Sunday, July 3, 2016

Some days the sadness is like a wet fog.

It swirls around my face, covers my eyes, ears, and mouth.

I can't breathe, I can't hear, I can't see.

It's isolating and lonely.

It's comforting and right.

It's a living breathing entity, this sadness.

It's on me, it's in me and sometimes it's me.

The only me.

I'm tired.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016


Most days I can get out of bed, spend an hour on the computer and go kick some serious ass on the treadmill or out on the track, do some housework or visit friends and cook a fab supper for Buzz.

Some days it takes me longer to get out of bed and maybe I'll do a little less on the treadmill and need a nap before I make supper,but I still kicked that days ass.

Other days I can't jump out of bed, I can get up though and stretch a bit and maybe if I'm not too sore I can do the laundry or sweep the floor. That's about it, no walking on other days. I still however kick that days ass, because I got out of the bed. I may go right back into it, but I got up and kicked that days ass to the best of my ability.

These days I've learned to listen to my body, and actually do what it needs.

Luckily other days are becoming rarer but they do still happen. I'm gonna go kick some ass....gently.

Monday, November 16, 2015

From my FB page.

Hello friends and family. Welcome to my wall of positivity and love. If you agree with any of the following statements, I invite you to unfriend and block me. #1 All Muslims are terrorists. #2 All Priests are pedophiles. #3 All Southerners belong to the KKK. #4 The Burka should be banned in Canada. #5 All refugees are ISIS members. #6 The Westboro baptists are a great example of Christians. #7 Only Christian prayer should be allowed in schools. #8 All Irishmen are drunks. #9 All men are rapists. #10 I'm being persecuted for my religion in Canada. #11 All turbans, Hajibs and Yarmulkes should be banned. Seems silly to lump in the KKK with a Burka eh? Well that's what you're doing. All these memes and blanket statements based on no factual information are just silly. That's right, silly, and hurtful and racist. Should take care of our Veterans before we open the border? We're trying! 9 years of Mr Harper cutting services can't be fixed in a couple weeks. Give it a chance. No one is forcing you to be un-Christian either. If you want to say Merry Christmas and have a Christmas tree go ahead. You live in Canada, you can do that here. There are as of 2013, under 300 homeless veterans in Canada. Not thousands, we live in Canada not in the USA. You put up memes about supporting our vets but the pictures are of Americans and British vets. Yes we should take care of our own first, again with the cuts and again give it a chance. It's on all of us. Give your umbrella away, make someone a sandwich, donate your old coats, Hell buy a new coat. These are all things you can do yourself to ease a homeless person's misery for a few hours. The refugees from Syria are homeless and running for their lives, seems to me it's just common decency to help them. They'll be vetted, maybe one rotter will slip through, maybe not. That's what they want you to think with the ID that conveniently popped up. They were Belgian Nationals that terrorized Paris. ISIS is a scourge, (I'm not all pie in the sky here) and hopefully it'll be dealt with. You can't throw the whole pot of spaghetti out because the cat licked the edge of the crock pot.....(wait that was here) I dislike the Trojan horse meme, I dislike the fake news stories about Syrian rapists getting European women. Come on people give your heads a shake. The real story is about gangs roaming Paris beating on non-whites. We're the problem, not the poor Syrian running away from total destruction of their homeland. Lets be nice, and fair and try to help one another. I don't want to hear anything negative. Keep it to yourself, or delete me, please. So post your songs and poems and positive stuff here on my wall. Love, peace out.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Dona Nobis Pacem 2015

