Gallery-Paint · Gallery-Written · Life · Uncategorized

Oh hey, you’re out of Milk- Notes from a stalker.

It’s been said by those that know me, that I come off as a bit of a creep. I can be a kind of intense. And if you give me a cocktail, you can bet I’m turning into a total close talker. If I’m at all interested in you I’m probably going to stalk you a wee bit. You know the usual stuff, gather intel, do a background check, light surveillance, nothing too crazy. I promise its totally innocent, sort of a detached appreciation. I’m actually quite introverted and definitely have no interest in a possessive way. But, I’ll most likely come on too strong, or over share, and send you running for the hills. And even if I’m not at the wheel of my creep-mobile, if you are remotely in my orbit, at some point I’m going to say or do something weird. I’m generally always doing something to embarrass myself.

For the most part I’ve embraced it, I’ve even worn my stalker badge proudly. I love making my friends these creepy music videos, kind of a birthday-gram. They all share the same theme—obsessed fan. It’s all in good fun and thankfully they still accept me despite my special brand of weird.

But in this life long pursuit to connect with those I’m drawn to, I’ve made things weird on a few occasions. Recently I was reminded of one of the more notorious events in my stalking escapades.

I can remember when I first met him. He was quiet and handsome and had dimples for days. I barely knew him, but I knew I desperately needed to know him better. I can remember one time I saw his car pull into the only gas station we had in our small town. It was blocks away, but I ran there as fast as I could. When I arrived he was just leaving. I was completely out of breathe, but I tried to act aloof, managing to squeak out one word. One breathe-less “hey.” He said hi back, hopped in his car and left, and I collapsed to the ground gasping for air. You probably think I’m exaggerating, but nope, that’s me. This is just one example of the many embarrassing things I’ve done when I find myself attracted to another soul. He should have been afraid but for whatever reason he tolerated my intensity and we became friends.

A couple years later we were hanging out just doing the normal teenager thing, cruising around and hanging out with friends. My girlfriends and I were scrutinizing and exchanging the only selfies we had back then, our annual school photos. I was picking my photo apart, but he thought it was cute and said he wanted one. I was embarrassed because I had to give them to my mom first, but I told him I’d give him one later. A normal human being would have just set aside one of the leftover photos. But instead, I spent the evening constructing a giant poster board, using all of them. Twenty or so of the same photo and pose, in every size. The idea was that he would hang it on his wall, and if anyone saw it they would assume he was obsessed with me. A real stalker of my own, swoon! My girlfriend and I laughed the night away at the thought of it. We added blinking lights, shiny paper and tinfoil. The next day I went to present him with my masterpiece. But suddenly I felt a bit ridiculous and started second guessing myself. I was a bit worried he wouldn’t get the joke, and would likely think I was a total lunatic. But I threw caution to the wind, and decided to go for it. I put it in his truck and when we got a chance to be alone I told him to go have a peek. I was laughing, because no matter what I kinda think I’m hilarious. To my surprise he seemed totally unfazed by this monstrosity, he smiled and told me it was awesome!

Awesome? Perhaps this quiet, smiley boy is a bigger weirdo than he lets on. “Let’s go plug it in” I exclaimed. And the rest is history.

The point is, sometimes you are better off just letting it all hang out. I want to be liked and cared for just as much as the next guy, but getting close to people can be scary. I can be insecure, and I make mistakes attempting to do so. Some people get turned off by me, but I’m slowly learning those aren’t my people. Rejection is hard, but I’m a woman of many shades and I’m the only one who gets to define exactly who that is. Anyone else’s opinion is none of my business. Sometimes I’m intense, maybe a bit overwhelming, sometimes I’m introverted, probably kinda underwhelming. But I’m also a loving human being that desires intimacy with others, not in a sexual way, but a spiritual one. I need people I can be totally unfiltered with, laugh with. People who care about my story and remind me that although I feel like a misfit, I’m not alone in this journey. Apparently this is going to be misinterpreted at times, and may scare the odd person off. But there’s something special about it too. So I vow to be myself and see who stays. I’ve had success and found kindred spirits by doing so in the past. And I think those who are brave enough, might end up with a great friend. Someone who will always be looking out for them——albeit through a long range spying scope. Ha! But seriously I can’t help but be me, flaws and all. So I’ve decided to let my freak flag fly! Cause you never know who might be happy to see it.

