tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47437869170002277452024-03-13T06:17:16.921-07:00Falling For Me words, images, experiences and people make up the fabric of who I am...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-76692721300717707312015-05-26T04:07:00.001-07:002015-05-26T04:07:19.511-07:00Practice Makes Perfect <div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Malcolm Gladwell wrote that it takes about
10,000 hours of practice to achieve mastery in a field. Writing is all about
the practice and I have one dear friend, Matthew, who helps me do just that. He
is my sounding board for ideas; my beta reader for stories, blog posts, poems,
you name it; and someone who encourages me and challenges me along the way. He
asks poignant questions, makes me think and often helps me see things through
different eyes. Most of all he <s>forces </s>encourages me to write.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, Matthew asked me to write
a beach scene. The challenge was to write it from two different points of view,
one being of a woman in love and one of a woman with a broken heart. Same beach
but different feelings. At first I thought, easy peasy, but then I started
writing. The difficulty came from the fact that the emotion I was writing about
was something I wasn’t currently experiencing. So I had to dig deep into my
memories from so long ago and see if I could dust off the cobwebs and “be in love”
again. This proved challenging, which made me begin to wonder if I had ever
really experienced “true love”. So I tried my hand at the broken hearted point
of view.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What can I say? This was much easier.
Perhaps along my journey, I have let my broken heart consume me and shield me
from allowing myself to love again? Whatever the case, this writing challenge
made me re-think where I am in life. Have I been fooling myself into thinking
that my previous broken heart was mended? Am I afraid to to open my heart
again? One beach scene and I was analyzing the writer's block and feeling like
I hadn't allowed myself to truly feel all these years. It is time to take that
leap of faith and jump. If I end up with a happily ever after then FABULOUS! If
my heart is broken again, then at least I will be feeling something instead of
hiding my heart away from the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For those curious, here are my two
paragraphs that describe a beach from two points of view:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fourth
of July fireworks erupted, hiding the night stars with magnificent, colourful
explosions that danced through the sky. The perfect end to the perfect day,
Nora thought as she stood on the only white rock along the shoreline. Love
permeated the air and Nora inhaled deeply, drawing in its sweet scent that mixed
so deliciously with the salty ocean air and the lingering of Rico’s muskiness
left on her skin. It was an unusually hot and sticky night but despite the
uncomfortableness of the heat, Nora felt the magic of love around her. Rico
loved her. Really loved her. "HE LOVES ME!" Nora yelled out over the
water and then jumped in. Her hot skin tingled from the coolness of the ocean
water. It felt wonderful. Making her way back to shore, Nora lay back along the
sandy shoreline. She smiled quietly to herself as a warm breeze holding
infinite possibilities drifted across the sand, carrying them to the horizon
and letting them go.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Her
skin pimples as the abnormally cool July breeze that scurries across the ocean
meets her at its edge. Nora wraps her arms around herself as she tries to make
sense of it all watching the angry waves crash into the shore, pummeling the
sand with no reprieve. The irascible ocean spews its bile of white foam onto
the grains of sand, ridding itself of mans impurities. The remnants of her shattered
heart pounds fiercely in her chest. Her sobs take over her body, uncontrolled
and erratic. Each breath filled with salty ocean air punctures her lungs in the
caustic wake of the day’s events. He no longer loved her. Nora shuts her eyes
and lets out a harrowing cry into the abyss that now lies ahead. All the pain,
passion and love within her thunders out across the water, disappearing into
the horizon. Collapsing on the cold, wet sand, Nora summons the tide to carry
her away, past the horizon, where the pain lives no more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While the writing exercise allowed me to
understand how emotion changes how we perceive the world around us and get
closer to the mastery my craft, perhaps the lesson learned here is love needs
to be practiced and I need to open my heart to the possibilities again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Talk
to me! How many hours do you put into practising what you love?</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-50454389531717548532015-05-20T08:41:00.000-07:002015-05-20T08:51:33.946-07:00Boxing Up Your Life<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Packing up a home tells you what you hold important and what
is purely excess. My wonderful realtor did a once through of my home,
nonchalantly naming off this, that and the other thing that needed to disappear
until I sold my humble abode. They held no meaning to him and I soon discovered
there was a lot that meant nothing to me either. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My first step in the process of selling was to de-clutter
the six years worth of "stuff" I'd accumulated for no better reason
than "I wanted it". These objects were the easiest to box up. I
didn't even think twice about packing them away and possibly keeping them
hidden forever. As I packed up the items to depersonalize my place, I found
myself reveling in the past and becoming reacquainted with precious things I
had put away carefully. These particular items had a life of their own. Not
shiny or sparkling, not cutting edge or technologically advanced, they held
pieces of the past, memories and thoughts in their matter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Photo albums of every shape and size, brightly coloured or
plain black took me from high school to motherhood; from across Canada to
Europe and the Pacific Rim; from family moments to family ghosts. These books
filled with hundreds of photos held so many memories. I found myself entangled
in years gone by, relishing in memories and bringing them back to life. I could
taste decadent meals that loved ones spent hours creating; I could smell the
perfume of frangipanis and the sea while I was basking in the sun of the
Australian beaches I called home for a year; I felt the warm embrace of my
grandfather as we wished each other a very merry, happy, good "whatever
the occasion” was. The thought of storing these photographs in a dark locker
deep within the bowels of my building scared me. These were far too dear to be
stored, even temporarily, in a wire cage. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the de-cluttering moved into my bedroom, I pulled out an
old tattered leather file box filled with beautiful folders, delicately
designed in pastel motifs that held hand written stories from my childhood and
typewritten stories from my teenage years and early 20's (before the time when
every home had a computer). These stories still appeared in between writing
projects to revise, enjoy and then tuck away again. Stories that represented a
younger, more vibrant me when everything seemed possible. The pencil markings
on some were fading, the paper crumpled from years of handling. Every time I
pulled these out, I felt like I was reading the diary of my younger soul. This
old, brown file box lived upstairs and it would just have to stay where it was.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I continued to plough through this erasing of my personal
effects, I was faced with the insurmountable task of packing up my bookcases.
One of my previous posts, <a href="http://www.fallingforme.com/2014/10/the-bookcase.html">The Bookcase</a> mentioned how important my books are.
These cases house not only recent purchases of books that caught my eye but
also my precious collection of rare and antique books. These works by some of
the greatest writers in literature were the birthplaces of my love of the
written word. Their smell, the delicate pages and beautiful covers are of an
era when books were revered and not digitally downloaded to enjoy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It pained me, knife-through-the-heart type of pain, to think
that something horrible would happen to these precious pieces of me if they
were out of my sight. It was then that I realized that besides my children,
these were the only things that, if lost, damaged or destroyed, would leave a
void in my life I could never replace. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Funny how when the time comes to box up your life, the
reality of what is important, I mean really important, hits you in the face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>Talk To Me! What are the things that would leave a gaping hole in your life if lost?</strong></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-71839707307882566722015-05-12T16:31:00.001-07:002015-05-20T08:53:13.495-07:00137 Days<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The journey we take makes up what our life becomes. It could be long, short, happy, sad, adventurous or bordering on the mundane. From the first breath we take, it begins, first being led by those who love us. At some point, we veer off the path of our loved ones and start carving out our own, making the journey of our life relevant to who we are. It is along our journey that we meet obstacles, fall in love, deal with grief and sometimes stop because there is a gaping hole in front of us. These holes represent the catalyst to change and growth.
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I faced this hole many times in my life but I never realized what they meant or what I had to do. This abrupt stop in my journey happened recently, in fact 137 days ago. It happened right after I wrote my last post. I experienced a profound sadness after losing someone who had been such an important part of my whole life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At first I felt the overwhelming desire to do nothing; to get lost in the everyday minutiae that was safe and secure, like a favourite plush toy that gives you comfort in the dark. I allowed myself to just be and not do. I sat there, staring at the nothingness in front of me; my ever moving mind battled between sitting still or getting off my ass and doing something. I knew that in my current spot I would whither away but what I didn't know was what my desired spot was. My life is good, I am surrounded by wonderful people, have an amazing family and have done some incredibly fantastic things in life and some insanely stupid things. So what is it that I need to rise like a Phoenix from the ashes?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the 137 days, I have set myself up to build a bridge between my current spot and where I want to be. It is funny how when you start seeing life this way, things begin to fall into place. These periods of transition help catapult us to the next level. But it's how you build these bridges that determine if you achieve your goal or not. I identified that happiness had to stay with me on the other side, as did the love I have for my family and friends. They are, afterall, the pillars in my life. I needed a new space, one that was larger and brighter, with new energy and soul, that could accommodate the growth I'd experience in this crossing. But what was my ultimate goal? I had many ideas, some lofty, some more modest, some that helped build courage and others that solidified my strength. I needed to move forward and hone in on what my goal was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To feel good about myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Writing. Writing was the one thing that fell off the radar. It was the easiest thing to forget about since it didn't rely on me to feed it, drive it to swimming lessons or create strategies to make the year's numbers but it was the one thing that I felt breathed life into me. No wonder I became so listless and walked around with a heaviness that would crush a diamond. You see, writing isn't something I want to do, it's something I need to do. It allows me to free my psyche from the constraints of all the "must dos" that I face daily. It has always been my reprieve. I always felt better when I wrote, even as a young girl. It could be a journal entry, a university paper, a short story or one line with which I painstakingly grappled for hours. That act of creating fills me with purpose, contentment and power. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The bridge I built that took me from where I was to where I am is made up of fellow writers who encourage me and challenge me. They helped me battle the self-imposed obstacles, aka excuses, I overcame. Over the past 137 days, I have seen one friend publish her book and another is half way done editing his third novel. I watch them in awe, envious of the focus they have, forever making excuses for my laziness. "I am too busy, too tired, have no inspiration". All excuses, all obstacles. My end game just didn't make sense anymore and then a good friend gave me a great piece of advice. Just write. Don't think. Just write. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Life changing words. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I started again, one word at a time. A note to my child, a letter to a friend, a poem, a writing exercise. It was my first step to building that bridge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Next was carving out time for writing. My schedule over the past few months has been insane and at then end of all the craziness, when I would sit down to write, I found myself falling asleep. I had to establish a routine. Not only for writing but for everything. That constant feeling of being rushed was not conducive to my well being.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My calendar now looks ridiculous. I found that scheduling for every hour of my time makes me accountable. Accountability and organization, believe it or not, are giving me freedom to do all that I need to do and want to do. It's a little thing but it makes a huge difference. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The next thing I am starting to do is to let things go. I tend to let the things I can't control take over and it affects me mentally and physically. Stress is a hateful enemy that, if allowed, will drain the life from your veins. I need to become my own defence shield in this war and counter attack. I am learning to breathe deeply, become mindful and relax. This is by far the hardest part of the bridge. High octane fuel runs through this body and after years of constant acceleration you can't make a hard stop. I have faith that slowing down can be learned before I am forced to against my own will. