Wednesday, December 21, 2016


I went searching
for my dying voice
it was hard to find
muscles broken and heart soiled

I found that place
Above the heart
Where we sit like strangers
On a fast beating train

We are free
Passing Regal castles
That broke down decades ago
red carpet, secret passages, and golden statues

Inside my throat are fireflies
When I laugh with you; they flutter
to the last few notes
I play on the piano of memories

We translated from paper
The black spots on the page
Into clear spring air
Into love and ideas, there, and then gone

Unseen as the wind
Passes over my chapped hands
But heard like a message
Landing hard on our ears and mind

I went searching
For my waking voice
Not afraid to look
At the music and sing.

Sunday, December 18, 2016

All in a Winters Day

Windowless, the outside, rain falls
Summerless, the snow fades
Races down mountains
And raises the eyebrows of the ocean

Roads, iced, with falling and rising
Of temperatures -14 to +14 all in a day
The castles in the hills block the sun
And the child skates in the road

Comfy boots, mittens, and hats
Mom dresses me like she does the Christmas tree
Reflective, merry and bright

In the darkness of this season.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

And the page turns

 Frosty 2011
Carla asked me today why “all of a sudden” I wanted to do this.

I sit on my butt for 8 hours a day, then sit on my butt to sing, and then to write in the morning and in the evening. I’m not young I’m forty and walking to and from work doesn’t seem to be enough to keep me in shape. I’ve always been active until the last couple years. I set up ball rooms at the hotel and was on my feet all day with catering as well. I used to say you’d never see me at a call centre. But here I am. 

I’ve always put being active and starving myself first until I started getting very emotional after I did physical activity and put my singing and mental health first. I got fat but I was happy. I eat the food I want to and am happy. But I’m used to being in shape; skipping down the hall and jumping up and down when I’m excited and not being out of breath or having me wonder if the people around me are wondering what the fat lady is doing. I weighed 225 the last time I was weighed at the Dr’s. She didn’t say anything about it but she could have.

I’m frightened but excited. I know how I learn and how out of shape I am and that there is not an inkling of a desire to want to do a burpee. I firmly believe that I will need to be tricked in physical fitness. And nutrition.

I don’t want to be hungry, sore, overwhelmed and cranky. That being said I’m dedicated and work really hard at what I want to achieve. I write and sing almost every day. And love knowing that I’m getting better and stronger.

My current revolving goal is to be able to run the centennial trail route I did a few years ago and Carla wants me to do boot camp in February. I don’t need to be 130 Again but I need to be healthy and happy.

I need to watch my diet a little more carefully.
I like stretching and music.
I want to know what an hour with you would be like
I want to know how much you can help with my diet.
I want to know what you are like as a trainer.
I want to know if twice a month will work; I don’t have much money
I want to know if there are things I can do at my creaky old house
What do I need for cloths Where do I get them?
Are you going to make me drink 8 bottles of water a day and eat lentils?
What happens if I lose my shit and have an emotional day?
I’m on a shit load of anti depressants does that matter?
I need to eat three times a day with protein or I get cranky.
Lettuce hurts my soul
No dairy no gluten nothing that walks on land.
Currently corn chips and pasta; fried eggs and salmon and frozen broccoli
I’m hoping that being fit will make my singing voice better too
Oh hummus, stir fry in a bag and hot sauce too
I have two hours free in the evening what’s the best activities for working out
I’ve always had an issue with food and being skinny. I want to do it right this time. It doesn’t have to come off fast I want to be set on a path of maintenance and strength and endurance.
I have no idea how to get back into shape after being this out of shape.

Part of me feels like it’s impossible But I did get my voice back… maybe just maybe  

Friday, December 9, 2016


SO it’s New Years resolution time. It’s been a few years since I’ve written up the future.

I was ready to write the resolutions this morning. I made it to the coffee shop and realized I forgot my journal and there is only so much writing I could do on the cell phone.

There are two big things in the future that I’m working on: One is a personal trainer. I have a consultation with a trainer next Friday and we’ll get to see if it will work between us . I want help with my diet and ease myself back into some sort of physical fitness.

The other is to become affiliated with a political party that I believe in. I realized that with the American election, it’s not just believing the news and scratching an x on a piece of paper. They’re not “all the same” I want to do more for people be more aware of the people factor in this world and believe that this may be one way to do it; And if not I’ll keep looking but I’ll start looking.

I want to keep writing in the morning from 7-8. Right now it’s just journal and bare bones, but there’s no reason why I can’t use my lap top. Have it there when I want to put the skin on some of the bones.
I will keep singing after supper and my chat with me “mudder.” And that leaves 2 hours in the evening to get done what needs to be done.

