Putting the driving back in my driving


I have a new hero.  He doesn’t wear a cape, nor can he leap tall buildings in a single bound (at least not that I’ve seen).  He works at the Honda dealership I have been frequenting for many years and, each time I want to start shopping for a new car, he is always there to welcome me with a smile and a hug.

With my mother’s recent illness, we have been saddled with car payments for a car she was unable to drive.  My Uncle has been using the car and helping with the payment but the car was a giant noose around our necks and we had tried almost everything possible to sell it or get out of the lease.  Almost everything.  A random call to my hero last week put the wheels in motion, pardon the pun, and in 5 short days we traded in my vehicle as well as my mom’s car and I drove off the lot in a 2013 Civic with manual transmission.

I have been driving a 5-speed since I was seventeen years old.  I live in a small town with no bumper-to-bumper traffic so driving a stick-shift makes driving fun.  I wasn’t sure if I would stall heading off the lot yesterday but managing a clutch and shifting gears is just like riding a bicycle – it all came flooding back.

Thank you Peter Morrison for being the most caring and genuinely sweet people I have had the pleasure of doing business with.  And thanks for getting me into this!!

new car

The Creative Clique – Trifecta Challenge


Unwittingly, we band together – lovers of language, warriors of words.  Invisible strings of unity tie us to one another and weave through the fabric of our writing.  We design a tapestry of idioms that gather us all under its blanket of creativity.  We find acceptance and encouragement in our world of nouns and verbs, adjectives and adverbs.  We seek the trifecta of writing – inspiration, creativity, achievement.  We create bonds through phrasing, humor and honesty.  We are writers.


(image credit: thetapestry.ca)

Written for the Trifecta Challenge – This week’s prompt was borrowed from LaTonya at Black and Gray.  She left this gem in her Meet Your Fellow Trifectans post.  If you haven’t linked up there yet, please do. BAND (verb) 1: to affix a band to or tie up with a band 2: to finish or decorate with a band 3: to gather together : unite 

Next time we have a battle of wits, I’ll arrive fully armed


I am blessed with a very quick wit and I love making people laugh.  There is something truly endearing about changing the mood in a room with a few well placed lines of humor.  There is a palpable shift in energy and I like knowing that I am able to affect that energy.

As a teenager I used humor as a defense mechanism but as I grew out of that awkward phase I realized what a gift humor had become.  However, I am the first to admit when I am out-witted.  I try my absolute best to use my humor to spar with others of like minds but there are moments I feel I have not packed my full arsenal of quips and leave the room bested by another’s witty repartee.  I never see this as a loss, mind you, because the other people in the room still leave with a smile on their face and, if all has gone extremely well, some sore ribs and stomach muscles.


(image credit: countrydesignhome.com)

Being a goofball has its advantages and I am always striving to better my repertoire of amusing anecdotes.  Sparring with someone who has packed a bigger stockpile of witticism only makes me want to reload my depository and come better prepared for the next battle of wits.

The sharpener is ready to hone my sarcasm and my wit is a bubbling cauldron waiting to be stirred.  I am prepped for battle.

Sunset – Trifextra Challenge


Blood orange dripped from the sky as the water lapped eagerly at its jagged edges.  Songs from the night creatures serenaded the sun’s descent from the sky.  The horizon willingly swallowed it whole.


Written for the weekend Trifextra Challenge:  give us a thirty-three word piece that has a color in it.  Use the color to describe anything you like, or use anything you like to describe your color, but keep it creative and keep it short.

Words can be weapons


Everyone is guilty of blurting out something they immediately wished they could take back.  But it’s out there, hanging over their head like a cartoon speech balloon that they can read over and over again.  The words haunt them, and while they hover in the air the letters, as if in slow motion, dissect and become daggers that hurtle themselves towards the intended victim. Whether it was their objective to be hurtful or not, that person undoubtedly didn’t take the time to think about how what they said would really affect the other person.

There is generally a five second window – a brief moment that you can write a rough essay before composing your final draft.  It gives you that precious time to edit what is said before it escapes your lips.  It’s called a filter. Some people have developed the ability to contain a response until it is processed through the many neurons that it should permeate. Others recklessly open that gaping threshold and spew the vile and heinous words that cut through their victim like a round of automatic gun fire.  The blast is quick and leaves many wounds, open and weeping, as the victim tries to rally and repair the damage.

You can’t take back stupid.  And you can’t take back detrimental. You can’t reel in the words that have been so carelessly cast into the churning river of a person’s sea of reality.  Once those sounds have escaped your lips the weight of their purpose hangs heavily on the one receiving the message and the damage has been done.

There may be an endless stream of apologies and begging for forgiveness from the assassin of the English language but memory is a funny thing. Although forgiveness may eventually be awarded, forgetting is not always an option.  And those deep, gaping wounds are carried with them for what could feel like an eternity.  That moment is replayed in their mind more than a thousand times.

You have the power to circumvent that atrocity from occurring. Take the time to think about what it is that you really want to convey.  You can be critical, but don’t be mean.  And if your comment serves no apparent purpose, than keep it to yourself.  Don’t inflict unnecessary suffering because you can’t find the right words.  Take your time and choose those words wisely.  During future battle you may be the one staring down the barrel of that automatic weapon of idioms the next time it is fired.

Missing: one monkey


The progression happened so slowly I could barely recognize the stages.  The large binding knot that continued to grow in my shoulder had begun to dissipate and unknowingly I was on my way to happiness again.

