OK. So, maybe this is considered poetry? I don’t know. To be honest, I write like this when traditional sentences just don’t work out, when the raw form is easiest and simplest.

Lately, things have been hitting me with greater intensity. I laugh more, read more, sleep better. I say “Yes, definitely”, and “No, definitely not,” more. Life is good. And my self awareness, and all my senses seem to be in overdrive. Anyway, there you have it. This is a collage of things I’ve noticed over the past little while.

Life is good ๐Ÿ™‚


I can feel the ground beneath my feet,
the sun on my face.
The wind whispers down my arms
and my wild hair tickles my nose.

The watch is the distinguishing feature on my left,
the cuts and nicks on my right;
they anchor me in more ways than one, my hands.
I feel the weight of the carbon fibre tubing, the newness of the cork.
My hands are dripping, sliding.

It’s an oven,
this most uncharacteristic of weather phenomenons.
Heat wave.
Water may be
running scarce, but it sizzles and pours out of us, out of me.

I turn inwards.
I want to connect so much it hurts.
Everything hums. My heart beats.
Deep breath: smell the ocean, the clean air,
the exhaust, the refuse and the guy with too much cologne.

The sun is too bright,
the road is too hot.
The bus:
kneeling and flapping and beeping and roaring, is too loud
The air is too thick.
The people are too close, too harsh, too slow.

The peaches are soft, vibrant and fuzzed.
The yogurt is tangy and pleasantly cool.
The apple crunches with the most excellent sound.
Peanut butter sticks to the top of my mouth.

Ice water.
The glass touches my lips and arctic H 2 0
flows through my veins.
Flat on my back for meditation, fetal for films.
The raging fades.
I am whole again. Nearly.

Thank you for my place, my own, my home.
Thank you for my power and grace.
Thank you for laughter and superb sustenance.
Thank you for the written word.
Thank you for fine music and all else that feeds my soul.



Down time

Seagull in flight

It’s summer, it’s after 5 on a Wednesday, and I am victorious!

The past little while, it’s been go, go, go -and I’m about ready to turn everything off, and have some down time to myself, without having to be anywhere or do anything or talk to anyone or worry or work or eat or shower or visit the loo… (it’s important to stay hydrated, you know! Especially in the current climate!). Anyways, you get the idea.

I’m stoked. All that’s left is for me to take the compost out and make some popcorn ๐Ÿ™‚


Please, please, please!

Twinkie bounces, wiggles and sneezes uncontrollably when he is really excited or wants something desperately. The comedy of this is hard to get across on paper, but in person it is almost impossible to keep a straight face – unless you’re my sister.

Followingย the “Where’s Sami?” episode, Twink is still patrolling the kitchen, Rube is still eating breakfast, and Mom and I are still in the living room.

Click, click, click, click,…Mmreeet. Harrumph. Cha, cha. Mmmreeeeeeet. Eeet. Aachoo! Aachoo! Aah aah choo! Click, click. Cha, harrumph. Cha. Mmmreeeeeeet!

Twinkie has planted himself behind Ruby’s chair. Sitting to standing and back again, his nails click on the hardwood as he steps impatiently in place. He whines, chuffs and harrumps for all he is worth, until he is overcome with sneezing and must restart.

“Love me, please! I need someone to love me. I am a dog all alone in this world. Oh, please. Please, please, please!”

“What?!” Rube barks, turning from her breakfast to give him the evil eye, as Mom and I look on, laughing. She is immune to his pleas. Stoney-faced, she turns back to finish her meal. Plan A having failed, Twink is on to Plan B: playing the “I’m the cutest most quietest, most devoted doggy with the best puppy-dog eyes, won’t you please pet me now” card.

It works. Rube has finished breakfast. She turns once again to see Twinkie gazing hopefully into her eyes, and caves ๐Ÿ™‚


I’m not really a fan of surprises. Unless someone shows up at my door with dinner ๐Ÿ™‚

My dog is not a fan of surprises either. Offer one up, and he will respond with some rather alarming and sometimes hilarious displays of either fight, flight or freeze.

I was home on Malaview. I had stayed a few nights, so my being around was not new. After breakfast, Mom and I were in the living room, talking. Twinkie was outside exploring, but Ruby got up to let him inside after he had completed his morning rounds.

“Sit. Stay. Okay!” Twink shoots through the door, skids across the hardwood Skooby-Doo style, scrabbles across the carpet, pounces on his ball, slams into Mom’s legs, glances up to say hello and then scrabbles back around, slides out into the kitchen and begins inspecting the floor for crumbs. Throughout this performance he is oblivious to the raised eyebrows, rolling eyes, smiles and laughter of the audience.

“Where’s Sami, Twink? Where’s Sam?” Mom asks him, as he returns to the living room. Sam? Sam who? Still with his ball in his mouth, he trots over to Mom and wiggles enthusiastically. Nothing; Mom just smiles.

He wanders over to Rube and tries again. No response. She ignores him. He has no idea I am sitting on the couch across from the living room fireplace. He pads back towards Mom, still carrying his ball. Halfway there, he pauses and looks around, and sees…me!