Right now reading doesn’t seem like a priority, which is sad when I see all the books on my book shelf that I want to read, but can’t get past the first page. I do have Robbie Robertson’s Testimony that was just released, Tini has inspected it and it passes. So in a year where I didn’t read very much my resolution for a new year is reading “Testimony.”

Take care of my cats pay my rent/utilities and listen to lots of music round out the list. It should be a good year. Unless of course America implodes on itself and Justin fills the west coast with pipelines.

Monday, November 21, 2016

40 Years and Then Some

SO there’s a lot going on in the world right now. And I want to say I’m on the side of peace and love and equality. That I want to support the people at Standing Rock and hug the people in the states who are scared right now. In my own country I want to keep hearing news about our own environmental healing as a country as well as the search for answers to the missing and murdered indigenous woman and the list goes on.

I want to say I’m scared with you and am trying to sort out the fact from the fiction. I don’t know if that’s easier or harder being in Canada. Being in Canada I don’t want to feel complacent that just because I can live life pretty much exactly as I want, (a little more money would be nice) but I have religious and scientific freedoms to choose bits and pieces from those freedoms that I want.

 I have, for the most part, as a woman, access to abortion and birth control and can watch all of my friends get married no matter their sexual orientation. The thought of Our closest neighbours all that they have gained and the affect it will have on the world is frighting.

 I don’t get harassed on the streets or pressured into church or in a domestic life, as a mother, when it’s never something I’ve been interested in.  

This morning sitting at the coffee shop doing morning pages and sneaking peeks at my phone (free wifi). Gave my heart a chance to wake up to the fear that is going on around me. Express where I feel I am in it all.

I thought about being on this earth and stumbling through the last 40 years only to get 100 times better as our neighbouring country goes into turmoil. Donald Trump along with Standing Rock and as always the threat of ISIS.

Maybe my healing and understanding can reach out and touch people who are still angry and mad. Teach them to not hate people they’ve never met, and to replace it with love, no matter how slowly with forgiveness to those they have hurt and have hurt them. Maybe, in me reaching out, I can find people who are ahead of me and teach me even more to grow to love and for me not to hide because someone who I “Know” is wrong thinks that I’m wrong.

If worse comes to worse and a lot of us are not sure how bad this is going to be but when you pull out Hitler as a comparison, it’s projecting, not only, to be really bad, but to get much worse.

I was always moved emotionally by stories of Nazi Germany. I’m mostly German.  I’ve always felt like I lived a past life somewhere in Nazi Germany and there’s a feeling like it’s coming around again.

Our hearts need to be listening this time, our logic needs to tell us "that new job is not worth putting people in a ghetto and placing stars on their shirts and lining them up…" 
Our hearts need to have learned in the last 100 years from science from history, from fiction from Stephen Spielberg, from our friends and our neighbours.

I guess, the last 40 years have been spent on Animals rights because for me and how I was brought up, in the belly of an animals shelter at age 10, I was doing OK, the animals needed more help than people. Maybe the people need me a bit too. Maybe I’m getting strong enough to help.

Coffee Promises

I did something different today. I went out for coffee, at 7 am. I went to the new coffee shop down the street. I had my coffee fix for the day and got my morning pages done. Lately given the choice to write or fall asleep on the couch, I go for the later. I can’t open up the porch anymore as it’s too cold.

I know you’re asking yourself…

“Didn’t Frosty give up coffee last year?”

Why yes: yes I did!! For a whole year, but I’m back on it and my body has no, and I mean no resistance to it. My butt might as well be lit on fire, I get that wound. I don’t like being that wound, but it beats struggling to stay awake during the day.

Going to the coffee shop was a great experience for me and has put interest back in morning pages at least. It gives me a safe place to write and the motivation to do it. I just did clearing this morning mostly writing about dreams and feelings about what I was doing.

It feels a bit like the body is invigorated, that writing has a chance to wake up after slumber.

It has followed a great week of vacation. Where I relaxed and had two major a-ha moments one musical and one about my strength both emotionally and with friends who support me. I gained a little more courage within myself while walking around in a world that I don’t always understand. A world with many people.

SO now I move forward into this new adventure at the same time as overtime gets introduced back into the picture, so we’ll see what the balance is.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Birthday Come True

You see it started with a night out with some friends it was a Saturday night so I expected to be a little messed up Sunday eating most of the groceries in my house that were close at hand of course I got the day after crazies on Monday.  I bought chips and pop from the machine ate all the cookies in my lunchbox before lunch. I then spent the afternoon at work devising the perfect birthday party 3 months away, and doing my work.

You see 10 years ago I spent my birthday alone in my parents’ house. I turned 30; a failed thespian and filmmaker with crippling depression to the point I couldn’t hold down a Job. Probably didn’t want to hold down a job and people weren’t patient with my emotional situation. There were a strong men ready to take over my job.

