Let’s meet for a latte?

My little Sister, Trisha found her way West.  She settled in Kelowna, British Columbia, where life is beautiful.  I don’t get to visit all that often due to the hefty distance to fly across Canada, it’s from the Atlantic to pretty much the Pacific. Trisha and I have a lot in common, from our up bringing, to the love of wine country. Trisha loves cats (a lot of cats) but she has flirted with a dog.  I love dogs and have cared for Mom’s cats. One thing we love to do, is find a time to chat over a latte!

Trisha: Hi, What’s up?  I can drive up Westside Road to the Resort to pick you up around 11.  Will you and Hubby be ready?

Mo:  Sure! But I can drive you know. Why not meet down by the Lake?

Trisha: Nadda. You don’t know how awful that road is, and you are likely to get run off the bank.

Hubby: Tell your sister she doesn’t have to do all the driving. We don’t mind.

Trisha:  Tell Hubby to keep his shorts on.  I am grown up at 51, I will pick you both up at 11.


Hubby: Why not go somewhere normal like Vernon? We can go to Kelowna tomorrow. That way we can avoid that drive down Westside!

A couple of hours later, we were all moseying down the road in Vernon.  It was July and it was hot. We found a reasonable café and we all said, “want a coffee?”  Zip- we were in the Café. When you come from the East Coast of Canada, you don’t know the majesty of trees like you do in BC. Our trees are shorter than BC’s totem poles.  BC takes every opportunity to show off the prominence of their forests.  Even with their café tables!


Trisha: So Mo, what do you think of today’s latte?

Mo:  Slurp. Ummmm. Sweet! Its just nice to rest my feet, so the swelling goes down. How about you? Does it meet your fancy?

Trisha:  It is a nice cup, but I should of had a double shot. My back is nothing but trouble, I didn’t sleep last night.

Hubby: You have to pace yourself, Tiss. We can beat the trails and meet up later?

Trisha:  I am pretty sure that I can keep up with my big seester. (Fun snarl) She just thinks she can out walk me!

Mo: (Eye brows raised.) Slurp.

Trisha:  It’s true! I am doing fairly well post the cortisone shot.  But, I will take it easy.  How were the Kootenays?

Mo: Sis, I get how peaceful this place is.  It is like heaven on earth. But really, these forest fires. I would rather the rain, drizzle and fog.  I mean, the other morning in the Kootenays, I turned over at 7 a.m. in the morning and I started to realize it was like I was in M.A.S.H. or something. That woke me up!  I just knew a fire musta broken out close by. I timed it. I was lying in bed, catatonic! Every four minutes, a chopper flew over the house.  Every four minutes! At the time I thought it was one chopper.  That would be 1.5 minutes to fly down the hillside, one minute to dip the bucket and 1.5 minutes to fly back to the fire. Scary!


Trisha: Okay Mo, deep breathing, remember.

Mo: (Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. Focusing on the stomach not the chest. Crap I can’t figure out how to breath through my stomach! Grrrr, my lungs are behind my ribs.) Slurp. Good Latte?

Hubby: My tea’s not half bad. (rolling his eyes and shifting on his seat.)

Mo: (Fighting tears and struggling to talk) Alright, I know I am nervous.  But the Chalet was 1.5 kms from the highway, scenically nestled in the woods! IN THE WOODS DURING A FOREST FIRE! The dilemma wasn’t lost on me, you know. (Breathe, for crying out loud! You didn’t burn in the loft or anything. People think you are an idiot. BBBreeeathe.)

Hubby: Yah. Mo picked the place. She was on vrbo.com for two weeks. She was down to two spots.  She said one looked so quaint, but she decided on the one overlooking Slocan Lake. She came to the conclusion the other one was haunted.  She said it reminded her of a book she read where a person was murdered.  What was the book?

Mo: The Shack.  Thanks for reminding me.  That really helps, I’ve gotta say!

Trisha: Haha. Nice café, don’t you think?

Mo: (Glaring at Hubby. Hubby shrugs his shoulders.)

Hubby: Did you say there was Croc farm close by?

