, I learned grace, she shared with me all that she could and that I am grateful for. My grandma was very ready to go. I am comforted by that. She lived a long, beautiful, difficult life. Her journey came to a natural elipses... and now she soars on wings like eagles.

Hoping that Lightning will Strike Twice...

I was bullied in Elementary school, but who wasn't? Being and awkward geek for most of my childhood and adolescence I was never quick with a comeback and never had the heart to actually say anything rude to other children. In true geek fashion I always took my mother's advice. When my mother would impart her wisdom on how to deal with school yard bullies, such as "Just ignore them"... "Walk away"... or "Tell the teacher next time it happens"... I would always smile and say thanks, but secretly I thought she was totally out of touch with the school yards of the early 90s. I mean, come on, my mom hadn't done hard time on the monkey bars since the 60s.

After one my unfortunate schoolyard encounters I would mull over the incident for hours, days afterwards, trying to think of and memorize the best possible comeback so that, should lightning strike twice, I would be prepared. I was, and still am, the type that likes to be prepared for everything, so surely this tactic would prove fruitful. Surely, not. As much as I hated my mother's suggestions, whenever I came into a situation, I would freeze. All of the masterful comebacks that I spent days preparing, gone. The only action I could take, the only words I could speak, were those of my mother. Heart pounding, I would clench my fists, ignore them, walk away, and tell. Ugh, how I hated myself for this behaviour. I knew that this pattern only branded me further as a tattle tale and contributed to my vicitimization, but still I kept doing it.

Needless to say, I survived the bullying fields, and monkey bars of Whitevale Elementary and have grown into a reasonably well adjusted adult. I did miss, however, that all to pivitol step in a bullied child's emotional growth... the life changing day when you stand up and pummel the bully either physically, or with outstanding wit. Not that I was never provided with the opportunity, but I found when those situations opened up, I just didn't have the heart to go in for the kill. I remember one day on the bus I noticed that the worst of them, Davey, had bolted from the bus, jacket tied around his waist, without sneering at me before he exited. I looked out the window and my mouth gaped open at what I saw. Davey had peed his pants! As I made eye contact with Davey my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it throbbing in ears, from the look on his face I knew I had beat him. I praised God, this is what it felt like to win the lottery, the bonus word on the spelling test from that morning finally had meaing. Elation! Just as I was about to shout it from the rooftops of the bus that Davey, a fourth grader, had peed his pants, the bus driver made eye contact with me in his rear view mirror and shook his head. A shock of guilt rushed through my body. I kept his secret.

It has been a long time since I have been publicly bullied. I can honestly say that last night was the first time in my albeit brief adult life where I was bullied by a grown man in public. Yesterday I had a quasi day off. I did have a meeting to attend in the evening, but was out and about for most of the day. I planned on returning home before heading to my meeting to change into something a little more business appropriate, and to grab the meeting information. Traffic was crazy, so I decided to head right to the Telus Convention Centre, downtown to ensure that I was on time for my meeting. My outfit was okay for the occasion, so I decided to chance it. I went into the convention centre and checked in with the Administration Desk to get the meeting room number. When I reached the top of the stairs I noticed everyone was dressed "black tie" and realised instantly that I was in the wrong place. Unnoticed by the crowd, I quickly turned back down the stairs and was met by one of the women from the Administration Desk. She apologetically informed me that she had given me the wrong meeting room number and offered to show me to the meeting room. On the way down the escalator I was joking with kind woman and said, "I thought I didn't quite fit in with at the black tie" gesturing at my jeans. Just then this business man, who neither of us had noticed was riding the stair above us, leaned over my shoulder, holding his hand over the reciever of his cell phone and said "No you really don't fit in," in a tone that implied that he disaproved of more than just my jeans.

A business man, in downtown Calgary, wearing his black tie, made the calcualted and callous decision to put his phone call, that was important enough to pull him away from the other black ties, on hold, just to insult a perfect stranger. A wave of indignation surged through my veins. But only for an instant. I did what I do best in these situations. I ignored him, and walked away. The woman and I gave each other a knowing look, she smiled and said "I hate dealing with those assholes," nodding towards the top of the stairs. We both laughed.

While, in this instance I was glad that I took the moral high ground, a part of me still feels like I let him win. I laughed to myself when I my mind wondered during my meeting and I imagined a whole host of come backs that would have left him reeling in his black tie. My personal favorite, "Here's my business card, call me when you want to apologize," and close second "$#%@#$* #$% @#$%@#$% &#%&^*."