SO this year I had a birthday come true. I had some of my friends, the ones who could show up on a Wednesday night, come and meet each other and have dinner together. I wasn’t alone like I so often am. It was the best mistake I followed through on. 

Happy Izzy Gotchaday

Monday, November 14, 2016


As the sun sets
And after weeks
Of writing lines
Not sentences
Not paragraphs
I am re introduced
To the novel I was working on

So many things have changed about my ideas of life since starting the novel. The way I believe in love and people and children completely went in a direction I didn’t expect it too, but as I read over the outline and the outline for the first chapter I was pulled like a magnet to a piece of metal. And there was warmth and comfort and tension as I read over the half written Ideas. I was pulled back into the writing of this novel, the listening to meditation music and the climbing into these words and characters. I can do it, I can write a novel.

I can make up this world and these people in my head as I curl up and end the day, after I write songs and sing songs I will spend my evenings on writing the novel I will have the first chapter ready for January whether it’s chapter one or not, I don’t know. but for the next two months instead of getting caught in the face book jungle the twitter jungle I will write my story and let it take me away to another world

As the sun sets
I will work on outlines
Until the novel is ready
I will do it however I need

To get it done.

Monday, October 31, 2016

Ashes Ashes

When the warm fire of the camp
Is burned down
I'll be your midnight
When the nightmares come alive
I’ll be the river’s water
To wash the ashes away

Ashes like tears
Water and diamonds
On your fingers and toes
Ashes like tears
On the crest of your cheek

The mermaid inside me
Becomes the girl in the dress
Waves of the ocean
I’ll be the kiss of the princess
On your ashen cheek
My lips, like stories, touch

I touch your neck
And the hair on your face
I’ll be your midnight
When the sweet dreams
Sweep over you like
Flowered dresses, I will run

Far away

Ashes like tears
Water and diamonds
On your fingers and toes
Ashes like tears

On the crest of your cheek 

Thursday, October 27, 2016

I have confidence in me

I wish I knew then what I know now, I wish I knew that all I had said and done all that I told others I believed I believed myself. About being single about loving myself as I am. I wish the passion I had to stand by me was as strong as the logic I used to argue my independence.

I knew what I was doing was right for me at the time I had no idea how right I was
I thought I was missing something by not being in a full fledged sexual\romantic relationship I thought it was a big deal that no man had ever said “I love you” to me in the heat of passion I thought I had done something wrong or people would make fun of me if they knew the truth.

I think of all the tears because this boy and that boy didn’t know I was alive. 

But after an attempted and failed whatever that was; As I make peace with my apartment and myself and the quiet and the kitties I realize that for me, what I have been doing, has been right for me. The confidence I gained in two weeks in my real friends and myself, the fact that it was pointed out that I do love people and that I have friends that know I need to be alone and know I need to be with them at times as well was priceless.

I’m different, always have been. 

I remember trying to come to grips in my mind of how to love everyone equally and still fall in love with one man more than the rest. It never made sense to me. And you know what? It doesn’t have to. I can be strong and confident in who I am and who I need to be. And that’s where I am right now, curled up in my bed with my laptop trying to sort out my emotions because that’s what I do.

I wish, if I had one wish tonight, it would be to instill in people of all ages and all genders the confidence I received this week in learning; what I didn’t want, in relationship to all that I had.

That for me Friday night home alone with my piano, my white cat listening to me sing, the calico doing whatever the calico does and my laptop ready with words, is better than anything else. And my real friends will shine through and we’ll have dates that are my style of fun.

Wednesday, September 28, 2016


There’s a cut
Across my heart
A broken string
Held on to my friendship
With you

I hear, little feet
Across the floor
It’s 4 am make sure
I’m still the constant

We adopted each other
From a cage in the heart
One night you whisper
Thanks constant

Listen, little heart beat
Against mine
Learning she’s safe
My place like concrete
A constant

The constant is here to stay
You can leave if you like
But the constant is here to stay

I hope people show up on
Oct 3rd at every shelter around the world
Ensure a life isn’t senselessly
Taken away and we show
The world we are

I wrote this poem about people giving up their pets when they get married or have children or move and how much my cats depend on and trust me even if they are giving me the stink eye. I didn't know how to finish it until the pit bull ban in montreal. I hope the poem speaks for itself but if you can't take on a pit bull, know that there are thousands upon millions of homeless and neglected animals that need help. On Oct 3rd if you can't protest the killing at a vets office in montreal go to your local shelter or sanctuary and see how you can help: a donation, a dog walk learn about what you can do in your own life to support not just pit bulls but animals in general. 