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My bridge is slowly being built and I feel better. It's my healing process, my reset button in the here and now. It isn't the first I've built and I'm certain it won't be the last but it's the one I feel I have actively identified and am managing. It took me 137 to start building this and I don't know how long before it's done but I have surrounded myself with people and strategies that help construct the road I am travelling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I'm travelling with a smile on my face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Talk to me! How do you build the bridges in your life? </b></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-40967280115077345082014-12-23T06:53:00.001-08:002014-12-23T06:53:54.053-08:00Christmas is a Feeling....<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Christmas season is upon us. Trees glisten and glow, twinkling a red, green and gold. Menus are being planned and tested as fragrances of vanilla and cinnamon permeate the air. Melodies of trusted carols and new ones are heard on radios and in school auditoriums. It is the one time of year where the collective heartbeat of the world is felt beating all around. Wars are still being fought, sickness is still being battled and heartache still pierces the soul but there is something about this time of year that masks all the bad with a protective coating that lasts for a few weeks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Christmas is by far my favourite holiday. There is something about the warmth it brings to my heart during a cold winter. Growing up, our Christmases were filled with wrapped boxes, elaborate meals and the cacaphony of a big Italian family. My senses still ignite when I am lured back into my ghosts of Christmases past. I hear the baritone voice of my grandfather breaking out into Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle after dinner. He was a jolly man who sat at the head of the table and even though he was the gentlest of souls he commanded a great presence in an unobtrusive way. He loved his grandchildren unconditionally, to the point where he would sit and chuckle as we helped dress him up as Santa. My grandmother, who ruled her house sternly throughout the year, would let down her guard and enjoy the craziness and sit on Santa’s lap with a smile on her face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For years, my brother and I were the only children at table and that meant the colourfully wrapped boxes under the tree belonged to us. Ask me what my favourite gifts were, I couldn't tell you but ask me about the feeling in the room, I can tell you in great detail. It was chaotic but filled with a sense of belonging. Christmas Eve was blanket that held us together close and warm. I felt safe watching my boisterous family moving from kitchen to living room. I remember seeing the smiling eyes of my aunt and uncles watching as my brother and I dove in and tore apart the exquisitely wrapped boxes. My grandparents and great grandparents would laugh at our expressions and received such satisfaction that they brought joy to their only two grandchildren at the time. But the joy wasn't from the gifts, it was from the sense of family that enveloped us. The adults always tried to organize the process of opening presents but year after year, failed miserably. Who would want to get in between a child and their Christmas present?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As my brother and I entered our teens, our family had expanded. Aunt and Uncle married and with those unions, Christmas was brought alive again by the sound of little voices and feet running through the house. The house was re-energized and new traditions were made. I loved watching the young ones run through the house the way my brother and I did. Four little people who enjoyed the boxes the gifts came in rather than the actual gift. We played board games and cards after dinner while the smell of chestnuts roasting filled our nostrils. At about the time the chestnuts were done, there would be a knock at the door and standing on the other side would be my grandmother's brother's family, who lived three houses down. Let the festivities begin! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The houses would take turns visiting and this was something I looked forward to every year. We saw each other daily throughout the year but the visit of Christmas Eve was one I waited for excitedly. One year they would show up singing carols and the next we would show up with a drum in hand bellowing a very horrible rendition of Little Drummer Boy. It was magical being surrounded by the people who meant most to me. These were the best Christmases of my youth. The two families were close and the memories made are etched in all our hearts. It is these memories we need to carry with us and hold dear. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With the birth of my children, Christmas evolved again. Two new faces, wide eyed and innocent, graced our lives. Gone were some of the old faces. My great grandparents no longer sat at the dinner table, my paternal grandmother watched from heaven above, my grandfather, my uncle and my aunt lived only within our minds and hearts now. The mood around the table changed. Those young cousins were now 20 somethings and our family a few doors down had moved. Instead of a warm, happy time, people sat angry, sad and disappointed that these bodies no longer sat at our table. My children would watch the elders and try to understand why the sadness. It is something that they couldn’t comprehend. For them, they believe these souls are still with us and want us to regale them with stories of years gone by and be happy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This year is Christmas is bittersweet. The collective heartbeat pounds loudly but there is an over-lying sense of heartache. We are watching some relatives struggle with their health and facing a future that is nearing an end. My children are older now and understand more with a heavy sadness in their hearts. They know Christmas next year will be different with more souls watching from above. But for this year they want to be grateful for the gifts these family members have given them throughout their lives. They want to live in the moment and make sure when that moment passes it becomes permanently inked on their hearts. For them, the ghosts of the past are memories waiting to be created by the stories we share. The ghosts of tomorrow are already a part of who they are and for this they are forever grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The collective heartbeat at Christmas time brings hope, clarity, wonderment and most importantly love. Despite the sadness that lingers in the air, I still crave to be part of this heartbeat and so do my children. Christmas is more than the delicious food, beautiful decorations and wonderful gifts. It is a feeling that lives within our hearts and memories and no one can take that away.</span> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy Holidays and may love and happiness surround you and your families!</span></strong></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-18869923790134325872014-12-17T04:42:00.000-08:002014-12-17T04:42:01.559-08:00My Own Worst Enemy<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looking at the
words on my computer screen, I can feel defeat set in. Hot tears begin to pool
in my eyes and the muscles in my spine slowly collapse. An eternal conflict
between head and heart ensues and my breathing becomes short and quick. I hear
that voice screaming in my head, "don't waste your time!" Yet my
heart keeps tugging at me gently urging me to never give up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Any writer will
tell you this is a normal experience that is felt often, if not daily. Not only
by the wanna-bes but the famous as well. Writing wasn’t something that I just
decided to one day take up; it has been a part of my being since I was a young
girl. Was it the romanticism of what I believed a writer was that drew me in or
was it the overwhelming desire to create stories where readers could get lost? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are days
where I feel I am being pulled in a thousand directions; building upon one
idea, coming up with another, moving to something completely different. So much
to write about, so much to share and not enough time to get it all down.
Hemingway’s words run through my mind daily, "There is nothing to writing.
All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." And bleed I do.
Profusely. Yet I feel as though I have accomplished nothing. I don't have an
agent. I'm not published. I write because it makes me happy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another quote I
love about writing is from Anaïs Nin. "We write to taste life twice, in
the moment and in retrospect". Her words excite me. It's a personal
journey for me that allows all my senses ignite not once but twice. Yet I often
still feel overwhelming self-doubt and want to throw in the towel every other
day. Doubt is the enemy and holds fear in its hands. It can stop me
mid-sentence and render my mind immobile. I sabotage myself and go to war with
my psyche, inevitably believing that I will fail. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the days in between that ugly cover of doubt are
filled with big dreams and a general giddiness that accompanies a feeling of
"I think I can, I think I can, I know I can and I will". When I sit
in front of that blank sheet of paper, the possibilities are endless and
creation is all mine. "A blank piece of paper is God's way of telling us
how hard it is to be God". Sidney Sheldon's words ring true. It's not easy
being a writer and I truly believe that self-doubt, tears, anger and
frustration help elevate us to heights unknown if we don't allow them to
infiltrate every moment of our days. Let it percolate for a bit and then toss
it aside. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All easier said than done, of course. I end up creating
this story around me about why I am not good writer. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I don’t have a Master’s Degree in English; I haven’t read all the books
from literary geniuses; I am not as good as Mr. or Ms. “X” whose book is on
shelf now; Rejection, rejection, rejection; It is so hard to come up with
something new, everything has been done. </i>These thoughts lead to my
self-doubt and to behaviour that is often associated with someone who has given
up. This WAS the story I lived and breathed on my days of doubt but it is not
the story I WILL be part of. A good friend and fellow writer, who just happens
to have two books published gave me some great advice. “Never compare yourself
to other writers, only compare yourself today to the writer you were
yesterday.” So my new story is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I am
better than I was yesterday and my words will be a dialogue with my readers one
day.</i></span></span></div>
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surface like an unwanted rash but I am also positive that my days of believing
in myself will last for longer than an instant.</span></span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>TALK TO ME! </b>How do you push through your self-doubt and inner criticism? What tool do you use that helps conquer the doubt?</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-41689049431897996082014-10-21T05:29:00.003-07:002014-10-21T05:29:48.548-07:00The Bookcase<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The books were organized in alphabetical order, lined up perfectly against the edge of each shelf. There were hundreds of them, each acquired by either content or beauty. The special ones, those bound in leather and printed well before the modern day press, were tucked away in a glass cabinet. Some dated back 10 years, some 300 years but all possessed the same magic of being able to transport the soul to another time, another place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These were her most prized possessions and price could never be placed on any. Each of these stories touched her in a way that could never be described through her words alone. It was the feeling they brought her, that tiny bit of excitement that begins to swell inside the pit of her stomach when she begins to be drawn in to a story that has the possibility of taking her anywhere. She was free inside the covers, reading to fly across the Atlantic to meet her lover who waited for her on foreign soil. Her love, the one who held her hand as they manoevered through dark and dirty streets, running from the evils that lurked in the shadows. A lover who made her pulse quicken as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing alabaster skin under a black lace brassiere. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She ensured that these cases were looked after with the same care a mother uses with her child. Not a speck of dirt could be found. It was immaculate. Dust jackets were in impeccable shape, each protecting and holding it's body close. Often, she would stand in awe before them, running her finger along the spines, remembering the journey she took with it. Minutes would turn into hours as she became further entrenched in her reverie, whisked away to a distant place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8T_7tOBkBrA/VEZQatGEFDI/AAAAAAAAAW0/m31kTKBdzvo/s1600/IMG_3339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Photo by A.Bresar" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8T_7tOBkBrA/VEZQatGEFDI/AAAAAAAAAW0/m31kTKBdzvo/s1600/IMG_3339.JPG" height="200" title="The Bookcase" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bookcase<br />Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These cases held the many lives she lived. It pained her when asked if one could be borrowed. Pieces of her soul inhabited the pages and the possibility of having it lost or damaged caused her a great deal of turmoil. Just the thought of sharing her treasures gave her palpitations, her palms became clammy and her vision blurred. She could not bear to part with any even for a brief moment. In her mind, it was absurd to share something so personal with the masses. The solace, the intrigue, the love that she found in the chapters was hers and hers alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bookcases that housed these pieces of her sat in plain view for her to enjoy, flanked along side a crimson divan which acted as the vessel that would prepare her for these escapes. The velvet cushion of the sofa enveloped her like warm arms that held on tight. An oasis, her very own Shangri-La, an hegira amid the hustle and bustle of her daily life.