I found out later that the event was actually a dinner party for the Premier of Alberta. I won't even get into obvious similes here, I will let you draw your own conclusions. But, sufficed to say, in the event that lightning strikes twice, I am prepared. Thanks mom!

Basted to Perfection

With Thanksgiving a week behind me, I feel like I have come to a place where I can blog about my experience. That said, one of my strong suits is actually my ability to look at the whole picture, rather than viewing an experience as a sum of the parts. In the end, the meal turned out great and love and thanks was shared among family and friends. While it was an interesting journey getting the turkey to the table, I guess all is well that ends well. I woke up early to clean, stuff and prepare our twenty-odd pound free range turkey. I got it into the oven without a hitch, did the prep work for all of the other dishes I would be cooking to accompany the beast and in record time! The house was clean, the turkey was basted and I was showered and ready for guests in record time. Sounds like things were shaping up well.

Thanksgiving day was the day our breaker box decided to throw in the towel. The only way to keep the oven on without blowing the breaker was to turn off and unplug every other appliance in the house. Even then, it would sometimes decide to flip sporadically. So I cooked, in the dark, with a flashlight in my apron pocket, ready at a moments notice to fly down the stairs and battle with the unruly breaker box. By the time the guests arrived to a dim candlelit home the smell of turkey filled the air, and I was more than flustered. My outfit was blotted with food stains, there was sweat on my brow and my hair do had quickly flattened.

Dinner was served just over an hour late, the turkey took a little longer than anticipated to cook, the guests were starving and I was exhausted. But, all trials and tribulations aside, dinner was delicious! In the end, the food was ate, the wine was drunk and the guests left happy. I went to bed paranoid, certain the power would go out in the middle of the night, we would miss out alarms for work and the refrigerator would shut off leaving me with a kitchen of spoiled food. But, thanks to the wine and the fact that I was exhausted I fell asleep nearly as soon as my head hit the pillow. Ahhh. Bliss.

Good thing that this was just a warm up for Christmas.

My New Website

Hello follower...

Awkward salutation aside, I have started a new website to share my short stories. I can not promise how often I will add new stories as the last one took me months to complete, but, the website exists, and I am hoping that will be motivation to keep writing! I have created a link in my "look ma' I'm on the web" section. The website is called My Story is Waiting. Enjoy!

And, thanks for the encouragement, those of you who sent emails and posted comments. It is much appreciated!

My Joy

I am becoming fully aware that my past is getting further and further away from the present. This brings me joy.

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” Kahlil Gibran

I love this quote. Some people wear a difficult childhood as a badge of honour. This is definitely a stage in recovery, but it is not what we are destined for. I had a childhood full of secrets. This is why I choose to answer questions as honestly as possible. It is a part of my story, but it is not my entire story. We are inteded to use these expereinces to grow into our true selves, more acurate reflections of character of God, but we are not intended to stalemate in our healing. I long to become one of these strong souls that Gibran refers to. Suffering is a real part of life in all its fullness. So today, in my joy, I pray for those who still hide behind their badge of honour, those children who are living in abusive homes, those souls who feel weak and small, and for those who do not suffer. Amen.

A Little Piece of Fiction

Sunday night I finished editing a short story that I have been working on for a couple of months now. It is still not perfect, but I think it is at the stage where feedback is welcomed! It is untitled as of yet, so if you have an suggestions for a title feel free to post them...

The last time we saw each other the whole world was watching. In contrast to the cloud of terrible, private secrets that I shared with my father, I savoured this public moment as a fitting end to our story.

We were at a live taping of Peter Popoff’s Miracle Holy Water infomercial. It was the single most romantic and enchanting moment of my childhood. I was swept up in crowd. This was only my second time visiting my father in Vancouver and I was captivated by city life. Earlier that week my father had taken me to an interactive exhibit of First Nations Art. Hands pounded together to the beat of the worship music and I imagined that each clap was the beat of a primal drum line. I closed my eyes and the thousands of people around me changed, the skin of their palms transformed to the smooth deer hide drum heads. The crowd was hot and pounding.

I was on my father’s shoulders surveying the cloud of witnesses. My eyes were fixated on the black lady standing next to me – not only because she was the first black person that I had ever seen up close, but because she was luminous. Beads of sweat gathered at the back of her neck and the soft line above her lip. She was speaking in tongues. The enchanted words seemed to drip from her mouth. Every time a new witness testified she would wave her arms gracefully above her head, shouting “Thank you Jesus” and I would lean forward hoping that her plump, dark fingers would kiss my cheek. As we listened to the stories of people who had been rescued from financial despair, miraculously recovered from limps and ailments and those who came to know the Lord and turned from their sinful lives with a single drop from their free packet of Mr. Popoff’s Miracle Holy Water my father’s body tensed. He was trying so desperately to believe. He began to sweat profusely. The veins in his forehead pounded uncontrollably. He looked like he was going to be sick.