As I type this my friend is taking time off work because her granddaughter was seriously hurt by a dog attack, and not a pit bull. My heart goes out to her. 

Saturday, September 17, 2016


I healed a part of me I didn’t know was broken. I talked to a theatre friend I hadn’t talked to in 20 years. She mentioned how the acting teacher had this huge influence in where her life had gone. You see she didn’t make it into the Acting program and that was her one dream in life. For a moment when she was talking I didn’t see the connection with me. And then I did, you see I didn’t like the way he taught and so I decided not to audition into the program.

My childhood dream was to become and actress, as was hers. And we put all our effort into getting to DAL and becoming the only thing in life we thought we could be. But we didn't get our dreams.

One day, I sat in class and worked my way through whether or not I wanted to take acting at DAL. I had not understood, that if I consciously made the decision not to audition, that my soul wouldn’t be OK with it. That it was an earth shattering decision to make a 19 in the middle of a theatre 1000 class. It was only last week in itself that I was able to say “It was better that I chose the writing path, because I need writing to breathe.”

Maybe I did need theatre to breathe and have been drowning myself all these years and didn’t know.

I can now stop waiting for that magical theatre moment to reappear. I can stop putting my emotions on hold waiting for my acting moment, to appear to the old washed up dreamer. I wasn’t the only one whose dreams slipped away at dal; I wasn’t alone. But yet I was because I had control over the decision.

 I didn’t even know I was hurt, because I had made the decision, I thought I couldn’t be hurt.
Think of the friends who hadn’t made the decision, whose audition was just turned down and they couldn’t go to a new school.  I send you hugs my friends. May we all have healed.

And so I cradle a little part of me whose dream didn’t come true, and appreciate the pain that was in making that decision; even though I did make that decision, it still hurt a lot.

Monday, September 5, 2016


SO things are becoming a little bit clearer. Which is good, but the changes affect the way I see the world: a lot. When people use to ask me about my writing, I’d always say there was something missing and I’d go to a writing workshop and learn more and always there would be something missing, something holding me back. That piece missing was me. My confidence my health and my ability to write that was all hampered by depression,by me.

I see other people who’ve never taken a writing class be published and succeed and I get hung up on maybe it’s not good enough, so the hang up is still me. No matter how many times I write “I’m good enough,” believe that “I’m strong enough” or look in the mirror and know “my eyes are sparkling enough,” there’s still that part of me that doesn’t believe I can do it, and that’s the part that hold me back from succeeding.

I’m not good enough, I haven’t had the right writing classes, I haven’t had enough writing classes this one will teach me something I don’t know. There is always something I don’t know. But I won’t know it until I do it.

There are many writers that say you don’t know how to write until you write and come up against yourself; no amount of lessons are going to prepare you for what you face when you write your own work and then you have to relearn to write again when you do your second and third and fourth piece etcetera. Even with short stories, we can’t get one sent to the editor, and not have to do a million drafts of the next one.

And so I find that although I didn’t want it to be me it is me that is the catalyst to whether
or not I succeed.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

All You Need is Luv

All you need is love?

But what kind? And by who? And when? And what does it look like. Romantic love, marriage, and children is not in the cards for everyone. Some find out too early, before they really get a chance to hold someone’s hand. And some find out too late, after they’ve spent time looking for the person to take them to that final level and complete them in a relationship or they’ve had children and now they have lost their creativity, their independence, because a flow chart in highschool told you that to be a complete person, you had to fall in love and get married.

There’s not supposed to be any other feeling in the world like having a lover. That we learn about ourselves and challenge each other and teach each other to grow. But what if we hide in that relationship, if we torture each other, hurt each other, manipulate each other. Then isn’t it better to be by yourself; discovering yourself with a notepad and sharpie. A piano and your favorite tune stretching your voice and learning to speak and grow in many different ways?

All you need is love?

We’re proving that love is different than that flowchart we saw in school. Different than what we learned in church camp; that you had to get married to your sweet heart and have some kids. No matter who you are. I wrote myself a letter in grade 5 that said I didn’t want to get married. I thought maybe I jinxed myself as reached my twenties. But maybe I knew something, that marriage and family, it wasn’t for me.

And I did something, I followed my instincts and other people followed theirs. And we ended up where we want to be, I hope.

The flip side to the story is, I have depression, so I'm always left to wonder: would my life be better or worse if I had a lover to sleep with me and talk to me at breakfast time. Would I not have depression if I were married and had companionship with more than 2 cats, a computer, a piano and my friends who fit me between boyfriends, husbands and their own ideas of what friendship and love should be.

If I had a soul mate, if I spent my time looking for love, if I got married to and had great sex and awesome soul feeding fights would I still need Prozac? Or would it matter?

All I need is love.

And only I know what that looks like for me.