</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2wiyubErRQg/VEZQp89FbTI/AAAAAAAAAW8/29-l-6f8hTE/s1600/IMG_3351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Shangri-La Photo by A. Bresar" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2wiyubErRQg/VEZQp89FbTI/AAAAAAAAAW8/29-l-6f8hTE/s1600/IMG_3351.JPG" height="200" title="Shangri-La" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shangri-La<br />Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Talk to me! Do books have the same effect on you?</b></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-37946241214549460502014-10-15T17:04:00.001-07:002014-10-15T17:04:20.190-07:00Behind the Smile Live Some Tears<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Much to some people's belief, I am not always smiles and positivity. In fact, there was a time where I cried. A lot. More than a lot. In fact, it was daily. I felt defeated, torn down. Alone. Like I made a mess of everything that was ever bestowed upon me. I began to second guess my worth. Fleeting moments of insecurity evolved into minutes, hours, days and weeks. My self esteem had been beaten and battered past the point of recognition. So it really irks me when people say I have a "charmed and easy life". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is the reality. Yes, I work at a job in an industry that I love. I work hard, putting pressure on myself to succeed because the fear of not being able to provide my children with a roof over their head or food on the table scares the hell out of me. The fact is I was not working when we became a family of three. I was home with two babies making sure they were happy and healthy and trying to save my marriage. I knew I didn't want to go back to teaching but what could I do? It took three months for me to figure that out and I have been working hard to get to a place where the worry can subside a bit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't have anyone I am accountable to. Is that positive? For married friends and family, the answer is yes. The truth? It sucks. I have been married twice but I still seem to have eluded true love. This is heartbreaking for a hopeless romantic like myself. But I have not given up. The weight of all my decisions is on my shoulders, there is no one with whom I can discuss things. When the kids want to go out for an afternoon all my household duties are put on hold which results in a frenzy that is arguably the most stressful part of keeping it all together. At the end of the day, when the kids are in bed, there is no one to share stories with. I go to bed alone, void of the warmth of someone beside me. No arms are there to hold me, no warm breath on my neck or soothing words to lull me to sleep. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My life is what I make of it and the bumps and bruises along the way didn't scar me or push me into a corner. It was these things that made me look at life differently. I couldn't fit a square peg into a round hole so I adjusted. I changed the way I looked at life, fixed the way I carried myself, decided that my attitude could make or break me. There are still hurdles to jump and obstacles to avoid which means there will still be tears, frustration and upset. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">BUT....for the most part, my day is all smiles, interrupted by the occasional tear that flows freely during times of uncertainty or loneliness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the end, I live the life that was given to me, not a bad life, not an easy life but a blessed one. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>TALK TO ME! What do you hide behind your smile?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-50600943235417135002014-09-12T04:37:00.003-07:002014-09-12T04:37:39.396-07:00My Child...My Teacher
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eleven years ago today, I became a mother for the second
time. My son came rushing into this world and hasn’t stopped moving since then.
The urgency in which he arrived has not ever subsided. He walks this Earth in
constant motion and awe, always searching for the bigger and the better, always
questioning the who, what, where, when and (the one that drives me absolutely
nuts!) THE WHY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is precisely this
urgency that makes him who he is and keeps his wheels turning.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Filled with a desire to learn EVERYTHING, I often hear him
say he is looking for his passion. I love this about him because he hasn’t
pigeon holed himself into one box and is desperate to try everything once, just
in case “it” may be his true passion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I see what his passion is, learning and discovery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I will never tell him this because
watching him search for his long awaited passion is marvelous to observe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am astounded by the way he absorbs things
and I am intrigued by the questions he asks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His world of wonder started right from the time he could
talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It began with him as a
toddler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would kiss his little head
goodbye and leave for work, always wondering about what new things he would
want to have explained later that night. He would sit with my mother at the
breakfast table and watch as she would flip through the newspaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Grandma, what’s that?” he would ask,
pointing to a photo and she would explain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then the questions would come and she would sit answering what she
could. His fascination was with the obituaries and seeing the photos of those
who have passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He needed to know why
they died, what the cause was and how old they were. And then he would say,
“that’s sad.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The questions never stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This intense curiousity courses through his veins like fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It burns inside him and I hope it is never
extinguished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, there are moments
when I wish I could put a cap on the number of questions he asks but how do you
tell a child that they have reached their quota? Thank goodness for the
internet!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is now at an age where I
can say “google it”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, the role is
somewhat reversed because although the questions still abound he can figure it
out himself and teach me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I must say
that having an 11 year old explain who Tesla was or why Modigliani and Picasso
were frenemies sheds a whole different perspective on things. My child…my
teacher.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Through his search for his passion, my son has discovered he
has an amazing sense of humour. Yes, he is a boy and can be quite silly but
there is more to his humour than wet willies and knock-knock jokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is intelligent and witty and the ease in
which his quick comebacks and replies come to him is exceptional. Could it be
his acute awareness of the world around?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whatever it is, this little man makes me laugh daily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the best part is hearing his laugh which
is absolutely infectious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Showing affection is a bit uncomfortable for him at this
age. In fact, it is 100% embarrassing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hugs are given half heartedly or disguised as something else more
manly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forget about kisses! EEEEW….they
get wiped off his face as soon as they are planted. But little does he know,
every night, before I go to sleep, I go into his room, push his hair from his
forehead and kiss him ever so gently whispering “I love you”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And somehow, as he stirs, I can swear I see a
little smile appear on his face.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So today, I raise a glass (apple juice of course!) to the
most important man in my life, the one who loves me no matter what, the one who
makes me realize how wonderful the journey of being a mother is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy Birthday to my baby boy!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Talk to me! Have you discovered your true passion yet?</span></strong>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-60458582089551654712014-09-09T09:14:00.000-07:002014-09-09T09:14:29.701-07:00If Life Were a Series of Camera Filters
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Capturing a
moment in time with a single click whether it's with a smartphone or fancy
camera allows the photographer the ability to share that moment for years to
come. Photography is something I have recently become enamored with and am
constantly searching for those poignant instances I know will spark
conversations well after I leave this world. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My eye is
getting better when searching for the right light or composition. The photos
are pieces of art for me and I love being able to change a filter to help evoke
more of the emotion I am attempting to catch. The use of filters made me think
about what my life would look like if I could adjust a filter to convey a clear
message to onlookers about my most pivotal moments. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Graduating from
university, the first in my family, would be captured in a bright light, halo
around me and a twinkle in my eye. Would I box it in with a frame? No, the
world was my playground and opportunities seemed endless. Bright possibilities
for an unknown future and excitement about what next lay ahead. This moment
would have been shot with a lot of light and sparkle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Filters with
warm hues of orange and red would tell my story of my time living abroad in the
land down under. It was an easy time when life was laid back and filled with
meeting new people from around the world. The warmth of the hot sun could be
felt even under the shade of a tree. An idyllic time of my youth until the dark
black and grey filters of a failing relationship seeped in along the edges and
slowly dimmed my light. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The years that
encapsulated two failing marriages were dim, blurred and sad. No colour filters
could be used to capture this time. The lines were harsh and broken, images
foggy and my face barely recognizable. The scenes were almost melancholic and
heartbreaking. I was lost in the grey and needed to find bright lights and
colour again. And I did. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The colour
exploded back into my life with filters that have clarity and focus to what
became my most important reasons for being, my children. The images were sharp,
playful and full of movement. They added vibrancy and depth to my life with the
realization that things would be good again. And it was. It is.</span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what filter am I using in my life now? Colours are a
bit muted, a bit retro. Images are fading into the past, which can only mean
one thing. Life is going to change. I feel it. And I think this next chapter
will be the most vivid, the most colourful, the most wonderful yet.</span> </span></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Talk to me! What filter would represent your life right now?</span></strong></span></div>
</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-23049823715816859842014-08-21T07:19:00.001-07:002014-08-21T07:19:27.400-07:00Watch, Learn, Grow and Love<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twenty years ago I returned home after travelling
abroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent just over a year exploring
parts of the world that were exquisite and exotic and fantastic and foreign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Backpacking after graduating university
proved to be one of the most eye opening experiences in my life and the lessons
I learned then have helped form who I am today.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The flight from Toronto to Australia was ridiculously long
so after some consideration a decision was made to start the journey westward
by train to Los Angeles where I would then board a plane for Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was during this sabbatical from the 9 to 5
days of “normal life” when I realized how much I LOVE to travel. I wasn’t sure
about living out of a backpack, staying in hostels and travelling by bus, train,
plane and automobile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just didn’t do
these things. They weren’t part of my
everyday existence and the idea of leaving my so called “ivory tower” was
terrifying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I did and I lived to
share my story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Up until I left, my world was a small, comfortable place
created by friends, family and myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The walls that surrounded me were cushioned and there was always someone
around to kiss any bumps or bruises I had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had always thought I was an independent girl, wanting to do things for
herself, never letting fear stop her, taking that proverbial leap of faith when
that was all I had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I was
wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My independence, my true sense of
independence came from this adventure. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was on the other side of the world before the days of the
Internet and Facebook. Daily communication with those who had been my security
blanket all my life was very sparse and costly! There was no one around to tell
me to do this or not do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did what
I wanted. Reverse bungee jumping, rappelling down an 18 story building, drinking
Bundaberg rum until I couldn’t stand any longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, maybe some of my choices weren’t the