Well I'm optimistic on this fine day. Justin Trudeau was sworn in as our Prime Minister, and our new cabinet looks great. Really great. 
I find that I'm looking forward to what will come next.
Love him or hate him, we have to give him a chance. Nine years of Mr Harper, has given him a monumental work load. 
The naysayers are already grumbling about him not being able to bring as many refugees in as he said. 
I say give him a chance, he has literally been Prime Minister for a couple of hours, sheesh. 
Let's get back to family and being a kinder gentler nation.
I'm gobsmacked at the rampant racism that seems to be the norm these days, if a woman wears a ha-jib for personal or religious reasons it doesn't give anyone the right to castigate her in their blogs and their forums.
When did we get so mean? We rail against bullying, (which in itself is bullying) and rant about things that we don't like. We freely call people fag or retard or stupid if we disagree with their views or political stance.
 We can't seem to understand that we can do this because we live in a *free* country.
I was so relieved at the end of the election, not that Mr Trudeau was elected (although that was good) but that the hateful campaign could end. The bitching and backstabbing and mass hysteria.
Finally a little peace in our Government.
Lets be nicer to one another and stop the negativity, lets give it a shot, really it's not that hard.
Let peace begin with you in your homes and in our schools and churches. Lets teach by example, that's how our kids learn. Hate in, hate out. Lets fix it.
Lets give Mr Trudeau a chance to fix it.
Peace out my hippie friends!

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Dusty canes and squeaky walkers

Well it's been a year or so since I started *walking* and taking a bit of care with the stuff I cram down my gullet.  I don't diet, I just try to reduce the portion size and double the veggie size.

It's been a journey of fits and starts, true dedication followed by a little resentment.
Some days I have trouble getting motivated, and think I should join a gym and have someone yell at my lazy butt. Then I remember why I need to move, just move, not lift weights or jog or do one armed push-ups. All I need to do is move.
Get my sore stiff, inflamed joints on my treadmill and just move.

So I move, and I climb, I climb a thousand feet some days, other days only 400 or so. I go sorta fast, I go at a snails pace, I move. I jiggle my arms (or to be fair they do that on their own) Sometimes I warm up and don't go on the treadmill. I stretch, vacuum or wash the floors instead. Just move.

Some days I'm still too hard on myself, and need to remember not to bully myself, not to be disgusted with what I see in the mirror. That's the hard part. I saved last years wall calendar so I could see all the miles I've walked and all the days I did it. I try to atta girl myself at least once a day.

Some days are hard, this past week has been a study in contradictions. Move for your joints, but the joints don't want to move. My body has decided that it can't/won't process certain foods, just out of the blue. It also doesn't want to let me sleep, let me get the rest I need to get so I can move.

 I feel like I'm packing a piano on my shoulders. Grabbing a coffee cup hurts all up my arm, placing one foot after the other sends shooting pains up my legs. Can't turn my head for the stiffness. I managed on 5/7  days to get on the treadmill. Didn't go far, only climbed 400-500 feet a day, but I got up on the damn thing. Atta girl! 

Sometimes I need a reminder why I need to move. I found dust on my canes this morning and my walker has a squeaky wheel. All those pill bottles are reduced to 4 pills a day. That's 4!! So I guess we need to keep moving.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Dona Nobis Pacem 2014

I was going to write this years  peace blog last week, get a knee up as it were. Unfortunately several things conspired against me, we'll call it life at a roar. Here I am the *day of* woefully unprepared and with no fewer than 6 skookum ideas, all fighting for a place on the page. I haven't felt this wordy in years. So bear with me and hopefully something half way intelligent and clear will appear.

First off I was going to tell you about my war. My personal battle with chronic illness and how I'm winning the damn thing. We've had a few skirmishes and outright knock 'em down fistfights, but I'm proving to be the victor!

Then there were the terrible attacks on two servicemen, and my battles seemed puny and small in comparison. What more is there to say about Warrant Officer Patrice Vincent and Corporal Nathan Cirillo? Our shock and outrage, our disbelief, our collective horror are still with us. Families are smaller, wives and mothers, sons and fathers and daughters are bereaved. Senseless.

Then there's the whole Jian Ghomeshi thing, the debacle. My problem with that whole situation was trying the man on social media. Sneaking around and getting him fired. Vilifying him and not going to the RCMP. Doing to him through the media what they claimed the media would do to them. A rape of public opinion, with no charges to back it up. Thankfully someone has finally filed a report with the RCMP and Mr. Ghomeshi will have the benefit of a proper trial, when and if he's ever charged. I'm not saying he's innocent, I'm not saying he's guilty. I'm saying he has the right to  properly defend himself, after all isn't that what the *Unknown* soldier who died in WW1 fought for? Isn't that what Cpl. Cirillo died for as well? Our rights and freedoms?

