Category Archives: Blog Posts

types of writing

The River Of Discontent that Flows in Us.

authentic self

Ever wonder about the people you meet who you just enjoy because they say all the right things? You have that deep connection when you talk about things beyond the weather, which celebrity did what, and what your favourite television show is. They know all the buzz words and before long, the two of you are finishing each other’s sentences, and you talk long after everyone else is out of steam.

You have several conversations with these people and you marvel to others how alike you are. It seems magical and you swear you know who they really are. Then, somewhere along the way, as you hang out, things don’t seem quite right. This person knows all the words, but what they talk about knowing and what they actually do, are miles apart. In practice they are often angry, abusing others, manipulating people and worse. They are up and down and all over the place emotionally and seldom happy. They have no real direction and nothing is ever their fault. Continue reading The River Of Discontent that Flows in Us.

Lessons from the Little Red Haired Girl Next Door. The Soccer Ball.


Her father took her out to kick the soccer ball around the yard. She was suitably attired, she had some green tights on which actually suited a 4 year old … much better than 40 year olds whose legs stretch the fruit or cute little faces into some kind of grotesque monsters from another world . She wore a flowered top, her runners, and a black ball cap, which needed a lot of adjusting. She matched the swagger of her father, as they strode out into the yard. She swung her arms around and did some on the spot jumping to limber up. She was a quick study.

The father put the ball down and kicked it to her. She kicked it back. She jumped up and down, it was fun. He kicked it to her and she, concentrating, tongue out, thinking about which foot, changing it, focussed … and kicked it back.  Her dad had to run a little bit to get it but it was a good effort.

This time dad kicked the ball back and forth and bumped it with his knee before kicking it back towards the little red haired girl. She had been waiting patiently and being a good sport, she clapped for her dad’s amazing talent. She got the ball and focused, tongue in place and kicked it as hard as she could. Continue reading Lessons from the Little Red Haired Girl Next Door. The Soccer Ball.

The People Who Surrender Everything, Including Who They Are.

Every Soul

Yesterday a woman was seated watching her son get a haircut and she began to talk about her farm and her animals. She ended up collecting animals that other people did not want. One story she told related to going to a sale to get some cattle and once there, cow after cow came up, older cows, cows with one teat that did not work, etc. No-one wanted them. She found her arm going up and she would say, “I’ll take her.” In the end they had a truck full of cows that no-one else wanted. They had come to the sale wanting young healthy cows like everyone else, but they went home with the load of misfits. No-one else felt sorry enough for those cows to even take one of them.

My grandmother used to eat her dinner and inevitably one of us kids would slip something onto her plate we did not want to eat.  She would end up having to eat the food none of us wanted because she could not let it go to waste.   She made a  deal with us, as long as we did it quietly without saying anything, it was acceptable to her. At other times she would sit down to eat her toast in the morning, and we, like little birds would hover around her wanting a bite. She often ended up giving us spoonfuls of something she had chosen to eat.  We didn’t ask her if she was hungry, or if she liked the food we did not want to eat. Continue reading The People Who Surrender Everything, Including Who They Are.

Craft Time. Aria Does Sex and Fashion.

nailed it burlap

I went to a luncheon with a friend. The speaker wanted us women to all know how to put the spice back in our marriage.

I couldn’t figure out where the men were.

Could she not see the choir robes all the women were wearing??

Anyway she gave us a bunch of instructions, I couldn’t hear most of what she said. It is not her fault, it is what happens when I slip in an ear bud in my ear and turn up the music really loud. I did have to listen at the very end, mainly because my phone went dead and sticking my fingers in my ears was not an option. I tried. The woman next to me made a motion with her finger across her neck and kicked me under the table . . . that was what made it clear it was not an option.

The speaker had a bunch of scenerio’s on the screen and we had to promise to pick one suggestion and try it at home for our husbands. She promised we would see the difference. I was disappointed that there was not some kind of penalty gift offered if she failed because I find that is helpful in keeping people from making empty promises. Like when you mom tells you she promised it isn’t going to hurt when you get your shot, and it does . . . I think she should have had to give me a pony. That way she stops telling me stupid things. The stuff the lady wanted us to try sounded stupid. Continue reading Craft Time. Aria Does Sex and Fashion.

Our Pockets Full of Seeds.

letting go

Seeds of hate and anger, of contention and destruction, of stress and worry, are planted in our lives every day by those people we associate with, those we have contact with, and the situations we experience.

Most of those seeds simply blow by and bounce off of our hearts as we move purposefully forward.

But when the seed comes from someone that has any place within our hearts and lives, it always seems to manage to go deeper. Some seeds hit upon sensitive places of distant pain or worries and seem to target our fears. It is fertile ground, and they begin to take root.