Words and Art by Jessie Thoresen.

Gallery-Photography · Gallery-Written · Life · Uncategorized

Seasons- Words and Photography by J.Thoresen

You may be like the summer.

Like a beach sparkling in the heat.

People flock to your beauty,

And I know I can’t compete.

For I have an autumn soul,

I’m dying piece by piece.

I know the seasons change,

And the summer heat will cease.

So I may not be as sunny,

Some may even think I’m cold.

But as your summer sparkle fades,

I will still be autumn gold.

J.Thor

Kiddos · Life · Uncategorized

Some love haunted houses or Goblins Green, but I just love my little Mr. Bean

So we have a bit of fun with Hallowe’en!! Homemade costumes just get my creativity flowing I guess. We went for a little Bean-tastic fun this year. Be sure to check out our video! Do you dress up for Hallowe’en with your kiddos? Share your favourite costumes in the comments, we would love to see them!

https://youtu.be/dwBVsqPzMHM

Gallery-Paint · Gallery-Written · Life · Uncategorized

Fear and love for #metoo

My mom was raised by a single mom back in the 50’s, when being a divorced single parent was deeply frowned upon. The woman who raised my mom was beautiful, and resourceful. She made sure my mom always had a roof over her head and food in her belly. But my mom was also raised by a woman with a drinking problem. A woman who could be emotionally abusive, and moved her away from the love of her grandparents and in with whomever she happened to be dating. She was raised by a woman whose boyfriend got drunk one day, and beat her to death.

I had always struggled to understand my Grandma, and moreso everything that had happened to her. I would ask my mom about her sometimes. And my Mom would tell me stories from her childhood, some good, some bad. I asked about the man that had killed her. I couldn’t understand how someone could do that to another human being. I remember at one point, years later, I was thinking about it all and I asked my life guru-Google; “how can people be so shitty?” And Google in its infinite wisdom, told me that every person makes choices in life, and each one is decided by choosing either love or fear.

Fear or love.

I discovered that some people believe all of our choices, emotions and reactions, fall into one of two categories-love or fear. Some even say that fear is simply a call for love. Not good or bad, not right or wrong. As fear isn’t necessary wrong, I’m sure in the past fear helped our cave brothers and sisters survive all of the time. Fear is often our natural reaction, as it’s not always easy to sink below the turbulent thoughts of the mind and into the heart where love resides.

Right now there is a lot of fear, and a lot of people saying we should be afraid. The #metoo movement and everything that was going on with the U.S Supreme Court caused a lot of emotional reactions. It pains me too, picking at old wounds that I thought I had healed. ‘Cause that’s the thing, you can read all of the self help shit you want, but when your past comes knocking anything you haven’t healed is likely going to come spilling out. No matter how many bandaids you used to cover it. Personally I had promised myself that I would no longer just survive I would thrive, but I’m not always sure how to put that into action. And I believe my pain is a sign that I have more healing to do. So I take a little time to reflect, to understand why my friends opinions on the matter are causing me so much distress. I think of all the times I previously ignored my feelings for practical reasons or because I was told that a good girl goes along to get along. I feel angry at all those who ever made me feel powerless, and maybe even angry at myself for the times I chose not to speak up. But I watch all of the arguments, back and forth, and sometimes I think maybe I could explain it in a way to make everyone understand. I wonder though, would anyone listen? People tell their stories but if we don’t understand their perspective we reject it, often trying to dispute their feelings. Or we get angry at them for even sharing, we take it personally, or tell them they simply need to get over it. We are all screaming to be heard and understood, and yet it seems like we are moving farther and farther away from understanding.

Then I remembered something my instructor at a creative arts workshop had said. She told us that the key to creating great art isn’t found in our skill or technique. She said the greatest art makes us feel. She said that art can help us reflect and express ourselves. She believed that we turn to the arts as a way to relate to one another, to understand ourselves and each other when words fail us.

I don’t know if that totally sunk in at the at the time. But her words stuck with me, and lately her words have been coming back to me. An artist tells their story, pouring their feelings into their piece. We may have our own perception or opinion of what we believe the artist is telling us, but we know ultimately the piece is a reflection of the artist- it’s their story, their fears or love. Sure there may be critics, or people that don’t understand the piece, but we quickly realize that their opinion is irrelevant. They perceive the artists work based on their own experiences-their story, their fear or love. The best art makes us feel, it’s not right or wrong. Art is created to help us reflect, not react. To show us an example not an opinion.

