In eight days I’m attempting to break a world record by running a half marathon while pushing and pulling two double strollers (containing FOUR children). I’m terrified because it’s going to hurt.  It sounds pretty crazy and it may gain me a little local fame for a day or two…but that’s not the reason why I’ve trained for this adventure.

In this insanely fucked up world where little girls grow up with perfect, big boobed barbies and beautiful Disney princesses as  role models, where women are judged on the tone of their voices and the size of their asses and embarrassing personal issues rather than their knowledge and experience, where we as women are trained to fear being alone on the streets or in life in general…where we learn at an early age that we are not complete without families, marriage, careers, and pleasing, subservient attitudes I want to instill in my girls that EVERYTHING IS ATTAINABLE.

I can’t change the world overnight. But I can change my daughters’ outlook, they way they value themselves and hopefully to not judge themselves. And through this insane run my hope is that they will remember how their mommy did not give up. Even when people tried to convince her, or when they rolled their eyes and told her she couldn’t do it or that she was crazy…their mommy stuck to it. That’s why I’m running 21.2km in eight days pushing and pulling almost 200lbs of future women.

So if you happen to be in the area next Sunday please come by and cheer for them. Help me to make this experience something that none of these kids will ever forget.

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We Can Do Better

I’m being totally and completely honest when I say that I as a woman owe so much to that buffoon of an American President.

Canada and the States have been pretty much neck and neck when it comes to the progression of Women’s rights over the last century. We were granted the right to vote (so…we had to be granted…where as men just took it???) first in Manitoba in 1916 followed closely with the United States in 1920.

Luckily for us in 1929 the legal definition of a person in Canada was officially changed to include “persons of the female gender”. What the hell were we before that????

But since 1971 when the Women’s Political Caucus was formed in the States (for those of you who don’t know, because I didn’t before I looked it up; a caucus is a meeting of supporters or members of a specific political party or movement.) there has been only small steps for women. Not that any one is less significant than another. The first woman in space, the first African american woman to win the oscar for best actress, first lady elected to public office. All important steps in our evolution as ‘persons’ in this world. Great victories for the women involved but not all encompassing as the right to vote, or women working jobs normally held only by men during the world wars.

In 2016 that arrogant,  belligerent, reality tv star handed us all a gift wrapped in disguise.

With an estimated 4.3 million attendees at the women’s march on January 21st in the States alone, and an amazing 100 plus cities around the world who also joined in….the newest step to the women’s revolution had clearly taken place.

It was a powerful message that we ‘female persons’ as well as everyone who loves and supports us made clear for Trump and the rest of the world to see. Something that our grandchildren will hopefully read about in their history books. We were suddenly offered an opportunity to really question our roles, our place in the family and work environment, and how we personally as human beings felt about that. It is both a beautiful and unfortunate thing that our bodies naturally take things literally inside of themselves. We are more naturally gentle and compassionate, just like our bodies we tend to take in a lot of emotions, guilt, fear, etc…we are like the cup that ‘male persons’ are taught they should penetrate. Now, of course I am generalizing and not in any way meaning to insult any ‘male person’. It’s like an heirloom passed down through the generations. So I don’t necessarily blame any ‘male person’ who has this attitude that we are inferior, that because of our bodies we are incapable, or that because of our emotions we are not successful leaders. It’s something that was so generously handed to them through their family beliefs, society’s expectations, peer pressure, etc. I do however, blame any ‘male person’ who is not willing to examine it, question it and correct it. A real man is one who would support the women in his life and their choices whatever they may be.

I’ve never been so aware of the roles I have chosen for myself. Yes we are pressured and judged and suggestively nudged in the direction but we also choose it. We are the ones who have chosen to continue on this path of sexual stereotypes. When I say we, I am very aware that many of us have rebelled. Many of us have fought tooth and nail to escape the confines of ‘female person’ definitions who are living their truth to the fullest and who have probably gone through much hurt and desperation and…I can’t even imagine what else…to get there. And I am so proud and grateful for those groundbreaking individuals who are basically paving the way to make it easier for the next generations to accept themselves for who they are.