Thursday, August 11, 2016


I just wrote a tough little piece, that I will work on and save for later, when it’s all alive and stuff. In it I listed what made me happy, the only thing I’ve liked about myself in the past forty years was being alone. So many people said it wasn’t the normal way to feel that I fought it. I thought I could work with great people and party and all I wanted to do was be alone with my cats and write from the heart.

That’s the truth that’s the pure truth. Kacey’s top forty on the weekend when I could no longer play the piano, my books, and my writing as a kid. Sitting here like this, warm and sweaty, in my apartment in the summer, with words and choices, I chose to live happy. Surround myself with people that I like, not worry about how many people like me and not believe people when they think I couldn’t be happy.

Let the whispers wash away, the voices of others judgement.

When people want their childhoods back they probably don’t want to sit in a little room with blue walls being alone. But that’s what I liked. That’s what I like now. It took me forty years to identify the truth. Now what to do with it?

Monday, July 4, 2016

How Much

I’m alive today
I’m breathing
I’m feeling love
I’m beautiful

Silent and sleep
Over take my body.
Tell me it’s time to rest
When I just woke up.
Tell me it’s time to give up
Before I ever tried.
It doesn’t matter how many I take…
If I don’t do it myself who am I?

Life and death
Pass over my sight.
All I see is blurry
When I have new glasses.
Tell me I’m blind
Before I even open my eyes.
It doesn’t matter “how much” you tell me
I rely on what I’ve seen.

I’m awake today
I’m alive today
I’m good enough today
I’m fabulous

Mist and mire
As I fall deeper.
The sun light turns into fire
Turns into ice mountains.
Tell me I have no feelings
And I will find them.
There are rabbits in these hats

Magic, I am a heart beat.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

Log in the River

 not my photo

I did my morning pages late today, at like about 5:00pm, so I had a day to think about them. I’m at the point where the medication is making me chemically balanced and I can’t imagine there is any more gluten or dairy to squeeze out of my life. This means any depression I have is due to habit or hiding from my emotions.

Some people say they feel fear or anxiety, and it breaks them. My emotional palate is empty, lots of positivity and forgiveness and understanding, but I usually need to be in bed at 8-8:30 because I’m sooo flippin exhausted. Maybe from not dealing with my true emotions?

I’ve heard emotional issues will see a persona having to get rid of the thing that makes them well but doesn’t evolve with them. If I’m drowning in rushing river, a big log will save my life, but soon, to avoid the water falls or to get back to the river side, when I gain strength again, I need to let go of this log.

Sleeping has kept me safe saying: “I love you” over and over “I love this life” or “this life is love” works until I reached a place where it’s no longer to healthy. I have too be able to see the things that are working and give myself “props” for discovering them and knowing to keep them. But as I wrote in my journal there’s only about half of myself that I truly know and love the other half I sleep away and loathe.

It’s kept me safe until now to only love the lovable part, but now, and it won’t be the first time, I have look into the darkness.

I have to know what I forgive and what I need apologies from other people for. I need strength and colour to take the next step.

I’m letting go of the log, letting go of the safety net and giving myself permission to feel and dream what ever I need.

Saturday, July 2, 2016


So it's summer time now and I'm spending the first few days of July at my parents house in the cool fog and rain. The Duncans and I are chillaxing. The world was getting the better of me and I needed to sit and relax.

I had a very good chat with my oldest friend and I shared with her how I'm dealing with depression now. You see chemically I have everything in order. The right amount of Prozac, all the bad chemicals out of my body; wheat and gluten. And there is still a part of me that  is sad😢.

Still a part of me that isn't real yet. Still a part of me that pushes all the emotions down under and sleeps so I don't have to be truthful to myself and others; I don't have time for that any more, there are things that I've started on good days that I need to finish, goals and objectives.

Today I was surrounded by a lot of people I didn't know and a few that I did. I balanced self time and friend time and new people time and didn't get overwhelmed by the end of the market I was at.

I'm home and journaling and feeling balanced and awake which is great. Just the next moment and the next to live through.

Saturday, June 25, 2016


There will be a time
When we have to put you down
And that
                 I don’t understand 
Because I always say
“five more minutes”
And all will be ok
But five more minutes won’t
Bring your body back

We have conversations
With you and there’s
Still a will to live
We have conversations with the Dr
Who mentions quality of life

But your body is
Falling Apart
Not saving your soul
The packaging is damaged
But the soul inside is still strong

Not how I imagined it at all

Monday, June 20, 2016


I’ve had two amazing dreams that I remembered, and wrote about, and that I am working on as stories. One is about a baby that needs to be rescued, after a woman finds herself in a band, after quitting her job and moving away, she rescues a baby and moves away and becomes a songwriter. The big thing about this story is there are big decisions to make, decisions that make the world fall down but turns the world into something better. Decisions that make the world fall down and make her scrape the bottom of the bucket of life. Only to come out happier in the end.

