T'is the Summer of Chaos

• Delhi to Dublin mosh pit and broken sunglasses
• banana airband roadtrips

• Coffee demanding visitors from foreign countries
• graduating art students heading off to meet the world

•  bare toed bum-crack tickling
• Ukrainian interpretation romance
• Grasshopper beer and bracelet sucking babies
• slippery shoes in bathroom stalls and a bruised elbow

• over stuffed taxi cabs and steamy backseat pauses
• outhouse photo ops with friends

• Mennonite twin jam session
• 12 leeches on my dog and an overused salt shaker
• beer pong refereeing and swatting cats
• dangerous dancing and terrific consequences
• Physics camp and walking on water
• 4x4 puddle jumping in theatre parking lots
• Blue Moon beer
• 7 hour tattoo session friendship

• balance board compatability tests

• sticky moustache bum faces

• Mondragon southern fried tofu 
• moose stew nightmares and lightning storm washouts
• I hate you. I love you.
• rainy Trout disappointment

• 7am thankful pick up: Harriet the Savior
• torrential rainfall puddle jumping shivering
• broken locks and air conditioner escapes
•  shirt swapping
• pregnant belly painting

• duct tape wrestling belly flop costumes

• Sibley stomping and sea lion observations

• Bobinski beer bashes and tofu hotdog moccasins
• Hotdog Ninja Warrior artistry

• outdoor shower stall inventions and torturous forms of tormenting 
• tattoos for cancer research
• wet art
• the essence of Johnny Depp on the Bounty
• Zombie Ramona

• mural mayhem and scaffolding scandals

• Sportsman Dinner curiosities
• pickle juice and sock drawers

• Silver Islet rock theft

• pansy filled veggie garden of pathos
• revived friendships
• aerobic livingroom danceoffs

• half cemented sidewalks
• dump disappointment
• invention organization

• Cat Empire African dancing 
• soccer frustrations
• blueberry sweat and secret picking holes
• carrot cake bliss
• googly eyed real estate agents

• Animal cracker paintings
• sleep deprivation

I seized the summer. I'm ready to go back to work.

Tattoo'd Good This Time

 I just went through the process of seriously inflicting an excruciating amount of pain on myself on Friday, getting my third, (and perhaps last? Nah....probably not) tattoo done. I walked in the doors of Underground Ink at 3:30 and didn't leave until after 11pm that night. I wish there was another way to go through the process without having to feel what I did, but ultimately, after everything is said and done, it was worth it. It's kinda like childbirth. Actually, the pain is akin to childbirth, and everyone continues to blindly go through that process as well. Otherwise, awesome artists like Mike Magee wouldn't have been born to do the work that he did on my arm. When I had my second tattoo done, I went with my buddy Corey to a studio in Winnipeg. We were both getting tattoos done for our children. Corey had not had one before so he asked the artist what it feels like, and the artist's response was, "Like someone is drawing a picture on your body with a razor blade." I thought that was a horrible description, being such a visual person, and had images of a blood letting. But in talking with my sister about that afterwards she said that is exactly what she would want to hear so that she'd be prepared for the pain. I guess I am a bit "fuzzy bunny" and like to be oblivious to the pain until it actually happens. And it happened, for about 7 hours. Imagine going through a full days work with someone "drawing pictures on your body with a razor blade". Yeah, not fun. I think I was probably going in to shock after a while. haha

So why did I do it? Am I a sadist? Certainly not. I did not get any pleasure in the feeling of pain. But this is how I described it to Mike, and why he was an important catalyst in a cathartic healing process that I have been going through:

It starts here. I go to Trout Forest Therapy and get acupuncture done for a plethora of reasons; to help with some nerve damage and cartilage damage, to help with the elimination of allergens and detoxify my body, and to emotionally detoxify as well. It is a fantastically awesome feeling. But sometimes when Deanna puts the needle in, I yell out something blasphemous. She always rolls her eyes and says something like, "Thanks for scaring away all of my customers." I have a potty mouth. When I question why I am on fire, she says that my body is getting rid of negative energy. That my qi (my energy) is being "cleansed" and that burning feeling is the escape of negativity. So when Mike was carving up my arm, I tried to focus and think about all of the negativity that was escaping from my body. He wasn't inflicting pain ON me, he was actually helping to release residual pain FROM me and it was going to hurt. My qi had a lot of cleansing to do.

My tattoo design is based on my family, and is an abstract, stylized Woodland Art-ish drawing that I did of a tree.(When Mike started working on my arm, I said "prepare to crawl into the mind of a left handed doodler." and "I hope you like circles.") At the base of the tree is the roots, and I incorporated all of my family's hand outlines into the roots of the tree. They are my base; my foundation. Above their hands is a  symbolic representation of me. I am the raven's wing and I am the center of the tree. I am supported by the hands of my family and able to be the funny, trickster, carefree, person that I am. They have helped me to become who I am. From there, life flows from the tree in a plethora of circles (always evolving) and fresh, green leaves. The tree embraces a bear paw which sits in a dual sun/moon image. I too see myself as connected to the bear. The bear is my nemesis and has devoured many of my dreams but I also have a fond respect for the bear, and it's nurturing, caring, protective nature. I am a mama bear.  The sun and moon is for balance, and to show that differences (as different as day and night) need to be appreciated and respected regardless of how difficult it may be to see that perspective.