smartest but isn’t that what growing up is about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Learning how to make these choices, suffering
the repercussions of the wrong ones and basking in the glory of the right ones?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twenty years later I am sitting here reflecting on that year
away and my memory is flooded with the good, bad and ugly of the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the midst of all this, I have one memory
that has been etched in permanent ink in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is one of the places my minds drifts to
when I want a break from the monotony of my day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the distance, a splendid haze of reddish-orange blasts
against a crystal clear blue sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
almost 350 metres high and about 4 kilometres long. Ayers Rock stands in front of me, smack dab
in the middle of an empty plain known as the Red Centre. The thrill here is to
climb to the top and see how vast plains really are. I had fully intended to
embark upwards on this journey that would bring me closer to Nirvana.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Walking along the base taking note of the beauty of this
magnificent chunk of ancient sandstone, I met a man named Peter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a delightful old man who shared the
many legends behind “Uluru”, the aboriginal word for the rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every feature of the rock means something to
them, from the cracks and fissures to the caves and waterholes. Natives don’t
climb the rock as a tribute to their belief and herein lay an issue that Peter
struggled with daily: the clash between ancient traditions and what now has
become modern tradition – climbing the rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We continued to talk as we walked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed glimmering plaques all inscribed
with the names of the brave few who perished in their own battle with
Uluru.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was then I made the decision
to sit and not climb up with the rest. There are times when I wonder what I
missed by not climbing up but then I think about what the climbers missed by
not sitting down and enjoying what was in front of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am happy I took that time to enjoy and
focus on the moment instead of using mind, body and soul to get me to the
summit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An ancient aboriginal proverb
says, “<span style="color: #29303b;">We are all visitors to this time, this
place... Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love and then we
return home."</span> And this is what I learned sitting in the tranquil
beauty of theses plains.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E3uMkE5Ti_E/U_X8nPQ43lI/AAAAAAAAAWg/_FWs_OIU0Qo/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E3uMkE5Ti_E/U_X8nPQ43lI/AAAAAAAAAWg/_FWs_OIU0Qo/s1600/photo.JPG" height="150" title="Ayers Rock - Photo Credit Audrey Bresar" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ayers Rock, Northern Territory<br />
Australia<br />
Photo credit Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was 2 ½ hours since the others made their ascent before I
see them cantering down the last part of Ayers Rock exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The battle between man and rock is over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Man has won, this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chatter of how arduous the climb was and
how beautiful the sight was from atop began. I listened and smiled politely,
noticing that the sun was setting and in the midst of all the excitement, I
looked over the crowd and saw the most incredible thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Watching the sun set around this sacred piece of rock, a
beautiful metamorphosis occurs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
monolith that stood so majestically changes its colour from fierce red to warm
orange and then a deeper shade of crimson and finally a silent grey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The red rock that towers over on-lookers,
that holds the secrets of many battles and that defeated some of those who
tried to conquer it now sleeps like a baby in the distance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe it is not so
intimidating after all.</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Talk to me! Where did you find your independence? What did you learn?</strong></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-2628562636142113622014-08-08T08:49:00.000-07:002014-08-08T08:49:34.946-07:00Dreamers<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I descend from a long line of dreamers. Not everyone in my family walks around with this romanticized version of what life should entail running in their minds. Some are plagued with the acceptance of whatever will be, will be and have no patience for the few of us that do. The dreamers possess this internal belief that today life is great but the best is still to come. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whether it's my good fortune or misfortune, I am one of the dreamers. I follow in the footsteps of my grandfather before me who was a classic dreamer. A man who dreamed and laughed and lived fully. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not long ago I was having a discussion with a dear friend who is blessed by the same dreamer tendency and I casually mentioned something that has truly etched itself into the very core of my being. I am not done being great. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This comment is in no way meant to be narcissitic. I don't think I am better than anyone else or deserve anything more than my neighbour. I am simply a person who continually strives to learn, to see, to do. To think that I have done it all would be premature. To deny myself the time to dream about what next would result in a whole world of experience that would be lost to me. So I am not done. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know this because I am forever reaching; forever pushing; forever doing. I need to satisfy the constant hunger inside of me to evolve. I need my life to be fluid. What I can't explain is what this hunger feels like. Is it excitement? Anticipation? Wonderment or expectation? It's a fire inside the pit of my stomach with everything rolled into one bundle of "what ifs" that drives me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dreamer can hold some negative connotation. Dreamers are lazy. Dreamers can't focus. Dreams are just dreams. But what if we lived in a world void of dreamers? There would have been no Leonardo DaVinci, no Martin Luther King Jr., no John Lennon, no Walt Disney. The key is in my comment I made to my friend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am not DONE being great. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can dream all I want. I can feel all the tingle of anticipation of what's to come. But I need to DO. Some people feel that dreamers don't do but I think not all doers are dreamers. Dreamers, the ones that make a difference, are the quintessential doers. It's the passion in these dreamers that catapults them into doing. If DaVinci didn't have passion, we wouldn't have the Mona Lisa. If MLK didn't have a dream, where would the world be today?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There will always be those non-dreamers feel compelled to inject a dose of "reality" into our dreams. It is something I face often. "You will never be famous writing. The market is too competitive", "You won't like to live in Europe. Vacationing is one thing, living there is another" "True love doesn't exist". And these are the simple dreams. Imagine if I shared the more complex ones?! I'd never hear the end of "but I'm only looking out for your best interests". My reality incorporates my dreams, it doesn't work against them. Of course, some don't always work out the way I want but it doesn't deter me from creating space in my mind where anything is possible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So in the immortal words of John Lennon "you may say I'm a dreamer but I'm not the only one" and I'd rather live my life with dreams than not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">Talk to me...If you can dream it, you can do it. What is the dream that moves your forward daily?</span></strong></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-58824261743591781002014-07-22T20:46:00.002-07:002014-07-22T20:46:54.585-07:00My Big Fat Greek Vacation<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Jet lag is finally gone (I
think!) and reality has sunk in. Sixteen days of absolute bliss are now
embedded in my memory, only to be drawn upon when everyday life gets crazy.
Greece was incredible and it was the much needed break I desperately required to
reset mind, body and soul.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Hot days were filled with
mini-adventures along the western coast of this Mediterranean jewel. The kids
and I stayed with family and our experience was more authentic and true than if
we had booked hotels and tours. For this, I am forever grateful to L and G and
the multitude of friends they brought into our lives. We were welcomed at the
Athens airport by a wonderful Greek man, who offered to pick us up and take us
to the bus station. His command of the English language was minimal and my
knowledge of Greek was nil but we still managed to communicate using hand
gestures and a lot of smiles. Even on the bus, I sat beside a man who spoke
very little but managed to convey a hearty "Welcome to my country". I
was becoming enamoured with the friendliness and immense pride of the Greek
people very quickly.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">My children were welcomed
into the inner circle of my family's neighbours and embraced wholeheartedly.
Again, language was a bit of an issue but children have this remarkable way of
communicating without speaking a word. Watching these new friends take the
hands of my children, I couldn't help but think "if only children ruled
the world". They are already making plans for a longer visit next year,
without MOM. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k1NWcDL7fQE/U88qSqHN95I/AAAAAAAAAUs/jsYB__864jA/s1600/letter.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k1NWcDL7fQE/U88qSqHN95I/AAAAAAAAAUs/jsYB__864jA/s1600/letter.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Letter from the kids in the neighbourhood to my children</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I discovered that Greece is
more than the photos we see of Santorini and Mykonos. Inside the shorelines of
the birthplace of so much of the modern world lies many hidden gems. My cousin
brought us to one of these treasures, a place called Meteora. It is a
picturesque sandstone complex that houses six Eastern Orthodox monasteries that
are built on top of each pillar. I had never seen anything like this before and
was blown away at how pretty it was. How these monasteries were constructed
high above the ground on the surface of each pillar was incredible. The walk up
was one that left me shaky and sore for days! Walking around the monastery I
felt as though I was that much closer to heaven. The view was incredible and
the silence that filled the air was almost mystical.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pmfZTfJqWgU/U88qkAN8FVI/AAAAAAAAAU0/oCmqU6MeYAs/s1600/meteora.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pmfZTfJqWgU/U88qkAN8FVI/AAAAAAAAAU0/oCmqU6MeYAs/s1600/meteora.jpeg" height="200" title="Meteora - Photo by Audrey Bresar" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meteora<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A visit to Greece would not
be complete without an island tour. As I mentioned, we did not venture to the
tourist islands of the south but were able to explore one of the northwest
islands in the Aegean, Skiathos. Our boat ride was an event. It made me remember
how happy people on vacation are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
captain, a man lovingly referred to as “Tarzan”, made the voyage over
incredibly entertaining. Gathering up all passengers from the top deck, he
cranked up the music and taught them the basics of the Sirtaki, a traditional
Greek dance. Once the dancing was over, the true spirit of this Greek sailor took
hold. “Look a dolphin on the right!” he screamed over the speaker and the
entire boatload of passengers ran to the right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Seconds later, “Sorry, I meant left!” and passengers went left causing
the boat to rock. All that could be heard was a little chuckle over the
speaker. Rocking the boat was all part of the experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--yt3caa1r6k/U88q4lOGbkI/AAAAAAAAAVE/XInVpbVOi5s/s1600/Skiathos+water.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--yt3caa1r6k/U88q4lOGbkI/AAAAAAAAAVE/XInVpbVOi5s/s1600/Skiathos+water.jpeg" height="200" title="Skiathos - Photo by Audrey Bresar" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skiathos<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">As the boat sailed up to the
port of Skiathos, I gasped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was
what I pictured Greece to look like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pristine white buildings with pink bougainvilleas flanked against a clear
blue sky and turquoise water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sailboats
dotted the port and cafes were filled along the waterfront. Needless to say, I
could have stayed forever, sitting in one of those cafes with pen in hand and
notebook open, chronicling what I saw and what I could imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A writer’s dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MhrUUJU1xwo/U88rEHg5sDI/AAAAAAAAAVM/ZQA47VmTng4/s1600/bougainvilleas.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MhrUUJU1xwo/U88rEHg5sDI/AAAAAAAAAVM/ZQA47VmTng4/s1600/bougainvilleas.jpeg" height="150" title="Skiathos - Photo by Audrey Bresar" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skiathos<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The kids wanted, no craved,
more ruins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wanted to see the
things that they only read about. Fortunately, they both studied Greek
civilization and mythology this year and it woke up some intense curiousity on
their part. So off we headed to Dion and Mount Olympus. I have to say that
walking through the ruins of this ancient and important city was chilling.
