Category Archives: challenges

Hearing the most important voice

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I did something yesterday that I sincerely hope I remember to never do again – I bought a fully processed and synthetic lunch because I had failed to prepare my own.  What seemed like a good idea at the time came back to haunt me a few hours later when every part of my body screamed in disgust.

Recently I have been very smart about my food choices.  With only the occasional “treat”, I have been preparing all of my own meals so I know exactly what my body is ingesting and I have really enjoyed cooking again and experimenting in the kitchen.  The only processed items that have passed my lips are the ones that I have processed myself so I know what kind of food is in my food.  My body made it abundantly clear today that it will no longer put up with my bad choices and laziness when it comes to preparing my own meals.

It is simple to adhere to a proper diet when you take a few moments to prepare in advance.  I love when I have a full day in the kitchen and am able to think ahead about what I want to use to fuel my body for the coming week.  I make all of my own soups and freeze them so I am not overwhelmed by the hidden sodium and preservatives in canned soups.  I make ‘Salad-in-a-Jar’ for each day of the week and sometimes even prepare sectioned grapefruit or ‘Refrigerator Oatmeal’ for breakfasts.  It takes the guess-work and stress out of having to prepare meals each morning for the work day ahead and it can prevent those bad choices when you are hungry and pressed for time.

salad in a jar

Salad in a jar was an amazing discovery for me.  I bought a case of Mason Jars and made a week’s worth of salads for lunch.  Each day I opened a jar onto a plate, the lettuce was still crisp and it was a quick way to have a healthy lunch.  For those of you who may have heard of these but never tried them, I urge you to buy some jars and spend and hour on the weekend making your lunches for a week.  Knowing those go-to lunches are always there during your work week will alleviate the stress of wondering what you will eat at the office and you can add any ingredients you like to your salad.

I listened to my body today and got the message loud and clear.  I’m not 25 anymore.  I can’t just eat what is available and go about my day without ever giving it a second thought.

Your body’s voice is the most important voice you will ever hear and you should heed its advice.   It will be more honest with you than any of your friends or your family and only has its best interest at heart.

 

Of Mice and Men in the attic – fiction

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attic

After hearing the word mispronounced, with the emphasis on the wrong syllable, she had an idea of what to do with the wretched people who would not allow her solace.  Fanatic – indeed they were.  They camped out in her driveway, followed her everywhere but, one by one, they became smaller in numbers.  Her “fan-attic”, mind you, was becoming rather full.  She hoped the smell would dissipate.

~~

66 Word Micro-Fiction written for the Chimera Challenge at Grammar Ghoul Press.  This week’s challenge is to write a piece using the word ‘Fanatic’ – noun – a person with an extreme and uncritical enthusiasm or zeal.  (image credit)

chimera-badge

 

 

 

 

I chose, but then I chose to choose again

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choices

Life is about making choices.  Every day we are presented with numerous situations in which we have to decide the outcome of the situation by using our instincts to make those choices.

I am certain I have made many choices that, given the chance to go back and do again, I would change at the drop of a hat.  But making those choices has made me who I am today, warts and all.   I learned a great deal about life and especially about myself by choosing the way I did.  And I learned even more about me by giving myself permission to make the choice to choose again.

I chose to get married.  It was a bad choice for me, given the circumstances, but it was a choice I needed to make to learn a very valuable lesson.  After that lesson had a chance to penetrate my brain, I made the choice to not be married anymore.  Some frowned on my choice without having understood how much that life was not meant for me.  It was a road I needed to venture down, but it was also the path that showed me who I could be if I chose to finally put myself first.  That was probably one of the first choices I ever made with only me in mind.  I didn’t gauge how many others would be affected by my choice.  I just chose to make myself happy without putting anyone else’s needs ahead of my own.

Just because you’ve chosen, doesn’t mean you can’t choose again.  While your first choice may have seemed to be the one that was best for you, perhaps making the choice to choose again will be the choice that will make you the happiest.  Life is not predictable and giving yourself permission to choose what is best for you should always be your first choice.

 

 

Floating in a most peculiar way – fiction

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eagle-neb-lg

As he neared the Eagle Nebula, he gasped at its beauty.  He always hoped he would see it in his lifetime.  As he got closer to it, his trajectory changed and he was able to view it from many sides.  His thoughts turned to home and, although each version was different, he mumbled audibly as he rewrote the letter in his head for what he hoped would be the last time.

“My Dearest Love,

I can only anticipate how worried you have been since you have not heard from me.  The mission to Mars went horribly wrong on so many levels and I fear I will never be able to get back to you.  I have not seen my crew nor am I able to communicate with Houston.

I am miraculously floating through space with no oxygen, yet I continue to live.  The noxious carbon dioxide that I expel with every breath seems to dissipate and is no longer toxic to me.  I have not consumed food or had water in what I fear is more time than I can calculate but I have no true concept of time in this vast constellation.  I have no waste to rid from my body and, against all odds, I still seem to exist.