Mo: Oh God, he wants to kill me.  I am never gonna sleep as it is? (Whine.)

Trisha: Yep, Hubby.  It isn’t too far from here. I think you’d like the guy.  Your type really.  Reminds me of your next door neighbour back home.

Hubby: (LOL chokes on his tea.  Couple at the next table stares.)

Mo: Can I finish my story? (pause, looking for silent acquiescence and getting it, nods and all) Well, the Chalet has curtains everywhere upstairs except over the loft signature window.  So, as the chopper, corrections…the choppers… (looking pensively at Hubby) the choppers flew over the house, I could detect that one was red and one was blue. That was good obviously, so it was at least twice as far away as I thought.  I crept out of bed and downstairs and watched.  I kept timing the choppers. I realized there were two red ones and one blue. Much better. Hubby got up.  I suggested we pack our bags as a precaution and put them in the trunk of the car. You know he said no! (Look of righteous indignation)

Hubby: She is only mad because I was right.

Mo: I suppose you want me to be wrong?

Trisha: (Look of complete confusion)

Mo: Anyway Hubby thought we needed to walk the 20 minutes down the steep hillside to the dock for our swimming day.

Trisha: (Looking ridiculously hopeful and quite condescending) Now you would love that Mo.  I bet it reminded you of the Lake in Litchfield, Maine.

Mo: Oh yah, right! The only thing I had to worry about in Maine was the sunfish who spawned at the end of the dock and kept nipping me if I stepped off the rock in her direction!

Trisha and Hubby: (Glaring by this point and trying to force me into a happy mood)

Trisha: Time to lighten up, Big Seester! (Smile, or was it a smirk?)

Mo: Alright,  after breakfast I was better.  If the pilots knew we were there, and if the fire got bad, I figured they would send someone or maybe warn us. Sigh, we went to the dock.  It was nice, actually.

Hubby: The helicopter pilots even waved. We were fine.

Mo: Hubby’s logic was that if the fire got to the Lake, (rolling my eyes this time), we just have to jump in! Like we could just wait and do that ….


Trisha: Mo, that couldn’t have been much of a fire, by BC standards.  Did you see anything?

Hubby: No.  We went to a great café in Silverton.  I asked the guy who runs it what he thought.  He said the fire was just across the highway and it  is well contained.  No worries. Smile Mo! (It was a demand, not sympathy)  He made you the best latte ever. The one with the bear. It went well with the bear bells you wore all the time.


Post script: In spite of the record forest fires around Kelowna, BC, and Washington State, we are headed back next year.  I am picking the month of May! I will definitely wear my bear bells! Gotta love bears and lattes, don’t ya think?

An Open letter to Boo Boo


Dearest Boo Boo,

You are a handsome short haired tabby cat, beloved companion of Mary, my/ our mother. It took me the better part of a decade to love you. I found you hard to connect with, you needed to do something about your breath and quite frankly, you drool.

Boo Boo, you probably could sense I didn’t particularly like you. Given your sense of smell, I suspect you already knew I was owned by Heidi, the chocolate Labrador. Heidi and I saw you as a threat. In fact Heidi was ostracized because of her apparent threat to you! Boo Boo you know I saw through that hoax.  You would run and take cover hissing at that gentle Labrador.  You know full well that you would take my sweetheart down with one swat of those sharp claws. Your childish histrionics were such a façade to keep Mom on your side! It took me a decade to understand that I would have done the same had I been a cat.

Boo Boo did you see it coming? I didn’t expect your whole world to be put on its ear either.  Your lair was pretty much unchanged until the fatal day of Mom’s fall.

All Mom needed to do was drop her car off at the garage, she did that often enough with that old clunker. It was close to your meal time and Mom needed to prepare your tilapia to go with your Fancy Feast. She was such a slave for you!  So she called the local taxi company and they sent a van to pick her up.