So yeah, he’s an ignorant dickhead with tricks up his sleeves and an agenda that is clearly not for the better of the American people or anyone else who does not sit within his exclusive billionaire club. But I sincerely thank Donald Trump for waking us up, for his narcissistic campaign speeches that forced us to look deeper within ourselves and for reminding us all that we can be better and do better if we act as one.

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Struggle to Death

And so she knocks again.

Death was on our street today and won the battle with an old friend of mine.

I realize as we get older she knocks or threatens to knock more often. I just can’t help questioning the point. We struggle to fight her off with vitamins and exercise and seeking out joy. We have our children to carry on our legacy but what about those of us who do not have any? Will anyone notice? It’s like the tree that falls when no one is there…

We struggle to be witnessed. To affect others. To not be alone. And then we die. Man, sounds like a lot of trouble for…what? To experience this gift called life? Perhaps life is just the stop over for something much much better. We can certainly hope. We can hope that perhaps we are here to gather the souls of those we love close to us so that when we do cross over we can reconnect? Share further and deeper? Or perhaps this life is our lesson to help us over to a better place where those lessons will be enjoyed and rejoiced.

I can see how the abuse of drugs would be comforting to those of us who are happier behind a sheer blanket of fog. Less to think about, less reality smacking you in the face, less worries and anxiety. (Not that I’m condoning but the temptation is understandable)

I guess all we can do is keep going. Keep moving forward. Keep striving to be a better person, parent, friend, artist, writer, or whatever else you may be or want to be. There’s really no other suitable choice.

But it’s a struggle, isn’t it?

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Self doubt. An enemy of monstrous proportions. The number one killer of dreams, goals, friendships, families, careers, joy and anything else positive in life.

She lingers in the shadows, in the corners of the house where supposedly it should be a place of peace and solitude. (I call self doubt a ‘she’, eventhough I have had reason over my life time to fear men much more, because she is gentle and conniving and well, she comes from within so of course…)

Self doubt has overpowered many of my dreams. She won the battle in NYC, she tricked me into giving up at a few of my former jobs, she even made me think that some of the closest people around me suddenly didn’t care. She’s strong and a bitch…and although I guess a small amount of her helps me to stay grounded (not that my economical status and other current life factors don’t do that for me)…I do not like her.

Yesterday I received an email from someone who wanted to chat about a play I’m currently writing. Self doubt was bored and decided to stick her pointy little nose into my business. I suddenly thought I was in trouble.( I do that often when things are going well with a project) How could I be in trouble??? Did I write something she didn’t approve of??? Does she no longer think that I have potential and should quit immediately??? Still living within a mind of a teenager I assumed that I should just evacuate immediately, run to my room and hide my head under the pillow for as long as I possibly could breathe under there.

I’m almost 42 years old. I have done nothing wrong…besides maybe putting myself out there a lot in hopes of fulfilling something that has not yet been fulfilled. I have not been harmed and I have not harmed anyone else. Have I? I mean…no I have not. (I think…shut up you!)

So I guess the battle continues. She will keep interfering and I will continue to push her away. Apparently I haven’t yet learned how to make her scadattle for good…yet.

And now, off to make that call and find out what kind of trouble…I mean…compliment this person would like to offer me….

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My Beyond the Boundaries


Death continues to linger today. He’s taunting me but I refuse to let my reality be destroyed. And so I reflect back to a time when there wasn’t a lot to worry about. Before I loved too much, owned too much, needed to be too much…

Drawing this image of what I hope my beyond the boundaries of life and death will be (great name for a play I think) calmed me. I was able to escape into a pinkness of smiles and rock music and playfulness that I am not always allowed.

So today this is where I live. Amongst the pearly, metallic balloons in my playful fringe of cotton candy pinks.With smirks and bright eyes and dusty rose blush surrounding me like warm hugs and wet kisses.

Don’t interrupt. Don’t dare to call my name. Just let me live in this creaminess a little longer…

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To Cope or Not to Cope

Content Warning: We have just experienced a family tragedy today that still seems more suitable to only exist in the movies…we have all been affected and are struggling to process.

Death seems to be settling around me these days. The threat of death. The possibility of death. And strangely enough….I’m curious. More than I think I should be…I don’t have any plans or anything but…when I look at everything and everyone around me I wonder how many people are doing more than just coping. Isn’t that awful?