I was also going to mention my father in law and his battle with lung cancer. He fought hard, he fought clean, he was the bravest person, the most loving through his whole ordeal. He lost his war on July 31ST.  My husband has since lost an Uncle and an Aunt to cancer. Shit disease, sorry that's not very eloquent but it is. Shit.

I can rail against so much, but I've decided to give you a peek into my walking days, lighten it up and hopefully we can give thanks for everyone that went before so we could just be.

Last March I woke up one morning and decided I was entirely too fat. Now I had known for some time that I was entirely too fat. Believe me, fat people know they're fat. In fact it's all I could think of, it's what I muttered to myself every time I went past a mirror, had a shower, changed clothes, ate a meal.

"You're disgusting, you're a blimp, how can anybody love a moo pig like you? "

"You better do something about this piggy!"

"Fuck you're fat!"

"Why bother doing anything? "
These are but a few nuggets that ran constantly through my head.

I have Fibromyalgia, arthritis, and bone spurs. I've been off all related medicines for these conditions for years. No T3's, no Oxy, no Lyrica, no NSAIDs, no Amitriptyline no Prednesone. Nothing but the odd OTC like, Ibuprofen or Tylenol Arthritis. I use pepper cream and other topical creams and I soak my hands in wax. Kinda like the old Palmolive commercials. 

"You're soaking in it."

Anyway, my *conditions*, life in general and the bloody atmosphere had all conspired against me and I was fat. Fat fat the Water Rat! This was unusual, this was a former nervous 110lb dynamo who worked a full time job and had two babies a husband and a menagerie. I was never fat! 

I used to joke that, "I'm here for the food!" 
Stupid skinny bitch.

So what could a fat woman, with really bad joints and a limited budget do for herself? She could drink less beer and buy more lettuce, or she could walk. I chose walking. I walked around the dyke. Or I guess that's *on* the dyke. Two afternoons then I got an abscessed fang. Much dental work, expense and pain later we were back at it. I walked for about 6 weeks, never missing a day walking between 3-5 kilometers a day. My son was hospitalized during this and I walked off my worry.

I started off wearing my husbands old sweat pants and hoodie, it was after all March and I didn't need no stinking expensive lycra/spandex/gortex legging thingies. Sweat pants were good enough for the likes of me. Having never been so damn fat in my life I wasn't aware of chafing. Up to this point I thought chafing was a dish to keep your casserole warm. Ouchie momma, redthighsredthighs. (Sorry just read Dr Sleep, the sorta sequel to The Shining.) Needless to say I got my ever shrinking Ass to the Costco and bought a pair of lycra/spandex/gortex legging thingies. If that Lulu Lemon guy has something to say he better get in line.

The first few days *on* the dyke, I was lapped by a geriatric man who uses ski poles, not for show but to hold himself up. Wow was that ever an eye opener, I always walked fast. Yikes. I'll huff and puff etc. I had to get my shit together, move or die kept going through my head. I had already quit smoking in May 2012, so I needed to move.

My objective was to fit in my underwear. What? Yeah, you heard me, my underwear. They would roll down my belly. (not unlike a Venetian blind)They were huge, I called them gups. An acronym for GIANT UNDERPANTS. Here I was, 52 years old, in my gups and  lycra/spandex/gortex legging thingies walking *on* the dyke with geriatric alpine equipment users. What new Hell was this?

My underwear also included my bras. I was down to one bra that fit. I had a whole whack of them in the drawer, a bakers dozen. Padded, un-padded, red, black, blue, purple, pink, beige every colour of the rainbow.

" Underwire?" 

" Don't mind if I do!"

Thing is they were way too small. The bra that fit was a sorry thing. It had patches,it really did. The under-wire would poke it's head out every now and then and poke my underarm roll. I'd sew it up, put a patch on it. The thing was so stretched, and thin that I don't know how it stayed together. My bra of many colours finally disintegrated in the wash in early May. There was no service. Luckily by then I had another old one I could just squeeze into. I was not buying a bra, they are expensive and I had a gazillion of them. I just needed to walk off some flubber.

I started walking at the track, nice cushioned lanes, like walking on butter and no dogs. I love dogs, but when I'm walking I don't like them running in front of me and lets face it some owners don't pick up their dogs poop. Walking *on* the dyke was becoming a hop on the dyke. Hop over this pile, hop over that pile. Disgusting.

