Category Archives: truth

Kicking it old school

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A flash of white, a black soft-top and four black tires rolled by the only window to the world outside of my office.  I was mesmerized.  This 1976 Triumph TR6 rolled by my mundane, paper-pushing existence and I have to admit I drooled slightly when I saw it.  I was afforded the opportunity to get a closer look and I am wont to say I immediately developed a school-girl crush.  It was in great shape and sounded even better as the throaty engine responded to the shifting gears as it pulled away.

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(image credit)

I love classic old cars.  I don’t know what it is that makes them so much more enticing than the cars of today but I have always been attracted to their sleek styles and rugged good looks.  There is something so alluring about a car that has so much character and doesn’t blend in with every other make and model on the road.

I have always said if I ever win the lottery, I am going to spoil myself and buy a Morgan Roadster.  It has been a dream of mine for a very long time and one that I hope will come true.  Oddly enough, I truly fell in love with the Morgan when I watched the movie “The War of the Roses” with Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner.  His Morgan was his baby, his pride and joy, and as soon as I saw it I knew I loved it.  It would be years later that I would discover my father in a frozen-in-time photo in Florida standing in front of his dream car – a candy-apple red Morgan Roadster.

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1957 Morgan Plus 4 (image credit)

There have been many moments of my day-dreaming when I pictured myself tucked behind the steering wheel, the feel of that wheel held firmly in my left hand and the gear shift comfortably in my right.  The wind-stream billowed over the top of the windshield and my hair blew in the breeze. (okay, I have really short hair but you get the idea)

I am a firm believer that if you put the right energy into the universe, that energy will come back to you.  I have been, and will remain, a person inspired by positive energy and will continue to live in the hope that this energy will come back and my dream will come true.  Six glorious gears, British Racing Green and open roads for miles – the energy is out there and now it just needs to come back.

 

Cooking for one doesn’t have to mean Kraft Dinner

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I am the only living creature in my home who consumes “people food”.  Callaway likes to protest as often as possible which results in some fibrous vegetables going into her mouth and subsequently my ruing that decision once the foul odor of processed cucumber and lettuce assaults my senses.

Living alone has its challenges but cooking for one is not even on the list.  I love to, not just cook but, create in the kitchen.  Just because I am only cooking for myself does not mean I take the easy route and buy horribly processed pre-packaged easy to serve meals.  I opt for the more labor intensive, home-cooked, real food.

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This meal took 30 minutes to prepare and was delicious.  Fresh beef, a portion of a bag of small potatoes and an onion created this tasty home-cooked meal fit for one.  It took one pan and two small pots, one for mashed potatoes one for fried, dusted onions.  The preparation was easy, the cooking process was simple and the taste was phenomenal.  The result was so much better than a store-bought meal.

Cooking for one doesn’t have to be intimidating but it does take some practice.   There are a plethora of options that are easy to prepare, that are healthy and that make great leftovers for lunch.  You can even make a full recipe and freeze it for future meals but I spoil myself most of the time and buy fresh ingredients each day.  I find I spend less money doing that than I do buying in bulk and freezing food that I may forget about and never eat.  And fresh is always the best.

What is your favorite meal when you are cooking for one?

 

 

Dare to dream BIG

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Dreams come in all forms.  The one I had last night was a prime example of all of the outside forces in my world coming together in a blend of incongruous ideas.  But dreams keep life exciting.  Dreams are the wishes we make for ourselves and hold close to our hearts.

I have several dreams – some seem absolutely attainable and others seem light years from my perception of reality but I hold those dreams as close as the wishes that dangle at the tips of my outstretched fingers.  Those delusions of grandeur make me strive, not only to succeed but, to make my life as close to my image of perfection as possible.

Dreams give us motivation.  Dreams make the mundane tasks of everyday life seem that much more bearable.  Dreams can transport us from reality into a glimpse of a microcosm so far from our daily routine that the mere idea seems absurd. But those dreams give us hope.  Even though those desires convey the impression of being impervious to our concept of life as we know it, we still need to maintain the assumption that dreams come true. The strength of our imagination makes dreams become more plausible and leaves a door open to a world beyond the essence of our day-to-day life.  Those dreams make us breathe.