And I wondered what would our lives would be like if instead of reacting to everything, we attempted to reflect instead? If instead of jumping to share our opinion, attempting to prove right or wrong, we just let people tell their stories. What would our world be like if we just reflected on one another’s stories, instead of reacting to them? What if we asked ourselves, what example am I setting by sharing this opinion? Why does this persons story make me feel this way? Is my reaction an example of love or fear?

And I thought of my Grandma again. I couldn’t understand what had happened to her or why she would accept abuse in her life. I couldn’t understand her perspective because I would never experience life from her eyes. I would never fully understand what it was like from her side, because it was impossible for me to fully walk in her shoes. But I could understand love and fear. And I could see that although she hoped for love, it was also obvious that shame, depression, and control had been major players in her life. Fear was used as a weapon against her, and fear kept her in her place. And I wondered how different her life may have been, if she had felt able to reach out and tell her story or choose love? Instead the love she deserved was misdirected as she begged and called for it through fear. I think maybe for the first time ever, I truly empathized with her. Her life was her story, anyone’s opinion of her life is irrelevant. Her life is simply an example of love and fear. As is mine, as is yours.

And as I write this it hit me, perhaps my ability to thrive instead of just survive, is bound to my ability to choose love instead of fear. My story is mine. A reflection of me—my fear and love. To hold back would be to succumb to fear, to express myself is to love myself. This doesn’t mean I have to tell every person every sorted detail of any trauma I’ve experienced. But it does mean I have the right to claim my feelings, and speak up if I believe something isn’t right. I won’t fight those who are committed to misunderstanding me because I realize that their opinion is simply a reflection of them-and therefore irrelevant to me. And so I will tell my stories, when and with whom I choose. I will no longer apologize for my honesty, my stories or my art, because it is my truth. Every choice I make adds to the picture that makes up my life. And I just need to decide who the major player will be in this masterpiece, fear or love?

I will examine fear, but I will choose love for #metoo !

What will you choose?

_____________________________________

Hey all! Thanks for being here! I hope you’ll also check out https://smartandsmitten.com/2019/07/21/to-all-of-the-people-i-knew-before/

Gallery-Paint · Gallery-Written · Kiddos · Life · Marriage · Uncategorized

#1in4 Couples experience pregnancy or infant loss.

I have read so many heartbreaking and touching stories this October, and I felt like I had to commend everyone for their bravery. It is not easy to allow yourself to be so vulnerable about such a personal thing. But I believe in my heart that our stories connect us. In times of hardship our stories ensure that we are not alone. And as thankful as I am that these topics are becoming less taboo, I have noticed a recurring theme in these stories and the comments that follow, and I thought I’d take this opportunity to ask a teeny favour of everyone. Could we just stop grading how bad each other have it? One person opens up and it creates a dialogue. Which is beautiful. But for some reason when we speak of our loss, especially pregnancy loss, we feel the need to grade each loss. “Oh Becky, I’m so sorry for your loss. I had a miscarriage last fall, but it wasn’t as bad. I was only a few weeks.”

It wasn’t as bad? Is it really less of a loss? Or just loss? Why do we do that to ourselves?

My husband and I have been trying to grow our family for the past 12 years. In that time we have had one successful pregnancy. I have always said I am very fortunate, because technically I have never had a pregnancy loss. Sometimes I even feel silly for getting upset about our struggles because it seems that some couples have it worse. Which frankly is just nuts. We try to grade how bad we have it in comparison to someone else. And from there we grade to what degree we’re allowed to be sad? It’s ridiculous. I do it too. I say well I have a step child and I birthed one kid, and I didn’t end up needing IVF yet, or I’ve only had a blighted ovum, that’s not a real miscarriage. But the fact is just because someone has it worse doesn’t mean your situation is not hard. Hard is hard. Loss is loss. Whether you have just begun trying to start a family but you’re worrying more and more as each month passes, or you’re a veteran to the infertility game. It’s ok to feel like it’s unfair-because it is. And whether you had a blighted ovum or a miscarriage the truth is you had joy and hope for a new life the second you saw that positive pregnancy test, and to lose that is devastating. So never feel like you don’t have a right to your feelings. As was once said to me; “you were a mom from the first time you cried about getting your period.”