Alexander the Great walked these steps. My son was completely loving this part
of the experience. Mosaics from ancient bath houses, statues of the gods,
theatres and homes of the people of Dion had been dug up and made available for
all to see. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0nrJnrfDuLU/U88rhvqMM_I/AAAAAAAAAVU/04E1WtlrXlc/s1600/mosaics.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0nrJnrfDuLU/U88rhvqMM_I/AAAAAAAAAVU/04E1WtlrXlc/s1600/mosaics.jpeg" height="200" title="Mosaic tiles at Dion - Photo by Audrey Bresar" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mosaic tiles at Dion<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p>The island of Evia, surrounded by green and turquoise water, was a welcome surprise. Once thought to have been part of the mainland, Evia possesses a secret known by few, the healing mineral baths of Edipsos. The water ranges from cool to extreme. Young and old, Greek tourists and locals sit on the pinkish rocks letting the thermal waters flow upon them and work their healing powers. I felt invigorated moving back and forth from the hot running water to the cooler water of the sea. It was blissful.</o:p></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NfcpuLHFvcQ/U88uY7Lp0nI/AAAAAAAAAWE/jZgQqcrXKg0/s1600/Evia.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NfcpuLHFvcQ/U88uY7Lp0nI/AAAAAAAAAWE/jZgQqcrXKg0/s1600/Evia.jpeg" height="200" title="Evia - Photo by Audrey Bresar" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evia <br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DMazkeOxONA/U88utsyZI3I/AAAAAAAAAWU/Sjybam4xg8c/s1600/spa.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DMazkeOxONA/U88utsyZI3I/AAAAAAAAAWU/Sjybam4xg8c/s1600/spa.jpeg" height="200" title="The Hot Springs, Evia - Photo by Audrey Bresar" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hot Springs<br />
Evia<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Our last stop on this amazing
journey was Athens. Now I had heard mixed reviews on what to expect. Beautiful,
old, dirty, crowded. I tried not to let other peoples experiences cloud my
initial thoughts. What I will tell you is that as the kids and I walked into
Monistiraki and saw the Acropolis peaking down through the buildings, I felt
chills. This is something we don’t experience in a young country like Canada;
the feeling of being part of something so much bigger, of historical
significance. It hit me like a tonne of bricks. I was in the same place as some
of the great minds that helped shape modern civilization. Walking up (seemed
like everywhere we went it was an upward climb!) the Acropolis, the kids were
amazed. The Parthenon, thousands of years old, still stood. Of course the
questions erupted like a volcano. “How can it still stand?” “Why are parts
missing?” “Who fixes them and how do they know what it looked like?” “Did the
gods really exist?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I absolutely LOVE
the curiousity that lives within them. (Of course, I had to google everything
to formulate an even plausible reply).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hDTiF5PfsEY/U88r6sIErDI/AAAAAAAAAVk/5StxuV6RsoU/s1600/parthenon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hDTiF5PfsEY/U88r6sIErDI/AAAAAAAAAVk/5StxuV6RsoU/s1600/parthenon.jpeg" height="200" title="The Parthenon - Photo by Audrey Bresar" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Parthenon<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">This trip reset a lot of
things. I was able to slow down and catch up with life, with me and with the
kids. We had no pressure and enjoyed the moments that seemed to linger just a
little bit longer while there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did
see wonderful things but this journey was about reconnecting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we did that through a shared experience
and being in the moment without interruption. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So the question now is “Where
do we go next year?”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong>Talk to me! What is your summer adventure this year?</strong></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-44086164297030709692014-06-28T12:53:00.003-07:002014-06-28T12:53:27.415-07:00Love to Travel, Hate to Pack<!--?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="no"?-->
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I love to travel. There is something intoxicating about discovering new places and seeing parts of the world most only read about. </span><br />
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Tomorrow my kids and I head to the land where democracy, the Olympic Games, philosophy, math, science and drama were born. We will be able to enjoy sun, sand and explore Mt. Olympus, mythical home of the Greek gods. And I am looking forward to every second of this adventure. </div>
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What I DON'T love is the pre-travel crap that needs to get done before I lock my front door and embark on my journey. </div>
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This past month has proved to be busier than most. On top of all the regular running around, there were a few more items that I added to my schedule. As you read in a previous <a href="http://www.fallingforme.com/2014/05/refreshing-soul-with-bit-of-paint.html">post</a>, I had decided to redecorate my bedroom. This entailed moving things around, purging and moving furniture. The last item in the big overhaul is painting one more dresser, which will be completed today. I have resigned myself to the fact that the finishing touches will have to wait until I return. </div>
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My day job has been quite busy also. I have tried to cram 2 months work into 1 month to ensure there is no lapse in momentum. Montreal and Chicago were also added to my agenda as meetings were booked. There was a point where I thought I wouldn't get it all done but I prevailed and everything should run smoothly while I am away *crossesfingers*</div>
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The best part of being a mom are the last minute requests that are thrown at your perfectly scheduled time management plan. This week, in my mind, was supposed to be filled with finishing up laundry, packing, cleaning the house - you know crossing all the T's and dotting all the I's. As the saying goes, the best laid out plans... Monday night at 9pm I heard the frantic cry of "Mom, I need a fruit platter for tomorrow!" So I shut down the computer and off I trekked to the grocery store. Wednesday night, the only night where there are no activities, had been booked to take my daughter to a punk rock concert. What was I thinking? It was a school night, the weather was uncooperative and it was LOUD. I sat through 4 hours of musical "bliss", feeling the beat of the music pound in my ears and chest and mentally going through all the stuff I still had to get done before Sunday. Friday night was the annual "End of Year School Bash" at a friend's house that I completely forgot about.</div>
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And so where does all this leave me? Well it's Saturday afternoon and I'm still not packed. Our plane leaves in less than 24 hours and I am still pondering if I should buy a bigger suitcase. My laundry is still drying with items that need to find their way into my luggage. And I'm sitting at the tennis courts watching my kids finish their lesson and writing this post. </div>
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Will I get it all done? The stuff I need to do - yes. Everything else?</div>
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I. DON'T. CARE. </div>
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I'm officially on vacation. </div>
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See you in a couple of weeks with stories of turquoise water, ancient ruins and hopefully a steamy tale of a handsome Greek tycoon!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-21117293572084982142014-06-12T15:07:00.000-07:002014-06-12T15:07:15.676-07:00Taking Back Control<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By nature I am a person who likes to stay busy but somehow in the past little while the busy has taken over. Life is coming at me in all directions. Usually I would be absolutely giddy with excitement and tingling all over knowing that things were happening but not so much lately. Somewhere in the middle of doing all the things I <em>must</em> do, I lost control and bedlam set in. Well, guess what?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I. WANT. CONTROL. BACK.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Perhaps it is time to slow down, after all, the spring in my step is becoming more of a 5lb weight. The problem is I don't want to slow down. I want to stay busy. Whether it is writing or redecorating or travelling the globe, even tackling obstacles in my day job, I thrive on momentum. It is like being on a bicycle, finally getting your stride and feeling the wind brush against your flushed cheeks and the sun kissing your skin. It is a feeling of possibilities. I love being on that metaphoric bike, pedalling up and down the hills and valleys of my life. It makes me feel alive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Unfortunately, I was pedalling a bit to fast and one of my feet has slipped. So what to do? It is always difficult to just place your foot on the pedal and continue at the speed at which you were travelling. You have to reset. And that is what I am going to do. Lucky for me this slip of the foot has happened right before a wonderfully planned vacation. I leave for Greece in a few weeks and this is the perfect reset. In the meantime, I have become the Queen of the To Do list. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">There is a household list on my fridge - wash the floor, pick up dog food, move boxes to storage, pick up wood glue and clamp, finish painting and so on. Then there is the work list - prepare budget, do mid year review, send out sales materials, pack from upcoming business trip, you get the gist? The kid list is composed of enrol kids for tennis lessons, look at summer swim lessons, buy birthday gift for upcoming friends birthdays, take the boy for a haircut. And finally there is the personal list and this is the one that most often gets pushed aside and probably is the one that is most important for that regeneration of the soul. This list includes: book a massage, get to the gym, eat breakfast and lunch (something I don't normally do, bad Audrey!), get a mani/pedi, take a bath, finish reading my book, write another chapter of my book, read blogs, write post for my blog, go out with the girls for dinner and some beverages and maybe, just maybe, go out on a date!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Why does that final list get pushed aside first? This is the list that is supposed to help keep my feet on those pedals at all times. These are the things that make me catch my breath even if it is for one smidgen of a second. All of these help me stay in control of my life by allowing me to take care of me. Yet I don't. I could sit here and say that starting tomorrow I am going to get up early and go to the gym. But I won't because I will have gone to bed late doing all the items on the first three lists. I could say that I am going to soak in a tub after the kids fall asleep but chances are I will drift off into a happy slumber sitting on the sofa before that happens. I will open my book tonight but, again, I won't read more than a page because I will fall asleep before I get to the end of that page. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ask me how many of the other lists have items crossed off? All of them. Funny how we work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">BUT...I can cross something off my personal list today because I posted something on my blog *doeshappydance*</span></span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Talk to me! Do you make lists for everything you do? How successful are you at completing them?</strong></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-24409578333936769522014-05-29T04:13:00.002-07:002014-05-29T04:13:58.691-07:00One of My Most Wonderful Gifts<!--?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="no"?-->
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Twelve years ago I was introduced to the first person who would transform my life forever. A person who would teach me things I never dreamt I would learn. Someone whose tears and pain would cut through my heart like a knife. Someone whose smile would take away all my pain and upset the moment I saw it. A wonderful human being whose humility, kindness, grace and soul is unlike anyone I have ever met. </span><br />
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At 11:20 pm on May 29th 2002, I was blessed with the greatest gift I had ever received in my life, my daughter.
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She took her time coming into the world and this should have been a clue to her personality. Even when she arrived, she didn't do so with a hearty scream. No, my daughter took her time to let the world know she was finally here. Her arrival marked one of the two most important days in my life.
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There is an easiness that she carries within her. Life is to be enjoyed...slowly. And slowly she does. At times her more relaxed nature bats heads with my more rushed way of life. Nothing is urgent for her. Nothing is pressing. Moments for her are savoured one by one, whether it's eating a meal, reading a book or brushing her hair. And I absolutely love this about her.
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She possesses a gentleness that will amaze you. Children, animals and adults respond to her with trust and affection. Her heart is large and she ensures that everyone is okay. I remember walking with her one afternoon when she was about four. We had passed a man sitting on the side of the road with a sign and coffee cup asking for money in what had become hard times for him. A few feet beyond the man she spotted something and let go of my hand running to pick it up. It was a penny. Turning around with the biggest smile, she ran back toward me stopping in front of this man and dropped the penny in his cup. This man looked at her with tears in his eyes. I was blown away. This is who my daughter is.
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Far from being a drama queen, she does like to inject a bit of flavour to the things she does. This past Mother's Day she gave me a handmade card but before doing so had to set up the "how". As I sat on the sofa, she walked toward me, iPod in hand, blaring the Katy Perry song "Unconditionally". My life at that moment became a musical. With tears in my eyes, I embraced her as she told me, that like the song, she loved me unconditionally. How did I luck out and be blessed with such an incredible child? Her actions are beyond anything I could ever imagine.</div>
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Although she is quiet by nature, she possesses a strong voice and has convictions that drive her. She advocates for justice and candour and will not tolerate lies and deceit. When her brother gets into trouble, she cries. Peace and harmony is what she wants to surround herself in and tries to create an environment where this is possible.</div>
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So today, I thank the heavens above for allowing me to be part of this wonderful child's life. Happy birthday my sweet, sweet baby girl. Momma loves you more than the sun, the moon and the universe.