Now and then, we run our thoughts over the slight irritation those seeds can cause, like a finger over a small bite on our skin, until it begins to itch.  We scratch at it and we can make it bleed.

Most of us hold a cool cloth to the spot, some of us make it even worse by picking at it, causing it to fester, perhaps even become infected. Time passes and we seem powerless to leave it alone.  It pulls our attention, it interrupts our other activities.  This seed that was not born of our own thoughts, but hurled at us by another is at best a weed, at worst a poisonous growth that will choke out all else and completely darken our lives. We wait giving it the power to control us.  We surrender to its demands. Continue reading Our Pockets Full of Seeds.

Custard Apples and the Google Conspiracy to Limit Your Life Experience.

custard apple

Time for your annual fruit and veggie update brought to you by a Canadian who used to live on a farm now living in Australia with a man who used to have a farm. We may be farm-less but we have years of wisdom between us.


THIS is a custard apple:  Note its un-apple like appearance.  That is because it is not an apple.

THIS is information about a custard apple from a farmer currently in possession of a farm.

The Weekend Edition  (you can read it even if it is not the weekend, just another example of people not saying what they mean)
“Custard Apple Recipes” is not a search request for some other apple hollowed out and filled with some form of prepared or wanna be custard. Neither is it a cake or some other dessert containing custard or apples. It is certainly NOT an apple anything with custard poured over it. It is a recipe using custard apples. Please don’t try to interpret my words for me, listen to what I am saying. Continue reading Custard Apples and the Google Conspiracy to Limit Your Life Experience.

I May Die.


This is me. A Canadian, freezing in Australia.

Canadians are laughing at me. How can I possibly be cold right? Lucky me living in Australia.

I grew up on the prairies in Alberta. We went sometimes for a couple of weeks in winter without any power, completely snowed in. We only had a generator to turn on for a few hours each day to cook, to heat the house a little. We went to bed with the water turned on so the pipes would not freeze up. We even had to cover all the windows and underneath the doors and stay in one room to stay warm one really bad winter. Continue reading I May Die.

No Room Left in The Inn.


Some discussion and information on plans for forced sterilization:

Women Prisoners Sterilized to Cut Welfare Costs in California.

Schools Implant IUD’s in Girls as Young as Sixth Grade Without Their Parents Knowing.

Proposal to Temporarily Sterilise All NZ Teenage Females Should Raise Serious Red Flags

Bill Gates Foundation Announces Implantable Remote Controlled Contraceptive Microchip That Can Last Up To 16 Years.

Over the past few years the cries for forced sterilisation have reached a fevered pitch. People are talking population control and the need to stop third world countries from reproducing.  Of course some people are kinder than that, they insist they are empowering the women and giving them opportunities even though you seldom here about the part of that plan that follows, forced birth control or sterilisation.   Others suggest they are doing the world a favour by helping to reduce the growing population which the earth can no longer support. Whatever the reasoning, population reduction is always about “other” people, usually the poor, who should have their numbers reduced for the greater good of us all. The rest of us carry on procreating at will.

And I am not trying to control anyone.  If you have an idea that you want to put forward, then do it, but strip away the candy coating to try and make it more palatable.  Take away all the misdirection that suggests it is about some other, more noble cause.   Continue reading No Room Left in The Inn.

The Truth About Yoga


So I had my little leotard and my mat and I headed out for my Yoga class – imagining myself standing amongst the gang at the next staff meeting and subtly slipping into some divine twisted body shape and everyone “oohing” and “ahhing.” You know, like those women who took 3 ballet classes and are forever standing with their feet in that stupid position so all the women whisper and nudge one another knowingly … “trained as a classical ballerina …..” nod nod…. (except it loses a little bit in the translation when the woman weighs 300 lbs, has on house slippers, black leggings and a baby-doll’)

Still I dream about striking that pose and then I would blush and say, “oh sorry, didn’t realize, you know …hahaha … when you are this supple it just happened sometimes ….” blush blush . It is important to blush when you are making other women jealous . . . it might save your life.

But those classes are damn hard. First of all they play this music that is supposed to soothe you. Well it worked. I was so soothed I was curled up like a little baby on my mat sucking my thumb, sound asleep when the bitch of an instructor woke me and told me my snoring was disturbing the peace and calm of the class. She is a real cow when it comes to noise in class. She said, “We have an iron-clad “no-talking” rule.” And she looked at me like she just knew I was the only one she would have to reprimand. All the way through she kept going “shhhh” to me and doing that little thing with her two fingers closing together out in the air in front of her. I tried to explain , “look lady I am not talking!!”

Don’t know how she couldn’t tell the difference between “talking” and “screaming.” Those poses hurt. Continue reading The Truth About Yoga