It’s true.

It hurts when your heart is ready, but your arms remain empty. It’s painful, we don’t need to figure out if it’s more or less painful than what someone else is enduring —it’s just painful. That’s all.

Gallery-Paint · Gallery-Written · Life · Uncategorized

Words & Art – J.Thoresen

Feel

I’ve always had a heaviness,

Somewhere deep inside.

An inherent sadness,

I always felt that I should hide.

So I’d swallow my emotions,

Even when they made me choke.

Or just go through the motions,

Maybe tell another joke.

But it never really worked,

It just filled me up with doubt.

Then one day I decided,

It was time to let it out.

It lingers round like smoke,

But I no longer think it’s bad.

I’ve realized I’m ok,

And perfectly happy being sad.

Gallery-Written · Marriage · Uncategorized

Secrets. And the site of the next Humboldt Broncos bus crash.

Edited to add: I wrote this in the fall of last year. This tragedy and the loss of those boys really rocked me. In truth, my hometown is very close to the crash site. I take the long way to my sister in laws house just so I don’t have to see it. I was angry with the methods of operation within the industry, before and after the crash. And was so mad at everyone in it, including my husband for seeming to go along to get along. Until finally, my fears spilled out into this blog post. I intended to open eyes, and I knew that it would bother some people we had worked with. And in all honesty, I think I wanted it to. I thank everyone that responded. Especially those within the industry. But I no longer believe that sharing fear is the best way for me to illicit change. I was going to delete this. But instead I’ve decided to edit it, and add that you always have a choice. I don’t blame the industry anymore. Because it comes down to a matter of individual choice. You may tell yourself you don’t have a choice, but you do. Even I do. And I have told my husband he can do whatever he thinks he needs to, but so will I. And I will report him to the department of highways myself if he chooses to break the law, endanger himself or others just to hold a job or contract. I no longer care if I lose anything of monetary value because of it.

You are welcome to continue reading. But I hope you’ll also take the time to read this as well. As it’s where I am today:https://smartandsmitten.com/2019/07/21/to-all-of-the-people-i-knew-before/

Secrets. And the site of the next Humboldt Broncos bus crash.

September 13, 2018.

Last night I tuned in to watch the Humboldt Broncos and their emotional return to the ice. I watched them with pride, but couldn’t help but wonder whose hometown will be the site of the next bus crash.

This being the Broncos first game since the bus crash that claimed the lives of so many young people, the emotion was palpable. In a city that has become accustomed to tears, fans, friends and family, had tissues ready to try to quell the inevitable sniffles and unshakable sorrow. But as the opening ceremonies proceeded one could see and feel the gamut of emotions, from grief and sadness to excitement and hope. The love of the game is evident here. A new season brings new hope for the team and a step in what will likely be a very long healing process, not only for this community but also our province and country. I think most of us can remember the shock and sadness we felt, as reports of what had happened emerged that day. There was even a worldwide response as people from around the globe contributed to the funding, and expressed their condolences to the families.

And while the new season brings hope and excitement in many ways, it’s also a reminder of the sorrow and grief that this tragedy caused. I know my mind kept wandering, and wondering how the victims families are coping? Or how the survivors and their families are coping? How anyone involved in this crash might be coping?

I didn’t personally know any of the people involved in this calamity. But even despite that, it felt like it had happened in my hometown. This tragedy really hit home. For many reasons really, but for me as a mother, lord knows I’ve had fears and reservations about putting my children on a bus everyday. My heart immediately ached for the mamas of those boys. But it also really bothered me because my husband is a truck driver. The scene on that highway was a horrible combination of my worst fears. And I want to make it clear that I am not here to excuse or condemn the driver involved in this crash. I will leave that to the police and the court system. I am writing this today because the fears I had before this disaster, have since been amplified. After witnessing that horrific scene I’m finding it difficult to remain silent in regards to the reality of trucking in this province.

And while I know that truckers head out everyday, saying goodbye to their families to supply the needs of yours. I also know, that the trucking industry has dirty little secrets that can have deadly consequences. My only hope is that from this tragedy we might see some changes and prevent something like this from happening again.