I walk most mornings. Now I won't stop unless I've done a minimum of 4 kilometers. I lap people now.....IN YOUR FACE! I have more energy, I still don't sleep, I still need to soak my hands, but my mobility has increased. The last week or so I've walked in some pretty crappy weather, but I didn't melt.

I'm down 7 bra sizes, I can put my arms at my sides now, two gup sizes, two shirt sizes and I'm wearing pants that haven't fit since 2011. I've had all my yearly tests done and my cholesterol is bueno, same with my blood pressure. Hopefully I can go off the lipitor and enalapril by next year. I only drink once a month or so now, and don't miss it. Still miss smoking though. Always will I think. People who aggravated me are gone from my life too. I was always worried about what people would think of me, now not so much. I live for me now, not anybody else.

So am I at peace with my body? As if.....we have an uneasy ceasefire for now.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Road Construction and Meth Follies.

Road construction and meth follies.

And here we go again. It isn't bad enough that the property next door belongs to a prolific thief, who  in addition to his thievery over the past 12 years has done the following.

#1. Let his goat eat my raspberry canes. (we know this because he tethered said goat to them)

#2. Had his pack of vicious dogs roam our property repeatedly, and attack our beloved dog Milly to the point where she was never the same, and almost died. She had a rip in her throat, a deep puncture under her front left leg and her belly was ripped up so badly she needed drains put in.

#3. His various batches of pigs have *escaped* into our yard so many times it was becoming farcical. Pigs, if you're unaware can really rip up your yard to the point where the grass is a mud hole. 

#4. Shooting *at* said pigs to butcher them, (with an unregistered .22) while they ran in circles, un-tethered. So he was shooting and missing toward our house. That's right, firing a weapon at my house.

#5. The burning. He burns casings from stolen copper wire, gutted innards from campers, Styrofoam, plastics and his garbage. He burns in an open pit during fire bans even. Apparently the rules don't apply  to him. The resulting smoke makes Tijuana smell like spring in the mountains. It's toxic and invasive. Can't leave the pets out, can't open the windows, can't hang out the laundry. 

#6. His *boarders*. These have progressed from an elderly man, (who he worked like an indentured servant) to the odd rub-a-dub. (I'm not talking about  poor and unfortunate homeless alcoholics) I'm talking about hardcore bush people who'd steal your fillings right out of your mouth. These are the winners we've caught walking *through* the back acre stealing firewood, and anything that isn't nailed down. Now we have the new crop, the meth heads. These are the wanderers, the screamers, the ones that keep me out of my own yard. We've caught them making their way through the blackberry bushes, ripped to shit trying to find a way *off* the property. They're afraid of the thief. Now they're making *roads* escape routes. They've taken old planks and placed them over the ditch to the road, and hacked their way through, just on the thief's property. (So right up against ours.) We've heard several *stories* from the one female about how the thief won't let her go, he has her car, he thinks she owes him money, he ran her boyfriend off, he beat up a little girl etc etc etc.

So what are we supposed to do? We've called the cops, the fire dept, the S.P.C.A., three different by-law officers over the years. Finally Buzz called the ACRD again about the burning and the R.C.M.P. about the *kidnapping* and that's all we can do. The cop said to keep reporting them. Big deal.

Years ago, I think 7 or 8, there was a big bust next door, he was caught with a flat bed full of chainsaws and other small outdoor tools. An engine for a helicopter, still boxed up! Some (get this) building material from the new police station. Lots and lots of other stolen items. Vehicles and campers and boats! Oh My! There were news crews, helicopters, all manner of goings on. Do you know what happened after that? Not a fucking thing. I don't know if he was ever charged, but he's still there, still carrying on.

 I'd like to feel some compassion for the addicts but come on, go three feet onto the road and walk the fuck away. Go help yourself. Go sit in the police station. Stay the fuck off our property. Keep your vicious dogs/drunks/meth heads on your side. That's all I want, I want him to be held to the same standard as the rest of us. I really don't care what you do on your property, stay the Hell off mine.

So now I'm thinking we need to make them some road signs. They've already built their own *Ice* road, it's just past Meth way the 2nd left after Crystal Junction. Fuck me large.