The sky is beautiful.  I remember how you used to love to gaze at the stars, taking the time to point out the constellations in our own galaxy and you would always wonder what existed outside of the Milky Way.  I am here, love, and it is beyond anything you could have ever imagined.  It is color and music and poetry all connected by stars.  It feels like our wedding dance when everything and everyone seemed to disappear and the only thing I felt was your breath on my neck and the only sound was our hearts beating together.

But with all of this beauty comes so much despair because you are so far away.  I wish for this journey to end.  I wish my mortal self would cease to exist so you and I could be reunited.  I wish that I would not have to go through the pain of writing this letter yet again because I fear that I do know how many times it has been written and that number is too high to be accurate.

I will do my best to get home to you.

Until we meet again, my love.”

~~

mutant750-wk

 

Written for the Grammar Ghoul Challenge – combining the photo above of the Eagle Nebula taken by the Hubble Telescope and the word Love (noun) – A person or thing that one loves.

 

 

It’s all fun and games until you can’t have a shower

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I have been fortunate to live in this beautiful place called Muskoka for most of my life.  I was born in a larger city and we relocated when I was seven years old.  I left the comfort of my little town for a couple of years when I went to college and, when I could no longer stand the sites of the concrete jungle, I eventually made the move back home.

Friends from college still ask how I can live in such a remote location and I always respond the same way ~ how can I not?  I am not a city girl, by any means.  The crowds of people at any given time make me very anxious and the pace of the city is way too fast for my liking.

Being a “country bumpkin” and living in an old out-building of a farmhouse does, however, have its challenges.  I try my best not to watch the heat slowly escaping through cracks in the house by filling in holes and covering door jambs with towels to block the drafts.  I try to tune out the sound of the furry little freeloaders living rent free in my attic and my basement.  But the one thing I am unable to ignore is the frozen pipes after battling frigid temperatures for a few weeks.  I had been lucky until my return from home on Monday.  As much as they fought to stay warm enough, the pump and the pipes were no match for Mother Nature’s steady -34 Celsius temperatures without factoring in the wind chill.

Thankfully because I have been living this lifestyle for so long I am able to adapt but I am hoping to have the situation rectified by this afternoon.  Adapting to my lack of running water is one thing, this is why I always keep bottled water in my house.  But not being able to shower in my own home will soon become an issue and I’m sure my neighbors don’t want to see me “bathing” in the snow on my deck!

snow bath

(image credit)

Ashes to ashes – fiction

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heart-ants

She knew his heart would crash, landing right at her feet the moment she told him it was over.  What had been a fairy tale beginning had quickly turned into the twisted relationship only Dean Koontz could do justice in one of his macabre stories.  It had been tumultuous, to say the least, and she just needed to be free of him.

Over the course of their relationship, he had retreated into a cocoon inside his mind, fueled by the haze of booze and cigarettes.  She had not realized his heart had shrunk to such a miniscule version of what it once was until she saw it laying before her, cold and lifeless on the stony ground.

His face seemed to become more emaciated the longer she looked at him.  He had not reacted verbally to her accusations.  He could only nod in sullen agreement because he seemed to have lost the ability to speak.  She berated him, lashed out for each minute she spent wishing her life with him had been different.  With each bitter word she uttered, her Machiavellian intention became clearer to him.

She couldn’t tell if his eyes actually became bigger when he realized what was happening or if it just seemed like it because his body was withering at such a rapid rate.  His hair-line seemed to recede as she watched and his gaunt complexion resembled more of a skeleton than a human body.  She pulled the small doll from her pocket and lingered before she pushed the last pin into the woven material that covered its chest.  A small sigh escaped her lips and she plunged the final pin into the doll.  What remained of his skin and bones hastily turned to dust and fell to the cobblestone street.

She stood idle for a few moments and watched as the ants began to march single file through the crack in the stone.  Like a well trained army, they worked as a team to circle the tiny carrion and haul the remains of the lifeless heart down the hole to take home as a trophy.  Little did they know, the spell she had created would only allow that heart to exist for mere minutes after the rest of his body had disappeared.  The ants would get it into the hole but it would never remain solid long enough to present it to the colony.

As she walked away, she carefully removed each pin remembering the outcome that each jab had on his physical being.  She tossed the pins in the gutter and placed the doll safely back in her pocket, hoping, once again, this would be the last time she would need it.

~~

mutant750-wk

Written for the Grammar Ghoul Challenge – to use the picture above – Just a lonely heart by Marina Carvalho
is licensed under CC by 2.0,  and the word crash with the following definition – Move or cause to move with force, speed, and sudden loud noise

 

 

 

Getting to the root of the question

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I am a natural brunette, or at least I was a natural brunette until sometime in my twenties.  Like my grandmother, my hair started to age before its time and I began to notice more salt than pepper at the roots surrounding my face.  I have been dying my hair since then because I refuse to go down the path of “aging gracefully” without a hearty fight.