That’s what I’m facing right now, that’s what the family is facing and so my medicine is that I sit and write a fictional story about it and work things out.

The other dream I’m working with is a person who faked her death and is living as a stripper far away from where she started. I haven’t figured out the meaning of that dream yet but man it was powerful, and has stuck with me, and left me with feelings and a story.

My nana banana is in the hospital, she has come back to btown to live out her final days, last week it was all about her and being there for her, but there was no singing and no writing. And I can’t lose my singing again, as I say it, it doesn’t sound fair to pick my voice over my nana, especially because I’m no virtuoso, at the same time I need to spend time with my cats and myself and things that keep me feeling healthy.

Tini missed me so much last week (Izzy is happy in her cat bed, in the porch, in day light, whether I am home or not). And so far this week Tini just wants to go outside. I need to talk about my cats because Nana Banana doesn’t like to talk about cats and says “meow meow meow; go home to your cats.”

I took ½ a day off today to pull my mind around all that was going on. There’s a lot to figure out and come to grips with a lot of emotional turmoil that I sooth with singing and grow stronger with by writing and dreaming and writing some more.

I haven’t arrived at any great epiphanies but I feel more centered and more grounded and had a great Kadoodle with Izzy and a great walk with Tini. And sleep there was sleep.

Friday, June 3, 2016

The Bog

So The landlords fixed my bathroom (thanks) which meant not taking a shower for like four days. Other than the fact that I was the human equivalent to the “Bog of Eternal Stench;” by day four, with the help of a giant yard sale, I was the happiest I’d ever felt in a long time. I brushed it off as a short week of work and a little “Shopping Therapy” -- free books people... But on the night of the fourth day, I used shampoo that I read, just after I used it, had gluten.

And you know what, the next day I had that “I really don’t think I can get out of bed today” feeling I was depressed and it hurt to function.

SO it’s been four days since I switched over to a Gluten Free Shampoo. It’s Dove right now but I need to find something that’s more environmentally friendly and not f’n animal tested. I still don’t jump out of bed and take on the day like a super champ, but It doesn’t hurt so much to function.

Over a decade being gluten free and I never once thought about the Shampoo. “I’m not that sensitive.” I proabably thought.

“What do you do eat it?” asked a co worker. Apparently; it soaks in through your skin, gets in your eyes and drips in your mouth, while you’re belting “It’s My Life” at the top of your lungs between shower drops.

SO if you’re doing gluten free on your own, and you’ve forgotten to read the label on something you take for granted like Shampoo, Hand Soap, Dish Detergent, Gum, Toothpaste take a read and let yourself feel a little better.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Must Be Funny

So I’m not a millionaire yet, in fact this month is really tight, I had a budget for a little more money than what I’m bringing in right now so with that and the fact that my microwave broke I’m out about 300 dollars. 

I Say; “don’t try to steal from my house I ain’t got nothin’.”

So now I can’t do all the things I did last month and the month before. I can’t do all the things I did last year and the year before. And I’m going to have to budget differently now. I used to have enough to play with, but now I not only don’t have a lot to play with ‘Frosty Style’ but I need to take what I would have spent on fancy plates of Pad Thai washed down with mango and vodka and put it into my savings for a while there’s going to be a bit of a change.

I am also sacrificing open mic night and gulp the humongous yard sale for the local shelter. Books and shoes and hats and books and shoes and hats L. But I can do it I can be a good girl and get back into financial shape. Physical shape not so much.

It was such a treat to go out with my friends. To support the local restaurants and chat with friends who could afford the fancy nights out. Now I have to reign it in a bit. But I’m ready I played this winter and I needed it. I can go back to being and introvert this summer and taking care of my cash. 

There’s going to be a lot of tea and writing in the porch as the sun sets.

Thursday, May 5, 2016


The night grows dimmer
The candles glimmer
Listen to my eyes
What they say is wise.

My heart grows stronger
You love me longer
Listen to the eyes
We’ve always been wise.               

Dreams breathe; come alive
I feel them strive
Like a little quake
Keeping me awake.

Reach out and touch me
Feel the light that wants to be
A little like a blanket
With a spark in the dark.

The night grows dimmer
The candles glimmer
Listen to my eyes
What they say is wise.

But what do they say
When the candles play
Cause you’re the one
And only when the days done.

My heart grows stronger
You love me longer
Listen to the eyes
We’ve always been wise.