Now the garage was in the country and the parking area had crushed stone.  Mom was already 87 years old and Boo Boo you kept her in such good shape the lazy taxi driver presumed she was in her late 60s. But taxi drivers don’t get out of their vans to help people get in.  That courtesy is long gone.  A van is a high step off the ground and Mom couldn’t see a handle she could grab.  Boo Boo you know Mom, she was filled with personal pride. She was 87 and she should have known it was too difficult for her manage. Her attempt resulted in a bad fall on those awful crushed rocks and she sustained her fourth concussion. That lazy taxi driver didn’t even notice. He drove her home, took the fare and let her stumble up the stairs.  Didn’t he notice the blood on her head or even the blood stain on her leg?

Thank God for our sister, she was the first to arrive to Mom’s rescue.  Boo Boo you must have been stressed. I called in the doctor and he did a pretty good job.  The morphine he gave her was a little too much.  Between the concussion, the coccyx injury and the infection in her leg, she just couldn’t stay at home with you. If she only had a bungalow and lived closer to her daughters, she could have managed.

So I won Mom and you lost. It wasn’t ideal for either of us Boo Boo.  You still needed to be feed and the kitty litter changed.  You were as important to Mom as we were and Mom’s direction was firm.  We were to feed her Boo Boo at all costs. Let me tell you, for a dog lover, that commitment was onerous.

You were so sad. You seemed to think I was Heidi.  Every visit you welcomed me with a hiss.  I couldn’t pet you because you didn’t trust me. Do you remember when I would sit on the stairs and place my head down so you could eventually come and sniff my hair? After many weeks of that routine you eventually let me scratch you under your chin. You were so lonely!

Eventually that loneliness got you ill. Our sister told me to catch you and put you in the cat carrier so we could take you to the vet. By that time you trusted me!  Regrettably, it turned out you were smart.  No carrier for you and scratches for me! I was stupid, because I tried it again.  Thinking back on it, you were awfully desperate for affection or I doubt you would have let me pick you up twice.  I could not get you in that carrier.

Our sister managed you the next day. Perhaps you couldn’t fight anymore.  We met at the vet’s and you were so afraid.  You shook with fear and you looked up into my eyes.  Darn it Boo Boo, I had to fall in love with you that day! Any of my brave talk, “that leaving you in that house alone for over a year was cruel and required compassionate euthanasia’, went quickly to ether. You needed a home. I was going to find one!

You only had bad teeth. The antibiotic worked. You managed to get worms and we got rid of them.  I was beginning to think you really liked me and you were getting sick to make me swoon over you!  But you would vomit and I would get over that fantasy.

I did find you a home over Christmas. Thanks for crying for all 12 nights. It was nice to get you back! I had my short haired tabby stress ball back! But you were still alone for 23 hours a day.

Our sister found a home for you! Only six hours flying time away in Winnipeg. But it was with our niece, the cat whisperer, and her cat friend. Oh and who knew the vet had Paxil! Paxil for cats! We medicated you for a week and boy, oh boy, you were better prepared for the cat carrier. You made it to your new home and Mom and I got your letters and pictures regularly.

Boo Boo, I am sorry we didn’t get along for our first ten years.  I am glad we sort of liked each other for another two.  You were such a bad boy and girls often fall for that kind of guy. I love you and wish you well.  Mom loved you too!  She has already left us for a better place.  I know some day we can all get along together, where cats and dogs can coexist and it is peaceful and bright.  Until then my furry friend!

Blogs that chase happiness, create new blogs

Tonight I visited several captivating blogs:

  • Sheila Rogers reblogged her poem “Fear to Peace”  bloggerjintz
  • Saving Without Scrimping posted Adventures with Groceries
  • David Snape and Friends posted A letter to Me
  • redfacedbutrunderful posted Writing 101 dealing with a loss
  • many others…

I challenged one of the authors above to write a blog post, in the not too distant future, on happiness. He/she had mentioned “I’ve always wondered why it’s easier to write about sad, overwhelming emotions compared to happy ones.” I challenge you to seek out the blog posts above to find who said that!

Most of us seek happiness, but we punctuate sadness. In an attempt to embrace happiness tonight, I want to share one memory! Perhaps a few?

