It’s the annual tradition around this time of the year to reflect, and therefore plan for the year to come.

I hate resolutions.

I’ve done it a couple of times, but quickly found that my personality isn’t suited for them. You can start with the best of intentions but then, life happens. Then there’s the guilt and the sense of failure.

I’ve decided to take a different approach. Instead of looking at the things in my life I want to change, that should I fail will make me feel bad about myself, I prefer to look at the beginning of the year as a chance to challenge myself. Last year, it was to say YES to things that are outside my comfort zone.

I started with food. Specifically, Sushi. Then I moved on. To Indian food.

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Mmmmm – Butter Chicken!

I didn’t just leave it to dining out; I tried new foods at home, and it was pretty much a success each time. I liked the idea of challenging myself, and feeding my family healthy, flavourful meals. We have some new favourites now! (Spaghetti squash anyone?!?)

Then there was recommitting to Yoga. It helped that The Big Guy was willing to give it a go. We’ve made Monday night “date night” as we Downward Dog ourselves to healthier bodies!

I’m also trying to look at better ways of taking care of myself. While it’s traditionally accepted to pop a pill or chug a manufactured syrup, I’m trying to figure out WHY I’m ill, pained or otherwise out of sync. A couple of people have looked at me funny when I show them I’m wearing a crystal or using an essential oil to give myself comfort. Those who have opened their minds to these things are quick converts themselves! Keep learning and keep young!! šŸ˜€

So long story short – look at New Year’s Eve as a chance to dust off the bucket list. As I sit here this evening, I’m thinking of what I want to tackle in 2016. It’s certainly more fun than contemplating a diet or deciding what I want to “quit”.

Happy New Year! 2015 was certainly a step up from 2014. Can’t wait for 2016!


For those who are struggling to find the light in this dark time of year…

For those who push away all that the Christmas Season means…

For those who lose sight of the beauty…

For those who think its about gifts…

For those who almost miss the love in search of perfection…

For those who want a Christmas Past…

For those who live for this day, every other day of the year…


May you find comfort in the smallest flame.

May you find Peace in your heart.

May the Beauty of the seasonĀ embrace your soul.

May you receive the gift of meaning.

May you learn that it is perfect, without the perfection.

May you find joy in sharing memories.

May you be an example of what it truly means to have Peace On Earth.



Some people are morning people (The Big Guy). Some people…ahem…aren’t (me).

Some people have so much pep in their step, that you want to put spikes in their slippers (The Big Guy). Some people can get there, but they need a little time to warm up (me).

So, imagine the double-whammy frustration that is TBG on HOLIDAYS! He wakes up almost as early as he normally does, has a big (noisy) love-in with the dogs in the kitchen – which sounds like a stampede of whining elephants with loooong toenails on a hardwood floors in an echo chamber, and then proceeds to clatter and bang his way through his coffee and breakfast routine. Then, because he doesn’t have to head out the door, is the epitome of “Sally Sunshine” when I come down the stairs, exalting the beauty of a 6:30 a.m. with no daylight. He then lists the various “exciting” and “interesting” things he plans for his day. I use quotes because, while I’m sure they are both exciting and interesting plans, I can’t say with any certainty, because my brain is still only on is basic Operating System, which is to say, I’m trying to figure out how to put socks on.

I’m not used to communicating with anyone in the morningĀ since First Born Son moved to college four months ago,Ā as Second Born Son takes after his mother (poor soul) and needs a “warm up” grace period that starts around 7 a.m. I’m out the door right around the time he can form words.

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TBG is bouncing around the kitchen, offering various frying pans and utensils, asking if I want eggs or cereal (answer: no freaking clue – my stomach is comatose!) He comments on what I’m wearing or asks what I’m doing in my day (answer: no freaking clue – that’s why I have a commute to work, to remember what I do for a living)


This continues until I back out of the garage with him waving enthusiastically, dogs circling his legs, and a grin plaster across his face.

“Have a GREAT day!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I will, I think to myself, as soon as I have 100% brain consciousness!


History Crumbling…

For years, I’ve had a fascination with barns. Although the basic architecture is relatively the same, each one has it’s unique qualities. Some have larger ramps and doors. Some have more ventilation. The fancy ones have an aesthetic detail, usually to denote the builder.

But they all have one thing in common; they need to house animals, or they will fail. Any time I see one, I feel as though I should document it; a type of photographic tribute if you will. My heart hurts a little every time I come across one.

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At first you can’t imagine it. After all, these barns were not just housing for the farmer’s animals, but it was a status symbol. The larger the barn, the more profitable you were. TWO massive bank barn peaks were a sign that you were a successful operation. When you consider most of these structures were constructed in the 1800s, you have to appreciate the labor it took to erect them. Without heavy equipment, leverage was the muscle of the day. It was dangerous work.

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Which is why it is baffling that they are being allowed to decay.

It starts small, a couple of loose boards. The wind catching and working on a section of roof. Perhaps the farmer hasn’t had time to repair it. Perhaps the barns are empty and only the land is being worked. Wood ain’t cheap and if the structure isn’t functionalā€¦.

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The elements are unforgiving. Time waits for no barn. Winter loads the beams, the moisture working away and rusting the nails.

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Summer isn’t any better; bleaching out the wood over time. Plants weave their way into the walls of the barn, taking root and forcing through the boards to reach daylight.

2014-01-17 16.54.48It’s painful to see a barn at this stage. Once proud housing for livestock, it now barely holds its foundation. Like a horse that is crippled in the pasture.

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You can practically hear it calling out, “Pull me down. Don’t let me fall down.” A type of mercy killing if you will.

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Because eventually, a storm will come. A wind will blow that will defeat the massive timbers. Gravity will prevail. History will crumble.

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Would you believe it if I told you that this blog has caused me more headaches than if I worked at a hammer factory?! I like to think that challenges such as the ones brought on by this “learning” experience will help me grow, and if NOTHING else, helped me exercise my patience muscle.

So thank you for YOUR patience and tolerance and dedication to this space. I’ve got some fun stuff coming so check in again soon.

In the meantime, check out the new URL! ! šŸ˜€

Will chat soon,