I have always been able to handle stress, on the outside, but inside my body was storing all of those tense moments and creating a winding path of pain and discomfort that made it difficult to sit or sleep comfortably.  It was a normal occurrence to wake with a headache and try my best to avoid taking pills to assuage the soreness at the base of my skull, but that monkey continued to sit on my back and weave the dull ache throughout my shoulder blades.


(image credit: globeandmail.com)

Two months ago I made the decision to change jobs after almost twenty years of being part of a resort family.  It was a monumental decision for me but one I do not regret.  The monkey, however, may have other thoughts.  With the change of employment came a sense of relief for me and that monkey no longer had the string to weave whenever he wanted.  His hobby became non-existent and he made the climb down from my back to seek refuge on another back that gave him something to work with.

I wake these days rested and free from pain, without having to drown some pain relievers with my morning coffee.  The monkey no longer dictates how I feel or insinuates its opinion on my range of motion.  I feel free.  I feel happy and, although there is some stress involved in the new job, I will not be filing a missing persons report for the pint-sized primate.

Moments become memories


We’ve all had those moments.  Long lost images in our brains that transform themselves into lingering and strong memories. The memories that we retain in our lives are moments that mattered.

They may sneak up on us at the most unsuspecting times, or they may be moments that follow us throughout our days and weeks, never leaving our mind.  Regardless of how often they dwell in the recesses of our brain, the presence of that memory can bring back sights and smells long since forgotten and induce feelings long since buried.

These are times that we refer to as pivotal moments – experiences that changed the way we felt about ourselves or encounters that made us realize what moments mattered most to us.  Although those memories may seem to fade over time their existence is never eradicated.

A sudden and unintended resurgence of a memory may elicit feelings that we have not allowed ourselves to think about for a long period of time.  But when we find ourselves ensconced in that trip down memory lane the recollection is so vivid that it invokes all of the feelings we have long since suppressed.

Memories are life markers – like the post it notes we put in our files to remind us of important paragraphs in the documents of our lives.  Subtle reminders that these moments meant something to us and are marked in our history so we can readily access them.

Let those memories seep back into your consciousness. They are re-entering your reality for a reason.  Relive that memory and realize the importance that it once had in your life and embrace the impact it had on you. Memories are invoked for a reason and only you can decide how to interpret that reflection into your past and decide how it has shaped your present and how it will affect you in your future.

A battle of wills


Whether I label it the “Defense of Defecation” or “The Protection of Poop”, either moniker defines the depth of how stubborn my dog can be.  In an earlier post I described the trauma she experienced last Thursday by running into a branch and puncturing her shoulder.  She is in a medi-vest and has a cone on her head which has led to our morning routine being completely altered.


Most mornings Callaway had free reign of the nearly three acres we call home.  She chased squirrels, followed the scent of whatever vermin have graced our property in the wee hours and did her morning business where nobody could see her while I enjoyed a coffee on the deck.  That has all changed.

Each morning we now go out together, Callaway on a leash, me without coffee, and we attempt to find an appropriate spot for her to relieve herself.  To most dogs this is a mundane task that they are willing to do almost anywhere.  Not my dog.  Since the “incident” we spend an HOUR each morning, fighting off mosquitos and Deer Flies, trying to find a spot that she deems worthy and protected enough to be able to empty her bowel.  She will never shit on my lawn – that is an inarguable truth.  She will regard me with great disdain each time we circle the lawn, me with hopes that her opinion on this will change, she holding strong to her right to defile the back woods in anonymity.

The battle of wills continues.  Woman vs Dog.  The morning stand-off.  But she will always win because I am a pushover when it comes to my puppy dog.  Armed with only a hoodie and my good intentions, I shall respectfully follow her to where no man should go and turn a blind eye while she chooses the perfect spot to have her morning movement in peace.

Hello, Kettle? It’s pot calling. You’re black.


Hypocrisy.  It lives and walks among us and it lurks in the very shadows in which we feel safe.  It feeds upon unsuspecting minds, clinging to the particles of grey matter that are most apt to ignore it.

Professing beliefs or ideals that you neither follow nor remotely understand is the most familiar definition but there is also the flip side of the hypocritical coin.  The admonishment of a habit or behavioural pattern that is so blatantly shared by the one pointing the finger is the one that is most commonly seen – at least by me.

But the ones making flagrant accusations are oblivious to the obvious.  They are standing so far out on the precipice of blindness that they are unaware that they are constantly living in a suspended state of hypocrisy.  And perhaps they truly can’t see the irony in pointing out the shortcomings of another when they represent the same qualities themselves.

Maybe the pot calling the kettle black is a mere distraction technique.  If the focus is shifted in a different direction, the pot will never receive the negative repercussion to which it should so rightly be subjected.  Panning the camera for a close up on the kettle potentially leaves the pot completely out of the picture.

But a word of caution to the pot – even though you may try to use the kettle as a scapegoat to alleviate any personal discomfort, bear in mind that there are many other pots and pans in your proverbial pantry and they see right through the facade.  The very ashes that charred the surface of the kettle are mirrored on the exterior of your pot.  Before you are so quick to judge make sure that your extraneous covering is free from any soot before you bring the kettle into the mix.

A Mere Player – Trifextra Challenge


“All the world’s a stage.”    The words would ring in her ears bearing a remarkable parallel to something she could not grasp.  If only imagination would water her reality and make it grow.


Written for the weekend Trifextra Challenge:  On now to this weekend’s Trifextra challenge.  This weekend we are giving you three words and asking for you to give us back another thirty of your own, making a grand total of thirty-three words. Your words to work with are: ring, water, stage