My husband has been involved in trucking in some capacity most of his working life. Being a prairie boy himself he started off trucking grain, but for more than two decades he has hauled dangerous goods in the oil and gas sector. Although he was farming and learning to drive big equipment in the field before most kids have their training wheels off, many drivers do not have any experience. In fact, in Saskatchewan, (as in most provinces) you aren’t required to have any training. You just need to pass a basic road test and written exam. On more than one occasion in his career he has been asked to ride along with new drivers to show them the ropes, which seems like an excellent idea. Until he came home with tales of drivers who aren’t even sure how to start the truck, shift, or make a proper turn. One of these guys could barely cross an intersection without stalling in front of oncoming traffic. On more than one occasion he has questioned how some of these drivers ever passed a road test.

But sadly inexperience is probably the least of our problems. I will be using trucking in the oil industry as my example in this piece, because the oil sector is what I am most familiar with. But believe me when I say, variations of these issues are present regardless of what goods are being hauled. In our neck of the woods, most semi drivers own their own truck, they sub contract under a trucking company, who bids for work required by oil companies. Therein lies a big problem. For one thing, the top priority of the trucking company is to keep the oil company happy. In order to do so, they ignore the best interests of the trucks and their drivers. They take very little time organizing loads, they cater to oil company employees, and dispatch drivers more loads than they could possibly complete in a legal number of hours. It’s not uncommon to see guys out driving for eighteen hours or more. They send drivers into areas with unsafe road conditions, often ignoring drivers reservations, insisting that the load needs to go. If and when accidents occur they are always quick to flip the script, putting the onus entirely on the drivers. And why wouldn’t they? Owner-operators, and drivers are supposed to refuse unsafe work, they are supposed to keep track of their hours of service and refuse work after this time. It is the law. The trouble is that drivers know that the squeaky wheel does not get the grease, it gets replaced. Many drivers that I have talked to over the years feel stuck. As entrepreneurs they aren’t entitled to employment insurance, they have bills to pay and family relying on them. And although a trucking company will rarely demand or threaten the operators they contract, they do employ more subtle methods of manipulation to get what they want. Drivers who refuse work, complain, or even make suggestions as to how loads are dispersed, are often blacklisted as difficult or lazy. Most often, if they aren’t fired, they are starved out until they can’t afford to stay. Many of the trucking companies also underbid on the work resulting in low rates. Low rates and high fuel costs slowly drive away skilled operators and increase the number of inexperienced drivers. But neither oil, nor trucking companies show much concern. The trucking company makes the same amount regardless of the cost of fuel, or the number of hours they work. And the oil companies save a buck by choosing the lowest bidder. And while oil and trucking companies claim that safety is paramount, it always amazes me how easily they turn a blind eye to these issues. Even though we know these kinds of practices result in more mistakes and accidents. My guess is that because they can’t be found legally responsible, they simply choose not to care about their part in the problem.

Again, I am not going to excuse drivers here. Professional drivers know the law. They know they need hold themselves to a higher standard. But my hope is that we also start to question why anyone would choose to work over 14 hours a day, everyday, putting themselves in a position where they could go to jail, kill themselves or someone else. I know why we have done it; fear. Fear we would lose the work, fear we would fail, fear we would let down the people we work for, fear we would lose our business and possibly our home.

And I don’t know what the perfect solution is. But I do know I can’t get last nights game, or that crash out of my head. I can’t stop thinking of the banners hanging in that arena last night. Each one reminding me of those that didn’t make it to this ceremony. Each one serving as a reminder that there are sixteen families whose lives were forever changed on that April day. Each banner reminding everyone who straps on some skates and gets on the ice, that “we play for them”. Each banner paying homage to the kids, coaches, and staff that are no longer with us, but ensuring that they are “Always remembered”.

Always remembered.

But as I watched those brave boys step back on the ice last night, as the puck dropped, and they held back tears, pushing past their own grief to pay homage to their friends and teammates, I wondered, will we remember them? And I don’t mean just remembering the crash, their names or posting a message of remembrance every April on your Facebook page. I mean every time you turn the key and head out for another day on the road, will you remember them? Every time your company and it’s staff dispatch someone another load, knowing they’re over hours, will you remember them? Every time you speed up, hoping to get home to your family today, will you remember them? Every time your company dispatches a driver into another shitty Saskatchewan storm, despite road reports or the drivers reservations, will you remember them? Every time you lie, or edit your log book and keep your mouth shut, will you remember them?