My maternal Grandmother lived to a wonderful age of 99 years and six months. When she was a mere 95 years of age, I was asked by my mother to move into Grammie’s bedroom as a favour to all who loved her.  By sleeping with Grammie, I was sure to keep an eye on her during the night and make sure she was able to get in and out of bed safely, while the rest of the house slept.

Grammie was a ferocious reader, taking on books written by Malcolm Muggeridge and cross referencing them to the bible.  I was completing my Commerce Degree at the time and routinely burned the midnight oil. Grammie saw this as an opportunity to stay up as late as I would and study with me.  This took place in the late seventies and home computers had not reached the everyday household. So we both had desks, covered with our text books, multi-coloured pencils, exercise books and erasers.  In my case I had a Texas Instrument calculator, as I was immersed in university life and needed the latest in technology!

My heart nearly bursts when I think back to those days. You see, as a young woman, Grammie actually attended Bowdoin College of Brunswick Maine. Her father permitted her to attend college for two years, which was a rare privilege given to women at the turn of the 20th Century. I knew that in the 1970s, studying with me after midnight brought my Grandmother back to those titillating years. If my memory serves me correctly, she studied Muggeridge’s  Chronicles of Wasted Time and followed that with a biography on Mother Theresa.  She was captivated by articles written on the work of Stephen Hawking concerning the Singularities of Gravitational Collapse and Cosmology. We sat and chatted about black hole theory, the universe and religion.

Thinking back on Grammie today, I am so very proud of all she accomplished. She was the daughter of a Baptist Minister from Leeds Maine. She married a Baptist Minister who immigrated from Northern Ireland. Together my grandparents lived all over the United States and Eastern Canada. They raised two accomplished daughters, one a teacher and one a nurse as well as a remarkable and adventurous son. Best of all, in my opinion, she helped raise me. She taught me to love learning and pondering what I learned. She taught me gentleness, patience and generousity.

These years created some of the fondest memories I have of her, as too many childhood memories seemed to have faded away. I had the most loving environment in the world to grow up in.  I may have missed the thrill and adventure of living on campus, but I was so fortunate to live at home and have the chance to study with my Grandmother.

Thank you Grammie for tucking me in, 33 years after you passed away, with a feeling of contentedness and filled with happy thoughts. I know you would kiss me on the forehead about now and whisper,  “God Bless and Angels Guard!”


Mo discovered ‘what’s in a quote’

The Merchant of Venice William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

“ If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.”

The Mourning Bride by William Congreve (1670-1729):

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)


“The historical sense involves a perception, not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence”
These three poetic geniuses captured for us all the evidence we need to prove human kind has difficulty with change.

Yesterday I listened to a charismatic speaker drive home the importance of habits when designing the learning programs for occupational health and safety. If you repeat a best safety practice daily and make it a habit, the habit is more likely than not to improve your likelihood of safety. Well, he said it better than that, but he talked so quickly and sped from slide to slide so fast, I haven’t a chance of landing a quote. He was stressing the point of repeating things to permanently learn from them.

Well that lesson made me think about the importance of the years past.

Unlike the fancy fast talking speaker, poets leave their message on a page, delicately written so as to reflect its beauty. You just have to return to it over and over again. You can easily quote it back to others without the fear of misrepresenting.

Shakespeare clearly depicted Shylock, of Jewish faith, explaining his common traits in comparison to the Catholics. He was frustrated and felt discriminated against, misunderstood and cast apart from the large Catholic community. You certainly do not have to go too far to see this same phenomenon in the news today. Very brave souls are speaking to the media today, trying to explain the strife between religious and ethnic divides.

William Congreve took on the theme that so many movies have tried to capture, the fury of a woman scorned. Some of my movie favorites include: Nine to Five and The War of the Roses. A woman scorned is a smart, calculating, vindictive woman. As a matter of fact, I watched a fine example of that today. Some women and some men just have to strike out and make their vengeance real. They quite literally leave their mark. It is talked about, written about, sung about and poems are easily written about this historic subject.