He hastily lifted me down from my perch and grabbed at my arm, pulling me through the crowd toward the exit. He grabbed his free packet of Miracle Holy Water and we left. He was walking so quickly I could hardly keep up, one fist clenched around his packet of Holy Water, the other squeezing my hand. Without looking he pulled me into a busy crosswalk. I hesitated, he turned back to scold me and we froze at the sound of screeching tires. A cab stopped abruptly, dream catcher swinging wildly in the rear view mirror, directly on top of my father’s foot. He did not notice immediately, but as soon as the driver saw what had happened he started to panic. My father realized that he was trapped when his prosthetic limb shifted from the socket. His fist tightened around the packet of Holy water and he began to pound the hood of the yellow cab wildly, sprinkling the vehicle’s hood with the blessed liquid and keeping time with the primal drum line. My father let out a loud and agonizing moan as the taxi driver put the car into reverse and freed his foot.

Drunk on religion and humiliation my father let go of my hand and walked slowly to the bus stop, leaving a trail of Holy Water that evaporated almost as soon as it hit the hot pavement. I walked a few steps behind, listening intently to the sounds of the city, jack hammer pounding on concrete, feet pounding on sidewalk and the hiss of bus doors opening. Content, I marched behind him to the beat of the drum line.

When I caught up to him he was sitting on a bench at the bus stop, adjusting his prosthetic leg. I sat down beside him and watched him nervously. We made eye contact briefly, but never spoke. My father got up as the bus approached, as I stood he gave me a stiff handed wave, simultaneously saying his goodbye and motioning for me to sit back down. The drum line faded as I sat motionless on the bench until the bus was out of sight.

I gathered my thoughts for a moment, trying desperately to remember the steps that my mom had rehearsed with me before I left home. She told me that she was worried I would get lost in the city, really, she was worried my father would lose me. There was payphone just up the block. Carefully I dialed 911 and spoke calmly to the operator. I returned to the bus stop and sat in the place where my father sat only minutes before. I closed my eyes trying desperately to put the city sounds to the rhythm of the drum line. Calmly, quietly, I waited. The beat was gone.

Secrets of a Feminist Home Maker Pt.2

Have a thrifty, community focused, non-introspective day.

I recently watched a relatively hilarious youtube video called "How to Be Happy" check it out, it is posted in my links... over there -> The theme of the video is that less introspection and more living = happiness. I just realized that my blog is heavy on the introspection, light on the living part, that said, I am taking off to Radium for the weekend to soak in the Hot Springs, enjoy the anticipated snow, do some hiking, and live my life without a hint of introspection for a whole 2 days! I'll let you know how it went on Monday, with another long winded introspective rant!

Making Homemade Gingerale:

Supplies - 1 clean, plastic 2L pop bottle with cap, funnel, fine grater

Ingredients - 1 c sugar, 2 tbs freshly grated ginger (do not use powder, trust me on this!), Juice of 1 lemon, 1/4 tsp of baker's yeast, cold water.

Step 1: Using funnel pour sugar into bottle
Step 2: Add yeast and swirl around to ensure even distribution
Step 3: Grate ginger and add to bottle using funnel, don't worry if it gets a little stuck in the funnel, the next step will wash it down.
Step 4: Squeeze lemon juice and add it to bottle. Can add some zest aswell if a stronger lemon taste is desired.
Step 5: Add cold water until bottle is nearly filled to the top, leaving 1 inch of headspace.
Step 6: Invert the bottle several times to ensure sugar is dissolved. Note that the yeast will not dissolve, so do not overshake.
Step 7: Leave bottle sitting undisturbed for 24-48 hours at room temperature. You will know carbonation is complete when you squeeze the bottle and it is firm (no wiggle room). 2 important things to remember at this step, DO NOT shake the bottle during the fermentation process, this will result in a lack of carbonation. The second is to beware of explosions. It has never happened to me, but NEVER use a glass container or bottle and ensure that as soon as you think that the carbonation is complete, place bottle in the fridge. Once it is refrigerated there is no chance of explosion.

**Can be stored in fridge for up to 10 days before losing its carbonation**

ENJOY!!!