I hope we all will. I hope we can be as brave as those surviving boys. They have a tough journey ahead of them. But I really feel that if we want to honour and remember them, we in the trucking industry are going to need to be brave too. We need to shine a light on the shady practices that we all know exist. We need to reset the bar! And so, we may have a tough journey ahead of us as well.

Personally and professionally I am well aware of the costs. I know it could increase costs for the oil companies we haul for. And I know if trucking companies have to put the interest of the trucks first, they will struggle to cater to the companies that contract them. It could cost them their run. And I also know that there is a good chance if we as professional drivers hold ourselves to the standards set by the law, if we refuse low pay, disorganization, unsafe work, or the extreme hours of service that these companies expect, we may face the ever present manipulation in this industry. It may cost us income. It may cost us our contracts or employment. It could possibly even cost our businesses. Some say these costs are too high.

So do we just keep our head in the sand? Keep rolling, business as usual. Just keep hoping you, or one of the trucks dispatched by you, are never a part of a scene like the one below. Because on April 6, 2018 we saw that the cost of our ignorance is way too high. What we can’t afford, is for this to happen again.

We need to remember them.

Gallery-Written · Kiddos · Life · Marriage

A bit of advice from a Father-less daughter on Father’s Day.

The other day after a crazy thunderstorm my husband pops up and asks our son if he wants to go check out the mud and giant puddles left by the storm. It’s definitely not something I would say, it was a very “Dad” request. And it kinda hit me just how special Dads and father figures are. And it got me thinking and wondering about our lives now that neither of us have someone to call this Father’s Day.

My Dad died when I was 18. But thankfully I had Mike’s Dad for the next 18 years. My Dad was expressive, emotional, and artistic. He swore like a sailor, and looked like a homeless rockstar. My father in law however was older, and more traditional. His emotions were generally private, and he looked like an old farmer type straight out of one of those country time paintings. If something didn’t work right, you might hear him say “Goodness”, where as my Dad was more likely to toss a tool and curse “motherf*ck’n piece of sh*t” haha.

Because my Dad was a one in a million, unique kinda guy, I didn’t always see my father in law as “my” Dad. So we started off very cordial. If we disagreed with one another’s point of view, which definitely happened, we didn’t challenge each other’s opinion. It was all very polite.

One day though, shortly before we were married I was walking into Mikes parents house and I was waiting for him to follow me in, so I didn’t shut the door immediately. And suddenly I hear my father in law yell from the living room “shut the door! It’s not an asshole. It doesn’t close on its own”

When he came around the corner he says “Goodness I thought you were one of the boys”. He was kinda of embarrassed but I just smiled, because in that weird little moment I actually felt like one of his kids. We still respected each other’s opinions but it kinda broke the ice, we finally let it all hang out, and loved each other anyway.

And while our Dads were very different, they were both one in a million, unique kinda guys. I remember as a teenager dreading the thought of our Dads ever meeting. But unfortunately they didn’t ever get the chance. Which is too bad, because now I think they really would have been a hoot together. Although they were different, they actually had a lot more in common than I gave them credit for. They both made it their priority to provide for their families. They both loved reading. They both told shitty Dad jokes. They both loved their kids until it bordered on annoying. Granted in different ways.

My Dad would show up to A&W with wild hair, and a threadbare t-shirt. Looking like my hobo stalker just sipping on coffee and watching me work. Whereas, my father in law was a phone talker. Something I’m not a fan of. But he and the mister could chat for hours. Even before we had moved, they’d chat on the phone and then expect us to come over or make us go out for coffee. Socializing, yuck. And after Our kiddo was born-sleepy, cranky double yuck. And I’m talking about me, not the baby. If you didn’t come by semi-regularly he might throw a little guilt trip on ya. Half kidding, but half not.

They were both just soo proud and loved their kids so much, they were at times kind of annoying. Our biggest problem was seriously that they just wanted to know our business all the time. And even though they could be weird or irritating, I’m so thankful that even when I was deep in my one of my introverted asshole moods, I saw their love for what it was and made time for them when I could. Or put up with them at least. And now, Every. Single. Day. I wish they were here making me roll my eyes with their annoying brand of loving.