T.S. Eliot said it best though. Pick a historic theme, or a historic pattern and you will see it repeating today! Professor Lee Berger, involved with the recent discovery of one of the earliest predecessor of man, the genus of homo naledi in South Africa. Naledi is considered to be a highly probable link between what we know of primitive bipedal primates and humans. But these are early days and the carbon dating of the bones have not been done. So we do not know if they have discovered the linkage. Professor Berger said “”… we had discovered the largest assemblage of fossil human relatives ever discovered in the history of the continent of Africa. ” But what they discovered was more than bones. It provided evidence of burial rituals depicted in burial chambers.

Once again, I am left with the opinion that truly nothing new under the sun these days.

Today’s writing exercise lead me to reacquaint myself with many of my favorite quotes. Once assembled, I could hear the authors all chime:

You see Mo, history is repeating! Seek the answers in the historic periods of peace and harmony.”

Mo’s Place to Write

Years ago I was obsessed with handwriting!  I must admit I love writing with paper and ink.  There is a lot to be said from the script. If you are absent minded, it shows. If you are feeling happy, the cursive writing is pure and beautiful.  When you are sad, you can detect slow and deliberate lettering. Writing while vexed can look chiselled into a page! A silly mood results in playful stylish curves, going crazy with indentation and sliding down the lines. There is a lot to be said with the stroke of a pen.

Writing with pen and paper was liberating! Best of all, you didn’t need to be at the whim of a battery or plugged into wall. Paper and journals were (are) my most important  travel companions. I could sit on the bank by the ocean. It could be a scorching day, my paper and pen still functioned, unlike a temperamental Ipad that cannot take the heat. I could place my sturdy journal on my lap on the plane, even during take offs! Flight attendants were fine with an open journal, but not a laptop or a phone.  If I was alone, I could sit at a café, head bent above my journal and no one bothered me.  I might glance at other unsuspecting patrons, capturing their mood and conversation on the page and I was rarely caught.  Most people assumed I was lost in thought. Every now and then, something beautiful, meaningful or wise would strike me in the middle of nowhere. I would take my journal and pen from my bag and quickly write it down. I couldn’t help feeling smug afterward, knowing it was pure genius to have paper and pen handy.


Today’s question is where do I write today. I have become a curmudgeon. I sit down in my home office in front of my desktop and click away at the key board. I am surrounded by books, notepads, pens, highlighters, binder clips and sticky pads. I feel the connection of the old and new.  My recent photos are all on the desktop. Visuals are essential for writing today. I keep my door open so I hear my husband as he busies himself at one thing or the other. He will often walk down the hall, look in at me sitting on my exercise ball below the computer desk and declare lovingly, “Blogger!” He carries on with his project. P1010908

Above my computer on the wall are black and white photos of my great grandparents and my beloved grandmother.  The pictures were taken around 1883 when my grandmother was one year old. I am unsure if it was the fashion not to smile in those days, or if it was the Baptist way of expressing yourself, but they are three serious people overlooking my endeavours.  My grandmother taught me everything I needed to know about life! She was the sunshine and the purpose of my day.  I miss her to this very second, but I feel content I can see her everyday and that she watches over me! Behind me is a collage of my father’s parents and relatives.  One photo has my paternal grandmother with Taoiseach de Valera. It was a very big privilege to have such a photo, our family pride in a frame. My father’s family has my back!  They were formidable Roman Catholics. My father was the eldest of 22 children. They taught me everything from the importance of family to the importance of being dedicated and professional. Knowing they are there watching over my work is deeply comforting.P1010910

I no longer carry a large purse or a tote.  I do carry a phone.  This phone captures ideas quickly and accurately. Photos can quickly be taken of a page in a book. There is no need to painstakingly rewrite the page in a journal. I plug the phone into the desktop and all my photos are securely saved until I need them.  But the best feature of my phone is the journal! Once more my electronic journal lets me sit at a café and write a note.  I can still write down observations about people, young and old, while looking pensively toward them. So far I have never been called out for writing up my observations. Someday I will use them to inspire me.  I hope to make those people proud.

Time will let me fully embrace the excitement of electronic writing, but I am also unwilling to let go the beauty and enjoyment of writing with a paper and pen.

Inspiration of tweets

Lev Grossman tweeted: “Why is writing so much harder for me than it is everyone else? –every novelist ever,  secretly to themselves, all the time.”