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<b>Talk to me! Who in your life has touched your soul in a way like no other? </b> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-65860744516759157412014-05-26T16:09:00.003-07:002014-05-26T17:50:14.287-07:00Refreshing the Soul with a Bit of Paint<!--?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="no"?-->
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This past weekend was gorgeous! It has only been the second weekend since spring sprang that has been filled with sunshine, warmth and an overall sense of aaaahhh! And what did I do? I spent it INSIDE.</span><br />
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Knowing that my daughter was camping this weekend, I figured I would take advantage of having only one child around and start the redecorating I had been putting off. So I made arrangements with my wonderful aunt to embark on this little project. Had I known it was going to be as beautiful as it was, I may have postponed. In the end I'm glad I didn't. This was a long time coming. </div>
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I've been in my home for just over five years. I remember the day I found this little gem of a condo. As soon as I walked in I knew this had to be mine. And mine it became. I moved in four weeks later and slowly filled this space with pieces of me. </div>
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For the most part, the main living space and kitchen have stayed the same. It was easy to inject who I am in these rooms. It was the bedroom I struggled with. You see my bedroom not only serves as the place I go to lay my head; it also serves as my workspace. And I couldn't figure out how to make the two work. </div>
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For the past few months, I have been scouring magazines, paint samples, furniture catalogue and I finally made a decision. It was quiet obvious once I figured it out. As most of you wonderful readers know, I have this overwhelming desire, this insatiable craving to move to Paris. Well, I can't move to Paris at the moment but why not bring a bit of that Parisian flair to me? And so the plans for redecorating began about a month ago. </div>
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I wanted airy, I wanted romantic, I wanted beautiful. First was the colour. I had to cover the dull light purple walls that surrounded me. Choosing a colour is extremely difficult. I love colour; from warm yellows to midnights blues. How on earth would I decide? I ruled out all the dark, saturated colours filled with intense hues. I wanted a blissful paradise. Usually I'd veer towards my favourite colour or a variation of it but red was opposite of the feel I wanted. The colour had to be light and fresh. And then I saw it. A photo of a bedroom that had the most intricate wall paper behind the bed. It had beautiful drawings of birds all set against a lovely shade of blue. That was the colour I wanted. It called to me and would fit perfectly into my vision. </div>
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A couple of weeks prior I had gone shopping for new bedding and purchased very simple white on white duvet with tiny silver squares strewn across. This fit in fabulously with my Parisian theme. There is something very sophisticated about white bedding. </div>
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Over the past few weeks, I have also purchased a few other items for this transformation. A set of grey bamboo sheets that are softer than anything I have ever felt before. I also found a beautiful cast iron head board in a very elegantly scrolled design painted in antique white (to be delivered this week) The last item that I found was a lamp with a very plain glass base and turquoise shade. Little by little my room, my sanctuary, is coming together. Next on my list are curtains and new dressers. </div>
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I am finally feeling as though this room says Audrey. I was always hidden in there but something wasn't right. It dawned on me when I started planning. This room, although I lived in it, still had my past lingering in it. The furniture belonged to my ex and despite my purging everything that screamed him, the bedroom furniture was something I never even thought to rid myself of. It was just furniture. It wasn't until I rediscovered who I am did I feel the need to get rid of it. Perhaps that is why I waited to redecorate.</div>
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My first night in the newly painted room with new bedding and some wonderful new accessories felt refreshing. I can't wait to finish it.</div>
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<b>Talk to me! What space in your home is a total reflection of who you are? Which room are you just itching to change and why?</b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-90045821751661115162014-05-21T11:41:00.002-07:002014-05-21T11:41:39.096-07:00Deer Caught in the Headlights? Not me!<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can hear the sound of my heart pounding in my ears and with every second that passes it quickens. My hands are clammy and my breathing is erratic. My skin crawls with the anticipation of what is going to happen next. I have no idea. And the unknown is scaring the hell out of me. But I'm not a deer caught in the headlight kinda girl. I feel the fear and forge through it, catapulting myself further then I ever thought possible. Standing face to face with this numbing emotion, I stare it down and inevitably win in the end.
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life is full of moments where we are faced with a decision, where the unknown could be a multitude of possibilities. Some people become crippled by this and choose to continue to live their life status quo, never venturing off the path guaranteed to be dull and mundane. As I look back at my life, I can identify these pivotal moments where fear stood in my way. It was when the adrenaline started pumping that I could feel movement forward into the unknown.
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When my marriage was dying it's slow and painful death, I was scared. I had two small babies and was still on maternity leave. Fear crippled me and in order to keep things moving along smoothly I became the scapegoat for everything that was wrong in our relationship. He knew that I was scared and used it to his advantage. It took a long time for me to even think about leaving. What would happen to me? To my kids? How would I survive? When I finally mustered up enough strength and courage to suggest we split up he offered me an alternative. Stay and we would live separate lives, this way it would be easier financially. For one brief, fleeting moment I actually entertained this thought. It was safe but I had more respect for myself than to stay in a loveless marriage. I chose the unknown. I left with no job, living in cramped quarters at my parents and had very little self esteem. I didn't let fear stop me. In fact, I think it made me more determined to succeed.
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I've always been the type to jump in head first and then figure it out. For me fear has always been the catalyst for pushing the limits, MY limits. In the wake of my new found singledom, I became a survivor. I embarked on a new business career with no business training whatsoever. I was terrified I'd fall but the fear made me actively search for ways to stay standing up. And I did.
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I am once again faced with an uncertain future and fear is rearing it's ugly head once more. I took one day to acknowledge that fear, even succumb to it. 24 hours was all it received. I still don't know what the future will hold but I have already started spinning my wheels. If nothing changes then I will be ecstatic but I am also over the moon that I still have the energy to carve a new path that will be better than before.
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fear shouldn't be debilitating. We allow this emotion to become bigger in our mind than it actually is. LIFE is what we should see as big and we should constantly keep moving. For me it is quite simple...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fear is my propellant and the unknown is my future garden.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Talk to me! Share a story where facing your fear has resulted in discovering something bigger and better!</b></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-82648317940227577312014-05-12T20:20:00.002-07:002014-05-12T20:20:52.073-07:00Four Pillars<span style="font-family: Arial;">As a writer, I think,</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> A LOT. I am always pondering, remembering and trying to make sense out of all the things that have happened in my life. Yesterday was a day filled with thoughts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sunday was Mother's Day and I spent the day with my children, mother, grandmother and aunt. The sun was shining and the air was warm so we took advantage of sitting out back at my parent's home and enjoyed the sunshine that was so desperately missed this past winter. The kids were running around with our dog, my grandmother sat quietly in a chair in the shade and my mother and aunt puttered around the pond, trimming bushes, pruning trees and bickered the way sisters do. At one point, the kids and I were taking bets on who was going to fall into the pond first as these two women grappled through dead branches and dried foliage. I sat and watched in amusement, glancing over to my grandmother every so often to see that she was alright.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">These women, along with my paternal grandmother (deceased) have been pivotal forces in my life. I learned how to be a strong woman through observing and listening to these females. Their life stories were filled with trials, tribulations, fear, joy, love and hope. They taught me how to stay strong in the face of adversity, how to stay standing when your world was rocked and how to love and laugh and not give a damn about what anyone else thought. Four women who are the pillars in my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My paternal grandmother was a happy, loving and fun woman. I was fortunate enough to have her in my life for 18 years. She lived upstairs in our home and my brother and I were always walking up and down those stairs, trying to catch a glimpse of she was up to. The epitome of class and elegance, I can still remember what she smelled like, how she painted her nails and teased her hair. A classic beauty that could have stepped off the silver screen. Mama, as we called her, came to Canada with children in tow and divorced her no good husband (I met this man only twice in my life). She didn't let fear stop her from moving forward. Not a new country, being a single mom or the prospect of creating a life in a city where she didn't know the language. She was formidable and tried everything, at least once. I can still remember her attempt to ride a bike in the early 1970's, falling in the ditch and regaining her composure laughing hysterically. THIS was how she was and this is what I learned from her. Laugh. Laugh at yourself. Laugh at life. Laugh when it all seems bad because it really isn't that bad. I miss this woman terribly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My Nonna is now a shell of who she was because of Alzheimer's. In the past two years, this strong, work horse of a woman has succumbed to this dreadful disease that has stolen the life and memories from within her. It is said that she had a bit of mischief in her while growing up in Italy. She worked hard all of her life but this didn't stop her from singing and dancing with her friends after a day's work. My grandfather knew she headstrong and wore the pants in the family and I think he welcomed it. This woman knew what was and what needed to be done. Caregiver to everyone, Nonna was our matriarch. She looked after her father-in-law, both her parents, her ailing son, all her brothers and sister and all her children and grandchildren. It took guts and determination for her to make sure everyone was okay. I never remember her being sick. I never remember her complaining about the things she chose to do. And yet, she sits her and loses a bit of herself daily. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> love my aunt. She is my voice of reason. The one who says it like it is whether you like it or not. Her tough exterior masks the heart of gold she has. This woman bleeds quietly but loves excessively. Growing up, my aunt was the cool one - hot pink lips, long hair, cool clothes, lover of music and heels. The Rebel. My brother and I spent a lot of time with her, hanging out like hippies in the backyard. I always wanted to be like her, strong, wild, and carefree and creative. And I am like her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My mom and aunt are night and day in some traits but in others, you can see they are sisters and possess the same characteristics that make them loving and strong women. They just manifest these differently. My mother was often viewed as the weak, feeble one. She stands less than 5 feet tall but is mightier than one may believe but less fragile than many expect. At age 9, she was given the task of caring for her baby brother, a task that came so natural to her and is still with her today. She is the caregiver, the one who needs and wants to be by your side when things go wrong. I learned, not too long ago, she cheers silently for you when you succeed but will cry openly with you when you are hurt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">These four women are the mainstays in my life. It is because of them that I keep a positive and determined outlook on life. And while these four women make up the four corners of my life, I have noticed that many of the women with whom I surround myself are just as amazing. They all have moxie. They are all fearless. They are all women who are the propelling force in their own lives. And that is what makes us remarkable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Talk to me! Who are the women in your life that have taught you the most?</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-65368878922819181682014-05-07T19:07:00.003-07:002014-05-07T19:07:39.635-07:00And Like That, I Was Hooked<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't know what to expect upon meeting her for the first time. I had heard so much about her that I wasn't sure I'd be able to decide for myself what I thought. She is a beauty, filled with energy and life like no other. She is chaotic, disorganized and will take hold of you and never let you go. I had only ever seen her from afar and the knowledge that I would meet her soon made my heart flicker with anticipation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Stepping out of the car, I was taken aback by the immediate surge of energy she exuded. My skin tingled and my eyes grew wide. Everything around her was buzzing and my ears filled with the exuberance in her voice. Her constant hum resonated in my bones. Even her smell, a new and exotic odour, wafted about circling around me. I was awake standing in front of her. More awake than I had been in months.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">New York City. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had finally made it here. The one city that was so close but yet I never managed to visit. NYC is a global curiousity and everyone has to experience her at least once. So often depicted in television and movies and made immortal in Sinatra's rendition of the song by the same name, this city is a Mecca for artists, playwrights, actors and writers. I have long wanted to be swept away by the city's essence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Swept away I was. Alas, I had only one day to get my feet wet but it was enough to be completely blown away. NYC is a city of countless adjectives. Bright lights, tall buildings, fabulous museums, beautiful parks, fascinating people. My head spun in every direction to ensure I saw and felt everything.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6NjKs9_YGbI/U2rl8RmJB7I/AAAAAAAAATQ/s0NOfa-l0dc/s1600/NYC.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6NjKs9_YGbI/U2rl8RmJB7I/AAAAAAAAATQ/s0NOfa-l0dc/s1600/NYC.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Herald Square<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I experienced such a vast array of emotions. Ground Zero and St. Paul's Chapel brought back all the feelings of horror I experienced watching the news that fateful day. My chest constricted and my breath stopped as I looked at the church where first responders lay to rest before venturing into the madness again. Tears flowed freely as I read the stories of some of those that perished. History that hit so close to home and is still so real.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And then there was Times Square filled with boundless energy. The Crossroads of the World...NO KIDDING! Talk about sensory overload. My eyes didn't know where to look next. If you blinked, you missed something. People were looking up, down, sideways and backwards. Not one person was looking and experiencing the same thing. It would be impossible to have everyone stare at one sign or focus on one of the colourful characters that inhabited the square. But I bet <em>all </em>could feel the electricity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My time here was short and although I did see all the mandatory sights that are quintessentially and definitively NYC, I need more time to be fully infected by her. As it stands now, I am in awe and like a good drug, she is calling me back for more.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Talk to me! What has been your experience when visiting a new city for the first time? Have you ever been disappointed by a first visit?'</strong></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-79980062595519142672014-04-29T14:32:00.000-07:002014-04-29T20:21:31.577-07:00Perfection...To Be or Not To Be?<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I feel as though I walk
through my life in a constant state of urgency. There are always things to do,
meals to prepare, laundry to be done and work to finish. Slip in the occasional
hour or two to jot down some creative words and about five to sleep, you have an
inkling to what my days are like. Maneuvering through the 24 hour period is
usually without incident but this past week has been the week from hell. If the
day was only three hours longer, so much more could get accomplished.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">People tell me I should
simplify, pare down the must do’s and need to do’s and focus on what is really
important. If I followed that wonderful piece of advice, I would put a big NO
on my front door, turn off all electronic devices, drop the kids off at a
relative’s place and disappear for an unknown amount of time. I felt the stress
this week and the fear of not being able to get it all done. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that is the part that gets to me – <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">NOT GETTING IT ALL DONE</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can Super Mom, that perfect ray of
sunshine that radiates love and joy to one and all, not check off all the
things on her to do list?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I could feel the angst and
frustration build up within me and I tried to breathe deep and exhale. That
doesn’t always work. How could it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
didn’t change the fact that I had to run the kids to their activities, get
groceries done, do some laundry and put the final touches on two stories I was
submitting for a writing contest.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A friend insisted that
delegation of duties (she sounds like an army sergeant) was needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids could take on some tasks. So I
tried. That lasted for ten minutes. After I carefully explained what needed to
be done, I was met with, “Ok Mom, I will”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Only they didn’t. So I gently reminded them again of their tasks at
hand, reinforcing that it was so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">super
wonderful</i> that they were helping out (deep breath in and exhale here – they
didn’t note the sarcasm in my tone).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
off they went, muttering something under their breath that I don’t want to
know…EVER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things were moving along
tickety boo until I went to check on them. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Enter, Super Mom, the
perfectionist. Of course, they were doing it all wrong. The beds were not
neatly made with pyjamas tucked under pillows. The folded laundry was just
tossed into drawers and closets. I could feel my breath quicken and of course,
I felt compelled to fix it all. How could I let it be less than perfect?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The kids watched as I pulled
back the blankets on the bed in a fit. They looked at me as though I was a
lunatic. What was I doing? I sat on the now unmade bed. I was teaching my kids
to get all worked up over the small, insignificant things. Who cared if
hospital corners were missing and that the t-shirts were mixed in with the
socks? They were helping me and in one full swoop of pulling back the bed
sheets I had undone all their effort.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">And then it hit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lesson I <em><strong>should</strong></em> be teaching my kids. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Sometimes getting close is
perfection enough. It’s the effort that counts.</span><br />
<br />
<strong>Talk to me! Is being good enough the new perfect in today's crazy world? How do you deal with juggling everything on your plate?</strong></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-75983327377580696582014-04-17T09:51:00.001-07:002014-04-17T09:51:17.993-07:00I'd Like to Thank the Academy<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In one of my recent post's, <a href="http://www.fallingforme.com/2014/04/adams-rib.html">Adam's Rib</a>, I ended it by saying "I am in love with ME". While I have been sharing details of this journey of falling back in love with me through my stories, I have never really thanked the people who have taught me the lessons that brought me to this point.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I mentioned in my post, <a href="http://www.fallingforme.com/2014/02/happy-valentines-daynow-get-out.html">Happy Valentine's Day, Now Get Out</a>, watching my two friends say "I do" prompted me to realize I deserved better than what I had allowed my life to become. SF and KB are a couple I still watch in awe. They compliment each other so wonderfully and not because of all the years they have spent together. There is a genuine understanding and respect between them that I see everyday. It does exist and I know that I can find it when I see them weave their life together. So, thank you to them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To the Brazilian beauty who taught me that I am my own brand and if I don't take care of me no one else will, I raise my glass. You opened my eyes and made me realize I needed to take care of myself. It's okay to splurge every once in a while on something nice for me. My life is not all about the kids. I am a woman who deserves a special treat now and then. You opened my eyes to see that I am worth the investment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Scottish lovely, you taught me life was all about change and that if anyone could embrace it, I could. You pushed me and prodded me to rise to the next level when I was learning a new career. You were tough and demanding and made me cry but you taught me everything I needed to know about achieving success through hard work and determination. Through examples of your own, you showed me I am capable of anything I put my mind too and should never settle for sloppy seconds. You never let me say "I can't".</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To the two men who recently have told me they find me intriguing and fascinating. Thank you for that. Thank you for finding that nugget of gold inside me that makes you want to dig some more and get to know me. It is nice to know that new people I meet find me interesting and want to get to know more. We so often hide ourselves in our life, afraid to venture out and see what is outside our doorstep. When we hide, we forget how awesome we are and when you finally jump off the stoop, WOW! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mr. S. my biggest cheerleader! Without you I would never have moved forward with my writing. I always had pen and paper in hand and it was only after sharing some of my words with you that I realized maybe I could do more with this. Family always supported and encouraged me but it was YOUR belief in me that gave me what I needed to take that step forward. I am eternally grateful. More than you will ever know.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">JT you rock! You stood by my side and let me step outside the box to do something that was for ME, something that took courage and guts to do. And I did and you talked me through it. Talk about empowering and fun! Talk about exposing the heart and soul! I learned something about myself. Life happens when you live it. You helped me get there.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">KBo you are my rock. You never judge, you don't try to fix and you make a mean martini. You helped me focus on me which is what I needed to do. We all need that one person that keeps it real and doesn't let you accept defeat. Your strength is amazing and the energy that surrounds you is awesome. Like I said, MY rock.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thing 1 and Thing 2, without you in my life, I would not have been so driven to create a home. You have taught me to look at the world through your eyes and slow down and that makes me happier than anything. Much of what I do, how I behave, is done to show you that anything is possible. You are my life and through you I continue to become the best ME I can be.</span><br />
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All these people and a whole slew more were the pillars along the road of my journey to now. In some way or another, they helped me take that next step forward. None of them, not one, has ever made me stumble or fall. They picked me up, kissed my cuts and bruises, brushed off the dirt and pushed me forward. They made life seem possible again and taught me to look inward not outward for true happiness. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are so many more that I could thank that touch different parts of my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>And that is the point.</strong> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You carve the path of your life but it is the people along the sides that cheer you on that keep you moving. They are the people you live with, the people you play with, the people you work with, the community you build. Choose these people carefully. They should be positive and encouraging. Keep all the naysayers and toxic people at arm's length. It is those people who thwart your growth and suck the energy right out of you.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So every once in a while, we should all take the time to thank the academy of people in our lives that help us be the best we can be. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Talk to me! Who would you thank in your life for all their encouragement and support? </strong></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-78748500752704544662014-04-14T13:27:00.000-07:002014-04-14T13:27:01.863-07:00It Doesn't Matter Who You Were, It Is Who You Are Now<div class="c_ic_blueframe c_ic_bar" dir="ltr" id="ReadMessageContacticTmReadMessageContact0_bar" style="visibility: inherit;">
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</style><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week I attended a mini high school reunion. About 15 women who once walked the halls of a north Toronto high school gathered around a few tables and shared all the goings on in our lives over the past couple of decades. </span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We grew up in a decade where shoulder pads, rock Hair Bands, Rubik’s Cube, boon boxes were all the rage. What girl didn’t want John Cusack to show up under their window holding one over his head a la Say Anything. It was our time to start learning about the person we wanted to become. We were acutely aware of everything that went on around us. And we did all this attending an all girl Catholic school in the city.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While some of us have run into one another here and there, there were a few I hadn't seen in years. I was a bit nervous responding to the Facebook invite. I remembered all the ladies attending but didn't really hang out with more than half of them. It wasn't because of any animosity or dislike. These ladies all fascinated me in my youth and still do to this day. You see, I was one of three girls from my elementary school who chose this school. Many of the other ladies had years of friendships that preceded the dreaded "grade 9" year and I felt like an outsider looking in. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My high school years were fun and the group of girls I hung out with were amazing. There was a comforting similarity among us. It was easier to spend time with someone who was a mirror image of yourself rather than learning how to befriend someone you felt was more cool, less cool, more intelligent, more adventurous, less silly than you were. That would take courage and it was already hard enough figuring out the familiar. Looking back, I wish I was brave enough to step out that comfort zone and venture across the hall and say hello. It was the unfamiliar that intrigued me and frightened me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I always watched these girls in awe. They were fashionable and hip. They were adventurous and rebellious. And I yearned to be like them. As outgoing as I was, I carried fear and reservation within me. I remembering listening to their stories of fun and craziness and I envied the memories they were creating. Even listening to them share these same stories the other night, I felt that same old pang of envy. And although I had my own crazy stories to share, the age old adage "the grass is always greener" kept creeping up in my mind.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But looking around the table, I realized something. Our accomplishments and life stories were pretty freaking awesome. Motorcycles rides in Africa, moving overseas, travelling the globe, amazing jobs and fantastic moms. This is who we are. Each a part of the same fabric that our high school years started to weave so many years ago. Our roads were all so different yet here we were all together again. It didn’t matter that we weren’t all part of the same clique growing up. We are all part of the same clique now. The girls of yesterday had all become the same strong women of today.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to say thank you to technology and social media. It is only through this that I have been able to bring these women into my life and get to know them as adults, with no fear or envy. The night was filled with hilarious memories, great new stories, flipping through year books and learning about each other in new chapters of our lives. Gone are the kilts and stone walls. The school retreats are done and the only proms we have to look forward to are those of our children. Life is our school now and I can honestly say it's nice to have these women walk the halls with me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So to all the Abbey ladies, our years up on the hill were memorable and fun but I look forward to the years ahead, where we can continue to share our stories and laugh until our bellies ache.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Talk to me! If you had the wisdom of today in your teenage years, what would you do differently?</strong></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-45411269857497754382014-04-10T13:02:00.002-07:002014-04-10T13:02:53.137-07:00Peeing with the Bathroom Door Open<!--?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="no"?-->