He freezes mid-scan. His eyes bug out of his head, ears prick forward and his jaw drops. People tend to humanize their dogs a lot. But the human characteristics of this show of surprise was just perfect. The ball falls from his mouth, and he stares at me, “Oh my GOD! You’re here!”

“There she is,” says Mom, laughing.

“Hi bud,” I say, smiling. Ball forgotten, he walks to me, says hello and leans against my leg for a chest rub, settling at my feet for a few minutes before he is off on patrol once more.


Hi guys,

This is a note for you.

My posts are not necessarily in order. Some material I write and post in the moment, while other bits I write and save for later.

I like to have fun, both writing and living life in general ๐Ÿ™‚

We all have good days and bad days. I write snippets relating to my experience of both.

We are all individuals and human beings. Please remember this.

This is my site/blog and the writings/opinions are based on my experiences and passions.

Don’t be afraid to explore and ask questions!


That’s Random (2)

My friend Sarah’s birthday was last week, and I was invited back to the Coast for a birthday lunch.

I got up early, packed a lunch and headed out the door.ย I had nothing planned, aside from catching the ferry, staying over and going to the birthday lunch the following day.

Trouble is, I can wing it. And I do. But public transit is not nearly so flexible. As a result, the transit traveller either has to plan to the last detail or be alright with extreme schedule flexibility and variability.

I chose the later. I missed the transfer to the bus to the ferry by 2 minutes. The connecting ferry was 20 minutes late, so I caught the next bus, only to arrive as the boat was just leaving the terminal.

So, I sat and read my book, ate my sandwich and listened to my music for the next 2.5 hours as the ferries played catchup. And then I read for another 40 minutes during the crossing.

Normally, if I plan it, the time it takes me to get from Sami Central to the Riesco Residence is 3 hours of buses and boats. The unplanned, traffic plagued version I found out takes 5 hours ๐Ÿ™‚

I read half my monster book, and listened to my Top Tunes playlist twice. It was good. I really enjoyed myself. I’d get there eventually, and this time, that was good enough for me.

I went for a hike around Soames Hill with Mom, Ruby and Twink right off the ferry, and then caught a lift to Sechelt with Ruby and Forrest.

We stopped home briefly to drop Mom off and pick Forrest up. I decided to wait in the car.

“I’ll be right back,” Rube says. Fifteen minutes later, she reappears, carrying enough food for a small army, a book and a playlist primed for our 20 minute trip up the coast. I laugh, and Rube grins.

“I had to get food. We’re going on a road trip… Here, hold this.”

Forrest throws his bike in the back of the pickup, and we’re off, Peruvian dance numbers at full volume, apples and tortilla chips crunching.

This is what I love: hikes on familiar trails, mini road trips with my sibs and being on “Coast time.” ๐Ÿ™‚

It can wait

Right now
It’s me
Feeling my muscles and mind relax
Singing softly
At the ceiling


Mental Heath
First Aid

In the simple disarray that can wait
Until tomorrow
It can wait

That’s Random (1)

Black Vans, City Nights and a Game:

I remember waiting for the bus on the side of the road at night, watching the rain fall and the headlights cruise and the buildings shimmer in the distance over the water. I revel in that solitude. That hush, that moment that I have completely to myself. It’s beautiful.

Dinner with Grandma and then out the door and down the hill, to meet the bus that will take me home to my bed. The night is crisp and quiet. It is exhilarating. I am prepared, with my layers and lights, and I power down the road, running for the thrill of it. I always plan ahead, give myself at least 15 minutes, but if I want to, I can make it in six. And tonight, I want to.

I get to the stop with plenty of time to kill. And I play the dangerous game of What If. What if I were to busk all summer, be deemed a musical genius and make millions. What if I got a dog, wrote a bestseller, went off grid, stayed up all night watching tv and eating ice-cream and popcorn and chocolate, found a sole mate, changed the world… That would be amazing, I could do it.

It’s the end of one tune, and the beginning of another on my playlist of Top Tunes; Like Real People Do –ย ‘Why were you digging, what did you bury…’ My mind switches gears. What if I get attacked, what if I disappear and never return? My imagination runs wild. And then, this big, black van pulls to the side of the road, stops right beside me.

Crap. I did it this time. My mind game is turning to reality. I edge back from the sidewalk, look hopefully for the bus. Nope, not coming.

“Be careful… careful… careful.” Night-time can make people nervous. It makes my Grandma nervous, my Mom and Dad too, to know that her granddaughter and their first-born is out in the dark waiting for a bus, in the city. And I get that. I really, really do. It may sound corny, but anything can happen, anywhere, anytime. Still, I’m prepared. I’ve done my best. Axe murderer or no, we just have to wait and see. I’ve nowhere to run.

This is ridiculous. My heart is in my throat, and I want desperately to teleport into bed. This is ridiculous, I repeat. Everything will be fine. And it is. A smiling young Asian woman and her son, who looks to be just out of Kindergarten ask me if I need a lift. Seriously, they are a pair of Good Samaritans who spotted me dripping at the side of the road. I politely decline, and the bus shows moments later ๐Ÿ™‚