Well I can relate to this quote, but I am not so sure I am completely uninspired.  Let me think. You are correct. Writing is hard.

It is Friday night and poor little Mo imagines herself ensconced in a busy little pub downtown. It is dark, noisey and smelling oddly of stale beer. Surrounding me are loud, imbibed and happy people, chatting about nothing in particular.

Alas, here I am, poised above the keyboard….thinking….conspiring to be inspired. Think Mo, think more deeply.

Lev, if I can call you Lev, who is “everybody”?

Friday night is the reward for all the hard working, somewhat uninspired people, willing to cast away one night a week and pretend that the week was not an uninspired page in their life. I believe, even the Great William Shakespeare had nights just like this.

So, is it true that for you, Lev, it is harder than for everybody else? I think not.

I can see with my mind’s eye, one William Shakespeare in a local English Pub, tired but looking amused and subconsciously listening to the publican natter on. Shakespeare thinks to himself; “A fool doth thinks he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” With that revelation, Shakespeare is off and writing, As you like it

Lev, it is great to know you are a novelist!

Could it be it is easier for a playwright but harder for a novelist? Where would that leave a mere blogger? Can your tweet, Lev, provide inspiration for such an unworthy little Mo on a dark but pleasant Friday in September?  Is it possible that your spontaneous tweet has unlocked a glimmer, a spark of creativity in me. I like to think so.

And I think, secretly to myself…..

Had I been Juliet, I might say, “Good night, goodnight! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night til it be morrow.” As written by the Great Shakespeare.

I will now slumber until my next blog.

What is in a picture

photo-mid air jump 1-d9ae785dfb2d

When I consider something I have never done before, it can look like this picture.  It looks like something someone else will do, not little old Mo. I have been wrong.

I never dreamt that I would be on facebook, then there I was.  I never dreamt that I would be at the gym, then there I was. I definitely never dreamt that I could jump from the floor to a higher platform, then I did.

I have listened intently to athletes as they shared the importance of visualization. You need only listen to Heather Moyse retelling her Olympic success stories to catch the fever of achievement. Heather and her team mate Kaillie Humphreys won two gold medals at the Vancouver and Sochi Olympics.  Heather was a late comer to the sport of Bobsledding, beginning her training at the age of 27.  She had a serious physical set back that could have sidelined her, but she persevered. She needed the support of her family and before the Olympics made the brave decision to train, not at the state of the art Calgary site, but at home in PEI.  Yes her talent and competitiveness played a huge part, but her ability to improvise, compete and visualize  were also key.

I am the absolute opposite to Heather Moyse.  I am not athletic, I tend to accept that I can’t do physically challenging things and I have not consciously and deliberately visualized achieving a physical goal. Yet, listening to Heather explain her pursuit of a second gold medal in the bobsleigh really tempted me to try.

At our local Goodlife Gym, I eyed the stack of platforms.  I had watched a few others take the platforms out and jump from the floor to the platform in one simple jump. It looked effortless.  Eventually I told myself just to walk over to one of the lower platforms, I picked one approximately 18 inches off the floor. It is important to remember that I have no athletic accomplishments beyond the elliptical and cross trainer. I told myself that I could do it and I visualized doing it.  With my positive and negative voices bombarding me at the same time, I walked quickly toward the platform, bent my knees and jumped.  I reached the platform easily and reverse jumped off again. I repeated this 12 times.  I plan to keep training until I can jump at least three feet off the floor.

Now I know a few more things about myself:  I listen well; I can out motivate my defeatist voices; and, I can still achieve lifetime firsts late in my career.


I grew up singing the Beatles song, “Do you want to know a secret?”

This was the song of connections. It was the symbol of belonging, being trusted, being loved. It was the epitome of transitioning into adulthood from mere adolescence.

As a mere thirteen year old, I had lots of secrets, but no one to tell them to. To admit your dreams, fears or horrors was to diminish your popularity. Heavy secrets were a ticket to internal isolation. Nice secrets were lame and a sign of weakness.  Love secrets were imaginary at best.