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The early days of any relationship are filled with wonder and intrigue. The honeymoon phase. The part of the relationship where we learn about the other. The time when we make sure our best always shines through first. It is the time where we hide all our perceived imperfections and make sure all conversations are polite and the “je ne sais quoi” keeps each other interested.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whether it is a blossoming romantic relationship or a growing new friendship, we always put our best foot forward, to draw that person in, to make them want to spend time with you and get to know you better. We keep the interest growing by keeping the mystery ALIVE.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We don’t burp or pass gas. We don’t sweat. We don’t spit. And we most certainly don’t pee with the bathroom door open.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But alas, a perfect world we do not live in. There comes a time when we can say that “the honeymoon is over”. It is the time when we realize that mystery consumes too much time to keep up. That one moment when something “accidentally” slips and opens the flood gate for all other mysterious behaviour to come flooding out. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently, a close friend had surgery and I contacted him to see how he was. His reply was what I expected since the surgery was a few days before. I knew that he would be uncomfortable and irritable. Men and pain don’t often mix well. What I didn’t expect, and I am not sure if it was the Percocet influence, was his comment, “if I could shit, I would feel a hell of a lot better.” It was then that I knew that the line had been crossed. The mystery was gone. Our friendship had crossed that line. We could no longer go back to the days before where mystery prevailed. I now had very clear mental images in my mind. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The funny thing is that this crossing of the line, this destruction of mystery, brought with it a new level to our friendship. I knew he was comfortable with me after he shared his frustration with constipation.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While mystery keeps interest at the beginning, it is only once it is gone that you know your relationship has transcended to a new more intimate level, a level where being at your finest isn’t a requirement or necessity. It is when you realize that not only can you be with them at their best but you can also be with them at their worst.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So for every man that reclines back in his sofa and lets one go on a Friday night when watching t.v. and for every woman that refuses to shave her legs during the winter months, just remember, in this humble gal’s opinion, that sometimes it really is better to pee with the door closed.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Talk to me! How do you keep the mystery alive in your relationships?</strong></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-72197704673535757112014-04-07T09:04:00.002-07:002014-04-07T09:04:57.078-07:00Adam's Rib<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If there is something that I have learned in my journey so
far it’s that happiness, true happiness has to come from within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has to flourish inside, fed by your
attitude and outlook of all the nuances that surround you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t come from consuming yourself with
thoughts of “if only”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too many times
people get caught up in these words, “if only I had money”, “if only I had a
partner”, “if only I didn’t have to work so hard”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If only sucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it sucks more when people thrust it upon you.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other day an acquaintance alluded to the fact I would be
happier if I found a man to love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took
offense to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gently reminded him
that I AM happy and counted off all the reasons why:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I have two beautiful children who give me joy
everyday<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I live in a home that I created<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I have wonderful family and friends that I
surround myself with<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I have a job I love<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I feel good about all my accomplishments<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">v<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I feel even better about all my possibilities<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
the list went on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But
not anywhere on that list was an “if only I had a man then my life would be
perfect”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My
life is perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took a few obstacles
and challenges along the way to make me realize that the sun does shine every
day and that I was happy with myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I expect to share a life with a partner or my children or my
friends and family if I wasn’t completely and honestly happy with ME?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some say Eve was created from Adam's rib but does that mean her happiness is embedded within him? A man doesn’t have to breathe life into a
woman to make her feel worthwhile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does
this person think that a woman is not complete unless there is a man to
complete the equation?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
am complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am strong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
while I have a tremendous amount of love to give and share, having a man in my
life won’t change these. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
must admit that the postulation that my future state of happiness was
contingent upon falling in love made me happier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because
I realized that even if this would never be actualized I was happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
am in love with ME.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Talk to me! Have you ever felt that if you could just reach that one thing or meet that one person life would be better? </span></strong>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4743786917000227745.post-19159707893983857912014-03-31T06:30:00.001-07:002014-03-31T06:30:54.740-07:00Dinner for One? Never!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I feel a certain joy when I sit down at a table and see a good meal in front of me. I often wonder if I eat to live or live to eat. Coming from a big European family, meals have always been elaborate feasts that included everything from a simple appetizer to a wonderful dessert. I grew up sitting around the dining room table.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DYEC6C9Tj-w/Uzij9YmK0UI/AAAAAAAAARU/Q3yrqNBiYnc/s1600/IMG_2075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DYEC6C9Tj-w/Uzij9YmK0UI/AAAAAAAAARU/Q3yrqNBiYnc/s1600/IMG_2075.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our table<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Food in its most basic definition is any substance you eat that provides your body with the nutrients in order to survive. A boring definition in my opinion because it is so much more. The smell, taste and appearance of a well plated entree does more than just satisfy your body's need to survive. All these senses mix and dance together to create a sensory experience that triggers happiness and joy. Of course, there are days we are each reduced to stuffing our faces quickly over the sink. But do these quick meals leave us satiated and content? I find that when I do this I am left feeling nauseous and horrible. Sit me down at a wonderfully set table, and the experience is completely different.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4HNp6nKaZpM/Uzii9dWS2KI/AAAAAAAAAQY/U2xorXtudc8/s1600/IMG_0651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4HNp6nKaZpM/Uzii9dWS2KI/AAAAAAAAAQY/U2xorXtudc8/s1600/IMG_0651.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Egg White Omelet with Fresh Fruit<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UPtL4ts2mNU/UzikrkoqFNI/AAAAAAAAASE/tdvBgirJYFI/s1600/IMG_3088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UPtL4ts2mNU/UzikrkoqFNI/AAAAAAAAASE/tdvBgirJYFI/s1600/IMG_3088.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Raspberry Crepe<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My memories of family get togethers and holidays always involve food. They involve walking into my grandmother's house and smelling that waft of garlic she always used that permeated the air. I can see vivid images of my mom and my uncle hovering above the stove and arguing about who was preparing the meal incorrectly. I see a long table that spanned both the dining room and living room, surrounded by family and friends. The chaotic and craziness of all those meals still echo in my ears. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qS5Ddz2UgS4/UzlsAHlJRjI/AAAAAAAAASQ/-EJgmek3Y10/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qS5Ddz2UgS4/UzlsAHlJRjI/AAAAAAAAASQ/-EJgmek3Y10/s1600/photo.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MShUMpvFujA/Uzikb5MQ5NI/AAAAAAAAAR0/EI5J5Q7sr1w/s1600/IMG_2502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MShUMpvFujA/Uzikb5MQ5NI/AAAAAAAAAR0/EI5J5Q7sr1w/s1600/IMG_2502.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carpaccio with Arugula and Shaved Parmesan in Truffle Oil<br />
French Bean Salad<br />
Photos by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my younger days, the table was filled with laughter and heated discussions. Now, with some loved ones no longer with us, the table still laughs but there is more time spent reminiscing about these lost souls, who still remain alive in our hearts as we cherish their memories.</span><br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SH2driGMjhc/UzikINn9r4I/AAAAAAAAARk/wYO8xKo7Ksc/s1600/IMG_2691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SH2driGMjhc/UzikINn9r4I/AAAAAAAAARk/wYO8xKo7Ksc/s1600/IMG_2691.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seafood Salad<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Food is more than just something that does the body good. It feeds the soul and opens the heart. Those preparing the food pour their love into every stir, every dash and every chop they make. Food is about bringing people together, sharing stories, laughing, crying, creating memories, whether at home or out for an evening. Food is comfort, safety and love.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ox2AuO7oRPU/UzijwAsOPnI/AAAAAAAAARE/m7HryrF-ra8/s1600/IMG_1821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ox2AuO7oRPU/UzijwAsOPnI/AAAAAAAAARE/m7HryrF-ra8/s1600/IMG_1821.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade Broth<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I prepare a meal, I look to combine flavours that will make the taste buds dance. I want the meal to encourage discussion around the table. I want my family to feel the love I poured into its creation. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3P7OY__rbU4/UzikVg263mI/AAAAAAAAARs/XzB4kjaz83s/s1600/IMG_2493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3P7OY__rbU4/UzikVg263mI/AAAAAAAAARs/XzB4kjaz83s/s1600/IMG_2493.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gluten Free Cookies<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kitchen is the heart of the home, for it is here you that you feel the beats and pulses, you feel the blood of our lives course through. The meals prepared here are what feed the soul and keep us thriving.</span><br />
<div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gUosSRZxC3o/UzijHBlJiGI/AAAAAAAAAQk/eXM9oJuDKfs/s1600/IMG_0803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gUosSRZxC3o/UzijHBlJiGI/AAAAAAAAAQk/eXM9oJuDKfs/s1600/IMG_0803.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caught by the Kids and Ready to Cook<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dining with family and eating with friends reconnects us with what is important. It is the moment where we can forget about the day's insanity and engage in meaningful discourse that rekindles our spirits. Whether it is re-acquainting yourself with your stove or discovering a new bistro down the street, take the time to leave all troubles behind and indulge in a savoury, mouthwatering meal with those that mean the world to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BUIFuFTPZlk/UzlsXNodCYI/AAAAAAAAASk/0JCQs5C0LN4/s1600/photo3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BUIFuFTPZlk/UzlsXNodCYI/AAAAAAAAASk/0JCQs5C0LN4/s1600/photo3.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot Chocolate and Coconut Pineapple Cake<br />
Photo by Audrey Bresar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>TALK TO ME! What are your memories of meals? How do you feel when you are preparing a meal for loved ones?</strong></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08416420835988834378noreply@blogger.com2