To the dance in the night
Not afraid of ghost light
Listen to the glimmer

Of my love simmer.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

Cat Mama Knows

Even a cat mama knows “mama I need you now.” The sound of a little voice by the door wanting to get a leash on and go for a walk. “Mama I need treatums now” voice is the same. Tini cries for treats and food. My cat is a child. She’s a very intelligent inside cat and it’s finally spring time. She sees the birds and the squirrels and the sunlight and asks me all day to take her out and I fight it. Probably because I know there is a great possibility she will get really scared or take a few chunks out of me when she sees the neighbours or their dogs. 

But sometimes it turns out to be a perfect little walk around the house, I talk to her and let her lead me she rolls to try to get the leash off and to feel the ground or pavement on her back. We explore, we look for treasures, like poop, or the elusive mouse and squirrel that sometimes dart across our path. For a moment I relax, I stop worrying about all the Sunday chores that need to be done or how much I am going to write or sing today and I’m just with a very insightful and wonderful cat. I like her and what she brings into my life.

Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have children, especially if I think either one of them would be like my cats. I adopted Izzy to save her life and Tini to save mine and that’s what she did today. In her need for attention and outside play she led me out into the sun and onto a mini adventure around a great little houses looking for mouses and making rhymes.

Even a cat mama knows “Mama, you need me now!”

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Imaginary Friend

I met her when she was three. I was walking through the neighbourhood, when she looked at me, and smiled. I felt magic once again.

I met her on this place called earth where most people were blind to me or refused to see me. But my reflection in her eyes lit up the street. I hadn’t felt that much admiration since my babies were young and looked at me like I was their best friend. She grabbed my hair and pulled me home.

Oh, but that was many years ago, and now I am fading. The more colourful her hair, the darker her cloths, the more skull earrings she wears, the further away, the duller in colour I become; the more I fade away.

I ask myself  if I will still "be” when she finally stops smiling at me? The last couple weeks it’s only just as she falls asleep and as she wakes up, that I can tell her stories and they create dreams, sometimes she still believes them.

Yesterday, when she was fighting with her mother I reached out and messed with her hair. Her hand went through me and brushed me away like I was the wind, not the friend she used to believe in.

Now she has a boy over, he tells her stories and touches her hair.

Then this afternoon he told her he really liked her best friend. She slammed her bedroom door with me on the outside. I discovered I had faded away so much I could walk right through the door.

For a moment she saw me, and I became more real than I had ever been before. My mane flowing in the breeze from the open window, my tail swooshing, my horn braded and magic.

“Come on lets go for a ride,” I said. She climbed up on my back and I pranced around her room flying over the bed and dancing in front of the mirror. She laughed with joy and I knew it wasn’t the end.

I let her fall on the bed while her mother knocked on the door. Out the window was a rainbow, although there had been no rain, and I knew it was time to follow all the bright colours.

“It’s okay” she said “I got it from here.”

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Little Viking

Louisa pulled on her sneakers and laced them by herself. This was a trick she just learned and she was quite proud of herself. Her favorite blue jeans, she pulled over her laces and she put on a yellow roots sweater that her mother wore when she was young, like her. Handed down from one generation to another.

The spring was just learning to stand on it’s own a child that would still allow snow to fall. Louisa, an only child ran out in the brown, damp spring grass, and felt the dew splash up on her finger tips, and the water seeped into the cloth of her Keds. Her toes woke up as well as her lungs, in the fresh salt air.

The hill in her back yard went up to the heavens. She was running up to the top racing with her imaginary sister racing each other to the top to look down over their little piece of Newfoundland. Before she ever reached the sop she fell forward, she felt her knees fall into the mud and a ripping sound.

She started to cry, “these are my favorite jeans.” She cried digging her fingernails into the dirt to help her stand up. She would have to look at her mother like this. She stood up and her eyes reviewed her knees. They were muddy with a little bit of red blood on them.

Her defeated tears and torn body and spring mud, it all told her to turn around. Upon turning around there was the little stone she tripped over.

“A heart shaped rock.” She heard that these can help you find your way back home, she put it in her pocket and limped down the hill. She rubbed her eyes and her nose and put her muddy fingers through her hair. What little mud was left on her fingers she smeared on the rusty door knob on the way in the house.

“Mommy.” She said and paused not sure if she should cry about the jeans and the blood, or be excited about the rock.

“What happened?” Asked her mother. And Louisa started to cry pointing at the holes in her unicorn jeans.

“That’s Ok little one.” Said mom, “We’ll get you a new pair of jeans, what have you got in your hands?”

“It a rock shaped like a heart.”

“Look it’s been carved.” Said her mother. “We’ll have to take this to the museum.”

“It’s just a rock, let her play with it.” Said her father who walked out the rusty door came back in and cleaned the mud from the door knob with a sigh, and walked back out. “It a rock.”