We spend so many years scrambling to achieve and accumulate things and relationships. We strive to prove our self worth, to establish a reason for our existence. We have families and children and houses and dogs. We work towards goals, we create events to look forward to, we work so that we can live. But if you took each of those things away, like peeling away the layers of a blooming onion (remember those after a late night of drinking…deep fried half opened onion…bad breath, stomach cramps and an urge to have yet another bevie?….god those were the good days…) what is left? Nothing but a bunch of naked humans with no coping mechanisms to get through this ‘gift’ of life.

My babies ask many questions about death. They’ve had their fair share of experience with it already. More than I had hoped to expose them to. When you’re that age you just live. You play and laugh and fight and just…live. It’s not until you have been exposed to death or us adults have taught you enough about it that you start to get fucked up. You begin to question your purpose. You question the whole point of it all…although that doesn’t normally happen until highschool…

In so many ways it feels like our society is just a failure.

Our need to know more, do more, be more, have more, gather more, love more, earn more…we’ve become more selfish, more judgmental, more prejudice, more fearful, more powerful, more angry, more more more.

It feels as though things may be taking a turn for the good. Maybe? Like the tragedy of an unequipped elected world leader is forcing people to look further into the mirror than was before acceptable. If that is in fact the case then, fantastic. My hopes will always remain high for my daughters’ futures.

But I wonder what is on the other side. If we spend the majority of our time here struggling to cope…then what is waiting for us when we move beyond that need? When the pressures, and judgments and worries have all dissipated and its just us naked with no longer any need for anything in particular. Just being. Just playing, and laughing, and fighting…just…being.

Sounds pretty lovely to me.

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Wet Dreams

There was a smell that I experienced in my dreams last night. It was distinctive yet comforting and some how…I assume through some kind of unconscious permission I granted it…that scent stayed with me all day. It was there on my children’s breath as we cuddled, when I was cooking our lunch, when I was finishing my run and my throat and lips were dry. It was present during our “girl outing” and when I was drinking my wine tonight. I’m not going to suddenly jump in and share intimate details of my dream existence but, this scent did remind me of my past relationship with my dreaming state…

During my younger years ages six straight through to my mid twenties, my dreams played a significant role in my creativity. I’ve had many reoccurring dreams that have been able to cross over the threshold of sleeping and awake. In my earlier years it created fear and confusion but it was also empowering and comforting when nothing in my awake state was. Things appeared for me in my awake state that I knew should have not but I also had friends and even crushes that existed within my dreams. I recall inventing ways to bring drawings and other objects into my sleeping visions and then there were other times when my horrific phantoms followed me into my bedroom after I was awake and spoke to me or plotted against me.

I wasn’t able to speak about it for a long time. Then in my later highschool years I started sharing my “visions”, for a lack of a better word and tears used to drip down my face as I did. I haven’t felt that in many years now. That incredibly unexplainable horrific and yet enlightening emotions of sharing my dreams with someone. My eyes used to literally well up even though I had no intention or inkling to cry.

In my twenties I had better relationships at times with my dreams than I did with my friends. Although those friendships were some of my most important ones….there was….frustration, let’s say. In my dreams I was able to resolve those feelings. There were times when I lived for the nights so that I could speak my truth to my dream phantoms.

And then a couple of years later my life became more brutally real. There was more to be worried about, less time to sleep, and more reasons to live within the reality that society strongly encourages us to live within. I kind of just…forgot. It all just kind of dissipated like the graphite dust that I blow away from my drawing…

But I thought about it today. Not a lot. It didn’t overpower my thoughts. But it lingered in that slightly sour scent that hung around my neck. I find myself now longing for that confusion of reality. The joy that i experienced as I tiptoed back and forth along the threshold that no one ever really needed to know or understand….

I think that perhaps reentering a more creative outlook on life has allowed me the opportunity to rediscover that magical door between asleep and awake. Hopefully as an adult I can have more of a handle on the direction but still allow myself the luxury to experience it in whatever form my subconscious sees fit. I smell that scent even now as s I write. It sits with me and calls to me and I hope to see you tonight in my dreams….

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