My dreams have no restrictions.  I dream small and I dream big.  The image below is one of my big dreams and one that I cannot seem to let go.  I want to own a Morgan.  I have had an infatuation with this car since the late 1980’s.  I can visualize it in my driveway.  I can picture what I am wearing when I drive it.  It has gone from passion to craving.  Oddly enough, I was looking through some old family photo albums and came across a picture of my dad standing in front of a Morgan on one of his trips to Florida.  I had no idea this obsession was genetic!

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(image credit: retrothing.com)

I will never give up this dream, or any of my dreams.  The intensity I feel when I think about this car only fuels my desire to make this dream a reality.  Many of my dreams may not come to fruition but that will never quench my desire to make those fantasies become real.  The day I live without a dream is the day I stop living.

Never give up on your dreams.  The day we stop thinking we can have something is the day we give up.  Dreams give us hope. Dreams give us a drive to succeed.  Dreams make us realize that all things are possible if we only choose to believe.

An extreme tolerance for all things organized

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I was chatting with a good friend about similar idiosyncrasies we have when it comes to organization and storage of many items around our homes.  I, like him, choose to have vegetables stored in the fridge with other vegetables, condiments belong with other condiments and canned goods deserve to be recognized at first glance because their labels all face outward from their designated cupboard.

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(yes, this is my cupboard)

Having this conversation with him made me feel normal.  What I had deemed to be slightly irrational behavior on my part, we agreed, is theoretically more of a sensible thing than a labelled disorder.  I like things to be organized.  I like the feeling of order and knowing I can find something quickly because it holds a place where it should be found.

I love to cook so having all of my food items readily available and easy to locate makes my life much easier as does my cooking method.  I learned many years ago from a very wise teacher to clean as you go.  As things are boiling or sautéing,  you can be spending those idle moments closing cupboards and drawers and cleaning the dishes that you have already used.  There is nothing worse than cooking for hours only to be faced with a mountain of dirty dishes at the end of the prep work.  This is an unnecessary evil and one that can be alleviated by cleaning as you go and potentially reusing some of those same dishes to cut down on the clean up.

The three letters OCD have been beaten into submission, rendered unconscious and left for dead.  I knew I was bordering on something that could be defined with three simple parts of the alphabet but O, C and D was not the combination of letters that I felt defined my habitual tendencies.

After careful consideration and a willingness to admit that there may be a convenient label for me, I feel comfortable conceding to the fact that I have ATD – Attention To Detail.  This affliction is not discussed in medical journals nor is it recognized as a treatable disorder but I feel confident that, given time, more people will hopefully become afflicted by this chronic need for organization and cleanliness.

The tagline of our first group meeting will be – “Put it back where it belongs and close the drawer all the way”.  We are currently taking well-written and grammatically correct submissions to become part of our team.  Applications should be double-spaced in the font of your choice (Times New Roman).

 

 

 

Giving myself permission to feel joy

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“Find the place inside where there is joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.” ~ Joseph Campbell

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(image credit)

This past weekend was more painful than I anticipated it would be.  Saturday was the one year anniversary of my mom’s passing and the anguish of losing her took me by surprise all over again.  I awoke at the exact time I received the dreaded phone call last year and spent the remainder of the day secluding myself from society, friends and family.

It was a much-needed hibernation from reality and time that allowed me to reflect on all of the happy memories and not just dwell in the sadness.  I was able to observe many moments of silence and stillness.  Those quiet moments gave me permission to initially grieve but then to take that grief and smother it with thoughts of a happy life spent with my mom and my dad.

After recognizing my mom’s passing, the ninth anniversary of my dad’s passing occurred two days later on Monday.  As it happened on Saturday, I awoke at 2:15 am on Monday, roughly the time my dad passed, and spent many peaceful moments remembering the good times with him.

Grief can be consuming but joy has a way of quelling the overwhelming emotion and allowing happiness to rise to the surface.  It is difficult in times of sorrow, especially when remembering a loved one who has passed, to be able to bring joy to the moment.  But those who have left us would want us to feel nothing but joy.  My parents would be sad to know that I am still grieving and not embracing the spirit they had when they lived.

It is that force that drives me to find joy in my sadness.  It is their energy that wills me to move beyond the grief and remember their lives in a happy way and not cling to the heartache I feel in their absence.  I will always grieve the loss of my parents but I will also begin to give myself permission to bask in the joy I feel having been a part of their lives.  Hopefully, in time, I will be able to carry that joy into my future and the joy will burn out the pain.