Let’s go get cleaned up.” Said mom and she took Louisa to the bathroom with the crow foot tub and ran some water, it come out rusty at first and then clean water came through. Louisa got to pour some Epsom Salts in the water and her mother washed her hair and her hands and her knees. When she got out of the tub they put the hello kitty band aids on her knees and dipped the rock in the bath water. Rocks always become magic when their wet, this one had carvings on it and a little bit of red rock in the middle.

Her father poked his head in the bathroom to see them looking at the rock. “It’s a rock,” he said and went back down stairs after washing his hands again.

“Here” whispered her mother. “It’s still early let’s go into town, and see what the museum says…”
Louisa was in a dress by now her little Hello Kitty band aids displaying like tattoos, she was both proud and ashamed of them Unicorns and Hello Kitty she would soon have to grow up, but not today.
The air in the museum was dry and made her cough, not at all like the air on the hill. She didn’t really understand why she was there until her mother told her to hand the rock over to the curator.

“Looks like a Viking rock to me.” Said the lady. “Let me see that…” Louisa handed it over not knowing she wouldn’t get it back.

“May I keep this?” said the lady. Louisa shook her head no and heard her mother say “It’s just a rock.”

The two adults sat and talked for what seemed like an hour and Louisa soon lost interest. An interpreter, with her mother’s permission, took her to see the interactive display they had on the Vikings in the museum.

Her mother met up with her at the display and she held out her hands, wanting her rock back, but her mother just shook her head and said “Lets go get you’re favorite.”

They went home after a trip to pick up new jeans and some take out supper, only to find strangers digging up the back yard with strings and squares and brushes.

“If it’s just a rock,” she asked her mother, “why are so many people interested?”

Monday, March 21, 2016

You are Beautiful. Yes I am

How different would my life be if I had someone beside me to tell me he loved me and I was beautiful. I wouldn’t have someone who hurt me. I’m strong enough to know that now. I’m strong enough to attract someone strong. I’m strong enough to wake up everyday and tell myself I’m beautiful.

I’m strong enough to know that it’s missing in my life, the positive affirmations that I’m beautiful and awesome. That I’m loved for being me from the outside. I know I am but I don’t hear it.

So I could either sit here and wait for something to come along. Which I will have to do, but waiting takes so long. So I need another plan until “Mr. Awesome” shows up. I need to believe that every time a friend says hello, they’re saying “You’re awesome” and just because they’re silent doesn’t mean the opposite. 

I need to know that I am weakened a bit not to be hearing, feeling, love from the outside but that I can replace it now that I know it’s missing. Every time I sing, write a poem, or smile, I am telling myself I’m worth it and that I’m awesome.  

Every time the poem gets more complicated or the songs gets harder I’m taking chances on myself. I’m learning to get better.

So I’m off to thinks of ways to tell myself “I Love You.” And remind myself "I’m awesome..." Feel free to list the way’s I’ve missed below.

Sunday, March 20, 2016


The roots to the past are blind,
The darkened roads will wind,

The roots are pulled up by the warden,
Like a carrot in the autumn garden,

I hold up my roots strong and tall,
But I’ve never healed my past at all,

When you were a kid and her and her and her before,
Is replaced by gossip and we cover mouths and, ignore,

She has been the one dying,
I’m the only one crying,

As she slips away into my dreams,
Stretching my intuition at the seams,

It’s the only time our stories are told,
And we close our eyes like the old,

Lady who we morn for today,
The otter in my dreams at play,

Saturday, March 19, 2016


There are no angels
There are no men to hide behind
No one to build a castle
For your heart to beat behind
A solid rock wall
You’ve done enough on your own
Some people see their lives as a fire
As a flickering flame
to light and burn
But I’m not ready to be ashes yet
Could I share this life
More fires throughout the forest
More lives like dominoes falling
But I’m not ready to be ashes yet
My past is nothing more than
A nightmare now
Scars no longer feel pain
But memories come back
When I close my eyes
And weep

I weep too hard for there to be fire

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Emotional Suicide

not my photo
Hear the pitter patter
Of the rain on the roof
Bring umbrellas
And laugh as we run
Between the rain drops

Hear the voices
From each others lips
Rather than the voices
Inside our head
Get outside the mind

How the world told us
To be strong women
How our jeans held us in
Like depression A fog-surrounded
Light in the ocean’s mouth

Hear our voices tell each other
We should have become
Mothers to more
Than our own broken hearts
And our over active psychosis

Hear the pitter patter
Of blood drop from our hearts
I will drink my own veins
Rather than roast your flesh
Over an open fire

Hear the Drs last prescription
Of medicated Chocolate Milk
And wash it down with water
From the wells where
The black birds died

One more time
One more day
To find the secrets and
Leave emotional suicide
For another week