We haven’t had a lot of days off since his Dad passed, and we’re still processing it honestly. But man, oh man, nothing screamed louder in my heart, than the silence of our phone on his first days off since his Dad passed.

So I was hoping this Father’s Day I’d find some way to honour our Dads. So while we were busy prepping a little surprise for Mike I realized the best way I can honour Dads is to be annoying haha.

Well what I mean is that if you love someone, throw them a little love. Ya Dads/family can be annoying. Ya they can be inconvenient. We both come from families with five kids each, plus step family on my side. And a blended family of our own. So we generally always feel guilty. And we’re always struggling to keep in touch with everyone. In fact because I always feel a bit guilty about the things we can’t do, I sometimes avoid asking for anyone to show up for me. I don’t want them to feel guilty or obligated I guess.

But fuck that. That’s not what our Dads taught us. So in honour of our Dads I want to make a little request. This Father’s Day (or any day) find a way to irritate the people you love, with your annoying brand of love. Trust me, they will love it.

And to all the Dads and father figures out there. You are pretty awesome. You are pretty special, one in a million, unique kinda guys. Thank you for being you!

Gallery-Written · Kiddos · Life · Marriage · Mind & Spirit~Reflection, Habits & Self Care

Goodness.

I know I’m starting to sound like the bad news bear on here, but I promise you I am really a very happy person. I am happy, but the fact of the matter is that life can really be very hard. There are times when it is just best to allow yourself to be sad. If we are lucky enough to have a life filled with love, it only makes sense that we will have a life touched by grief. Grief may be the price of love, but it is worth every penny. My family recently lost someone very important to us. His name was Ed, he was my father in law, my husbands Dad and our sons Grandpa. We will always miss him, but he was a wonderful man who left an impression on people wherever he went. I can’t help but want to share his memory, and the message his life represented. We would like nothing more than to carry on his legacy, sharing love, and goodness. And hopefully helping others to look for, or find something sweet when everything seems sour.

This is the story of Ed, according to someone who loved him:

-The other day my son and I were at the pharmacy picking up a few things for the funeral. While we were waiting in line my little guy was looking at the packages of mini aero bars. He just stared at them and then finally said, “It’s too bad Grandpa died, now I won’t get anymore aero bars”. As you can imagine my heart ached hearing our boy try to make sense of this loss. I stopped what I was doing and we had a little talk. I told him we can still have aero bars, and now when we do we can think of Grandpa. I told him we can even share them like Grandpa used to. I cleared that shelf, filling our cart with the aero bars.

It also prompted me to write this. We shared it, and our chocolate bars today as we celebrated Ed. I hope he would have been honoured.

If you knew Ed, you’d know that when ever something was hard, or unfair or unfavourable, there was one phrase that was sure to come out of Ed’s mouth. That phrase was “Goodness”.

If he heard someone was going through a hard time, he’d say: “Goodness “.

If he was working, and things weren’t going well, he’d say: “Goodness”.

Or even when something simple happened-maybe seeing one of his grandkids spill their cup, he’d smile encouragingly and say : “Goodness!”

Say it with me now : “Goodness!”

Ed lived his life, saying and spreading goodness. He worked hard, up to the age of 78 in fact. He shared what he had and helped people when he could. He enjoyed the simple life. Family and friends were on the top of his list. He enjoyed nothing more than a good visit over coffee, and he never forgot to make sure his grand kids always had their fill of chocolate—usually the biggest aero bars he could find.

If he wasn’t spending time with family, he was likely on the tractor, both at work and home. Or maybe puttering away in the garden. He enjoyed fellowship with friends at church. And was often found reading his bible, the bargain hunter, or one of his natural health books—and then trying to convince his family and friends to check out whatever he’d been reading. His top recommendation for almost every ailment was to try apple cider vinegar. And if that didn’t work, try chocolate.

Something sour and something sweet. Ed knew something we all will. He knew that in this life, we are going to have to face our share of sour and sweet. Hardships and blessings.

Right now we are enduring our hardships. Our hearts although broken continue to beat. So I think right now it’s best to remember Ed and everything he taught us. Remember to take the sour, but always be on the look out for something sweet. And when you find it, get your fill! Share it! And remember that regardless of what this life brings you, don’t forget——“Goodness”

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