Someone recently asked me what my natural hair color was and, after I finished giggling, I responded with “I’m guessing somewhere between alabaster and egg-shell white”.  I still like to think the hair color that I have paid for on numerous occasions reflects the age I feel and not the age I should look when I am eighty.

When I was younger I remember  hearing the belief that grey hair made men look distinguished but made women look old.  Along with every other changing belief, this is an outdated way of thinking and there are many women disproving this theory at an alarming rate.  One stand-out woman who takes grey hair to a new level of sexy is this woman.

Jamie-Lee-Curtis-image-3

Jamie Lee Curtis is 56 years old, a mere 10 years old than I am and she looks absolutely stunning having allowed herself to embrace the natural greying process.  Since the length of my hair in the summer months is very similar to her pixie cut, I have been tempted many times to put the box of “natural” color back on the shelf and see just what color my hair really is at this stage in my life.  Somehow those ‘Natural Instincts’ make their way to the counter every time.

Maybe when I hit that magic number, the big 5-0, perhaps then I will be ready to leave the color in the box, but until then it’s time to put those gloves back on and keep fighting the good fight.

The fireflies at the windows

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We are rapidly approaching the last of the “firsts” since we lost my mom almost a year ago.  I stumbled blindly through my birthday last year, which was three weeks to the day after she passed.  We muddled through the rest of the birthdays in our immediate family, except for one still to come, and celebrated mom’s birthday by having her celebration of life on that same day.

Valentine’s Day will be a quiet one for me this year.  After my dad died, mom and I made a pact to be each others Valentine.  Even after I was married, mom and I had a standing ‘date night’ on February 14th because my now ex-husband always had to work at the restaurant.  She and I would go out for a nice dinner and always gave each other either a lovely arrangement of flowers or a cry-inducing Hallmark card full of sentiment that we both honestly meant.

My youngest nephews’ 12th birthday will be the last of the firsts.  That will be an odd feeling.  But it got me thinking about all of the other milestones, the new ‘firsts’, my parents may see from where they are, but will not be able to physically participate in.  This is the calendar year that my brother will turn fifty.  I’m sure nobody in our family ever thought that momentous day would come and neither of our parents will be here to help him celebrate and embarrass him with untold stories of his youth.

They will miss my oldest nephew, in just over a year, getting his G-1 (the Canadian version of the Learner’s Permit) and creating a new crop of grey hair on the heads of my brother and sister-in-law.  They will miss both of their grandchildren deciding on what field of study they wish to pursue and their subsequent University years and future careers.  And they will not be here if the Gods decide to shine favorably and allow me to fall in love again, the right way this time with the person who deserves my heart.  (although I know my mom will be doing her best to send that person my way)

fireflies

I know in my heart that both of my parents wouldn’t miss any of these events.  They will be those dancing specks of light we see at dusk, hovering by the window to watch our lives move forward.  It would just be so much nicer if they were standing right beside us to share in all of the new firsts yet to come.

 

 

 

 

 

The monsters in the closet of my mind

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orwell

 (image credit)

There have been many writers before me who have been driven by the same demon.  I love words.  I love using them like paint and creating a wall of graffiti that truly represents me.  I love to dip my fingers in those words and rub them on the wall with the freedom of a child learning how to paint.

Writing this blog has been such a wonderful experience for me.  I can write each day about whatever my brain sees fit to write about that day.  But the more time I spend with my blog, the less time I spend trying to struggle through that painful illness of writing my book.

Maybe this blog is teaching me something.  Perhaps knowing I can devote time each day to my blog means that I am capable of changing that focus and spending the time trying to bring the characters of my novel to the finish line of their bizarre journey.

I get you, George.  Time to face that Demon head-on!!

Grab the eraser, the blueprint is changing again

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“We must be willing to get rid of the life we planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” ~ Joseph Campbell

~~

We are all designers and if I have learned anything in my 45 years on this revolving orb of surprises it is that life never goes according to our intricately drawn plans.  Maybe it is the shifting tides or global warming or an ill-timed sneeze in the wrong direction that erased the lines we had drawn on our personal architecture but the structure of our life always ends up being different from what we had originally anticipated.

blueprint1

Somewhere between concept and construction, the lines of communication are interrupted and life continues with one plan while we are left scratching our heads looking at the original drawings and wondering what happened.  Life is never exactly what we imagined.   And if yours is I applaud you and you can stop reading because this will have no bearing on your perfect life.

Adapting to change is something we are all too familiar with – the capability to shift our focus and rebuild a few walls to maintain the structural integrity of our lives is of key importance.  The giant eraser of fate can remove one small line in the rendering of our life and change the bones of the entire skeleton of our reality but it is how we learn to live the life that was meant for us that makes us successful.  Being able to leave the old drawings behind and start building again based on the updated sketch is what life is really about.

Maybe those blueprints we so carefully drew helped to build the foundation of our life but I’m willing to bet a little something called fate is going to fill in the rest of the lines for us.

How close is your life now to what you thought it would be?