No wonder John Lennon and Paul McCarthy asked, “Do you promise not to tell?”

What do we say today? It no longer is considered healthy to keep secrets.  In fact, there are academic research papers that are devoted to the physical burden of harbouring secrets. For those of us who have taken on the responsibility to carry that load, we have done so with a cost.  Secrets are by definition something we are less than willing to share, largely because we expect negative reaction.  The type of secret wages its own cost.  It boggles the mind to read some of the research papers as they equate the burden of carrying a secret to temperature, to weight and the variability.

Having just read the book, Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, I was provided the fictional portrayal of living a life of secrets. It was a painstaking description of a young man, who made stereotypical mistakes of a male youth in a world of plenty that then collided with the outcome of a traumatic event. The book depicted the cost of carrying deep secrets that the owner believed could not be shared as he battled with the desire to be youthful and also to be a sincerely good person.  The internal conflict was cataclysmic. In real terms, the burden of carrying the secrets equated to the ability to engage in real and meaningful relationships, to carry on trustworthy and calm relationships, the ability to sleep, to avoid addictions and cope with day to day activities.  This piece of fiction versus the authority of research may not be so far apart as they seem.

Fortunately, for the vast majority, secrets do not carry that high a cost. Yet, for those who carry them as lifelong secrets, shared primarily or solely with themselves, they will take their toll.

My advice is do not let secrets take ownership of your life. You have your today to live. Find your release.  Perhaps you can write it down, place it in a bottle and bury the bottle in the back yard.  Let the ground and the bottle take the burden. The secret belongs in the past and tomorrow is not equipped to change the past.  Give yourself permission to accept that the past cannot be changed and therefore in the future it loses its relevance. Imagine the contents of the bottle has rotted and floated away on its own and has left you whole.

Do you want to know a secret, oooo ah oo?  No, I have willingly forgotten my own.

I wish you peace.

A bunch of things that bring me to life

  1. Dawn
  2. The sound of the radio
  3. The sound of my husband making our tea
  4. Cereal with Greek yogurt and fruit
  5. The rush of water filling my bath
  6. Recognizing the perfume in my shampoo
  7. Wrapping myself in a warm towel
  8. Pressing my selected outfit
  9. Matching accessories
  10. The chill of the morning air
  11. Gliding through the morning traffic
  12. Arriving at work with plenty of time

A glimpse of Mo

The time has arrived to introduce Mo to the world of blogging!

What better way to start than with an introduction!

Mo wasn’t born yesterday. She arrived toward the later years of the baby boom in a sleepy town in Eastern Canada. As a daughter of a Roman Catholic and a Baptist, she was understandably blazing a newer trail in a town traditionally defined across religious boundaries. Everything was new and to be conquered.

Mo was the fifth of six children.  For the first five years of her carefree existence, she ruled the roost. She thought she was the baby of the family, the principal ballerina, the apple of Dad’s eye. All that changed with the arrival of Trisha. There was no point of crying about it, Mo set out to adapt and win at the family game!

Win at the family game was what Mo did!  She was devotee of Gram-mamma, nuisance to Mamma, adorable to Daddy and a complete pain in the backside to the siblings.  As the middle sister, she made a point of learning fashion from her older sister Kate, principally by taking her best clothes. To demonstrate leadership, she lead Trisha around like her personal slave. Her explanation to Trisha was simple, do as Mo asks and Mo will let you play with her.  Otherwise, Trisha might need to be introduced to boot camp.  For the most part, life was idyllic for little Mo.

Time was good to Mo, and, eventually, she found her way to the altar to begin a happy married life.  That life might have been easier if she had been blessed with little girls. As a child she spent little to no time figuring out how to rule over her brothers. Mo and her Prince Charming were blessed with three boys, the not fashion conscious, won’t take “No” for an answer boys!  Kate and Trisha didn’t follow in Mo’s footsteps. While Mo was raising her successful boys, her two sisters devoted themselves to careers and watched their nephews grow with interest.  Mo’s love of fashion faded as she dedicated her time to work, family fun and providing transportation from school to sports venues to play dates. Meanwhile, Read more