Secrets of a Feminist Home Maker Pt.1

Most people who know me know that I am feminist. Indeed I am, but I am that and so much more; I am a friend, a cyclist, a follower of Christ, a writer, a dreamer, a retired queen, a volunteer, a wife, a hippie ... and a domestic goddess.

My house is certainly not perfectly clean, there is a pile of laundry in front of the washer threatening to take over the hall, I can't remember the last time I used an iron, there are always dishes in the sink and I certainly do not vacuum in heels, but I am a domestic goddess in my own right. Feminism is not about trying to be better than men, abandoning the family model, or burning bras - it's about embracing and respecting the differences. In the same way domestic 'godesshood' has little to do with having a perfect home, coiffed hair or a chiffon cake cooling on the counter. Some of my greatest joys in life include; crisp fall mornings, saving the earth, and being the hostess with the mostess. I scrapbook, I sew, I recycle, I bake, I can preserves and make my own laundry soap because I enjoy it, and because it allows me to show the earth some love.

Long winded intro/disclaimer aside hear is the first installment of my "Secrets of a Feminist Home Maker"

Homemade Laundry Soap:

You will need 2 bars of body soap. You want to use white soap, not glycerin, and you'll also want to ensure that it is unscented and free from dyes. 2 1/2 cups of Washing Soda, I prefer Arm and Hammer Brand. 1 1/2 cups of BORAX. Both of these items can be found at most large chain grocery stores. 1 teaspoon of regular baking soda. I also like to add a little something for scent, I have experimented with vanilla, and nutmeg, but I usually just use peppermint oil or lavender oil (from health food store). If you are less concerned about smelling good, you can also use tea tree oil, this will help repel mosquitoes, ticks and head lice. You will also need a 10-20L container to make it in. I use a 18 L garbage can with a lid that clips in place, but really you can use a few ice cream buckets, or just add less water for smaller containers. The start up cost for this is about $30 (including container), but I have been making my own laundry soap for two years and I am still on my first box of washing soda and Borax, so its super affordable.

Step 1: Grate 2 bars of soap. Bring to boil in a large pot with 5-6 cups of water. When the soap is completely melted turn down the heat medium-low. **Do not take your eyes off the pot, it will bubble over.**

Step 2: Add Washing Soda, Borax and Baking Soda and stir until completely dissolved and liquid starts to gel. You will know if it starting to gel if you can see a ring on the edge of the pot. Add the scent now!

Step 3: Pour contents of pot into large container and add corresponding amount of COLD water (8 L works best, but you are making concentrated soap anyway, so it doesn't really matter how much you use, but make sure its at LEAST 3L). Now stir like crazy for about 3 minutes. I use a broom stick in my garbage can to mix it.

Step 4: Cover it and you're Done!! It will turn into the consistency of jello and may have some water that separates. When you want to do laundry mix half soap concentrate and half warm water in a bottle with a lid and shake. An old liquid laundry soap bottle works great for this and you get to reuse something, hooray! You will want to give it a little shake each time before use to ensure any clumps are dissolved. Use about a cup of mixed per load.

This laundry soap (in my humble opinion) works just as good as store bought brands and is suitable for use in HE front loading washers. It works great on cold wash cycles too! It does not get very sudsy, so if you have tough or heavily soiled laundry you can use 2 cups and be rest assured that it won't bubble over. To spite the plethora of steps and long winded directions it usually only takes me 20 minutes to make. Hey, and instead of using dryer sheets, which are full of carcinogens, try using "Nellie's Natural Dryer Balls" which can be purchased online. The link is posted in my "look ma' I'm on the web" section to the far right. They soften fabrics naturally and reduce drying time.

So, how does being a domestic goddess fit in with my plan to change the world? Well I think it is about lifestyle, about having a better relationship with your food, and creating better home life. Barbara Strickland, renowned writer and passionate feminist had this to say,

"What I am proud of, what seems so simply clear, is that feminism is a way to fight for justice, always in short supply."

Making your own laundry soap is not going to solve all the problems of the world but it does show the earth a little love. I am also a firm believer that if you take the time to make something yourself you will be less likely to waste it! It's one small step for social justice and one giant leap into domesticity. Stay tuned, because tomorrow I am going to tell you how to make homemade gingerale!

Typhoon Ketsana

Typhoon Ketsana has devastated the Philippines. For more information on how you can make a difference, check out my "look ma' I'm on the web" section to the far right.

You can also check out my newsreel to find out more about Typhoon Ketsana.