Every little bit counts

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Every person is made up of bits.  Bits of humor mixed with bits of wisdom and intelligence and a few bits of humanity thrown in for good measure.  All of us have bits of our selves.  Some of those bits we share with the masses and some of those bits we only share with those closest to us.

Along our journey through life we choose to share the pieces of ourselves that we feel deeply connected to but we only choose to share them with people we are drawn to, people who will truly appreciate those bits of us and will find those bits endearing.  We all have good bits and bad bits.  There are bits of our past that are tainted but the true friends in our lives will see past those bits and realize they made us who we are today.

When you make a connection with someone who understands the pieces of you that make you who you are, the feeling of comfort is instantaneous.  The bits of you that made you self-conscious no longer exist and you find strength in the bits of you that you once questioned.  Those pieces of your life that seemed foreign now fit into the bigger picture and the puzzle is not nearly as puzzling.  And those pieces of you that you chose to share somehow find a home in the hearts of those who truly get you.  

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(image credit)

At the end of the day we are the sum of all of our bits, good and bad.  It is the strong forces in our lives that will accept us as the accumulation of our bits and look at the whole picture, not just focusing on each of the parts as individual pieces and labeling them as good or bad.   Those people don’t enter our lives very often.  When they do come along they leave a lasting impression.  They will love you to bits and love all of your bits.

The year that went by in what feels like a month

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A year ago today, my brother and I lost the most important woman in our lives.  We released butterflies at her celebration of life and we see her wings in so many places.  I wrote this poem for her.  We miss you mom.  xo

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You left us in the early hours,

so peacefully your spirit would roam.

Through a gentle wind and the rising sun,

He called to take you home.

A ladder was built for your journey to light,

each rung meant to make you content.

While bathed in the glowing light of rebirth,

you gracefully began your ascent.

Loving arms awaited you there,

curling you into their embrace.

Heaven welcomed an angel back home,

 rejoicing her love and her grace.

You leave behind your spirit and joy,

in those who loved you each day.

While our days will be saddened by the emptiness we feel,

we know we will see you someday.

We celebrate your rebirth and your newly found wings,

by releasing these spirits of transition.

And hope we can do honour to your memory

by carrying on your tradition.

Learning to laugh at yourself

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I hope you will all indulge me this week.  March 7th looms and I would like to keep as many happy memories as I can at the forefront of my brain.  Since my mom can no longer comment on what I post, her ethereal embarrassment shall be something that will hopefully make us all smile a little.  Some of my best memories are of the funniest times in my life – the memories that made me laugh until I cried and that same laughter that made my mom wet herself.  This is one of the memories I love.

We have always been a family with pets.  Dogs have been a strong presence in our lives and in the early 1980’s mom and I would walk the dogs down the back road that was close to our house.  On one of our walks, our Golden Retriever, Brandy, decided to take it upon himself to walk our Lhasa Apso, Misty.  He took her extra-long leash in his mouth and proudly sauntered down the road, not looking back.   Only mom and I could see the leash wrapped around Misty’s body and, when there was no slack left in the long leash, Brandy dragged Misty down the road backwards for about half a kilometer.  That moment wasn’t just funny, it was absolutely hysterical and mom and I laughed so hard she peed her pants.

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Now, in the 80’s velour was all the rage.  Mom sported many matching leisure suits.  They were comfortable, they were stylish, and they were surprisingly absorbent.  But the variation in color could not hide the fact that my mom had peed her pants.  After we collected ourselves, we made our way back to the house.  We had a crowd of friends over and, knowing that, Mom was in stealth mode, maneuvering out of anyone’s peripheral to sneak in the back door and head for the laundry room in our basement.

She quickly changed her outfit and headed back up to the living room, thinking she had averted humiliation.  What she had NOT counted on, was that her traitor of a daughter had already broadcast the episode to anyone who would listen and had even thrown in some play-by-play action in slow motion.  Not only was I laughing but everyone in the room joined in, even my mom.

That day I learned one of the greatest lessons she ever taught me, even if by accident – if you can’t laugh at yourself, you will miss a great deal of enjoyment in your life.