This concept did not come to me overnight. It is part of a continual journey that I have been participating in while learning more about myself and my family dynamics and changing my perspective and feeling comfortable with the idiosyncrasies of our family.  We all have family situations that trouble us, and my situation is no different. We have all felt pain, and I was ready to release mine and look at my family with new eyes and new appreciation and acceptance. Getting this tattoo is a perpetual reminder to appreciate what I have been given and what my family has done for me in a positive way. The negativity is gone. It's released.

I am proud of my family and who they have helped me to become.

 And just to give you an idea of my family, I went to visit my Great Auntie Mary before I got my tattoo done and she called me a "stupid ass" for getting one. That was her way of saying, "I love you and don't want you to get hurt." I smiled and thought, she's 95 and can say I love you however she wants to. :) I am a stupid ass. I am a happy, stupid ass with a big mother trucker of a tattoo on my arm that rocks.

BiblePad and other Conceptual Doodad Thingers

 When I was at the Folk Fest with Deanna, we sat in on a gospel session and the music set deep in our souls. It made us giddy and reminiscent, and Deanna whispered to me that when she was in church as a kid, she would open up a bible and point out specific words to make up a sentence for her friend to read. What an ingenious way of communicating and making full use of God's products. It was like text messaging well before text messaging was even considered. She ingeniously labeled the concept, "BiblePad" akin to today's iPad. Lucky she was at a Roman Catholic church and not a Ukrainian Catholic church like I went to. I didn't know what the heck was being said or what I was singing. I just knew I liked it. (On a side note, I remember having to memorize everything in Ukrainian for my first (and only) holy communion and confession.....yeah, I should probably hit that some time soon. I remember living in a foreign fog of rolling tongues and "sshhhh-yaa" pronunciations. We were given a booklet to prepare for our holy communion and on the front cover was a picture of God giving a young boy and girl communion. So, being the little imaginative artistic 9 year old that I was, I was pretty adamant that the Big Kahoona was going to be giving me a piece of bread at the end of the week. While everyone played outside the church waiting for their chance to confess their sins (what kind of sins does a 9 year old have anyway?) I sat in a pew in my little mini wedding dress and spongy oversized white shoes, ready to puke. My mom tried to get me to go outside. I politely said no thank you but inside I was screaming, "I AM ABOUT TO MEET GOD!!!! DOESN'T ANYONE THINK THIS IS A BIG DEAL? THIS IS 'THE SHIT'!" You can well imagine my disappointment when it was some old, crotchety Ukrainian priest that I didn't understand. That began my healthy journey of skepticism in the strange world of religion.)

But this blog is not about my skewed concept of religion....it's about undeveloped concepts and creations like Deanna's fantastic BiblePad. Occasionally I go through the process of sorting and resorting my studio to try to Feng Shui the impossible. In that process, I usually find scribbled words randomly placed on ripped corners of paper. They say things like "free send day" and "traceable plastic bags". The brain gets a bit tingly and I go off on a delightful mind tangent of concepts that will never come into fruition.

I was getting some acupuncture done not too long ago and there is something about connecting with my Qi that puts me on a different intellectual level than I usually have an opportunity to delve into. I am forced to meditate and the ideas flow. I lay there looking at the patterns in the blobs on the ceiling and let my mind travel. On one occasion, when the therapist came back into the room to remove the needles, I begged her to please write down these words....traceable plastic bags.  She humours me.At that time, I was thinking that it would make people a bit more accountable if they actually had their name and/or contact information placed on a plastic bag. If that bag ends up stuck in the trees at the waste disposal site, or along the side of the road, etc, the last name on the bag is the one accountable to that bag, and accountable to the fine that they would receive for their negligence and littering. When I proposed this idea to Deanna, she said that people will do what they can to not be accountable for those actions, so it would have to be the responsibility of the person who had the bag before them, to ensure that the next person's name gets put on that bag. Good thought. She too has a healthy dose of skepticism. Why are plastic bags still being made????? Who seriously does not have their fill of plastic bags? And I don't know about you, but I don't need anymore canvas bags either. I'm sure we all have a dozen of them. So let's stop making those as well, or at least put your name on it so that I can give it back to you when I find it at the dump. Maybe some kind of microchip tracking device stickers can be made that we just put on all of our possessions. And then when you give/sell that item, the next person to possess it puts their tracking sticker on top of it. (These stickers are wind/fire/rain resistant of course). If this item is lost in transit, it just needs to be scanned and voila....owner found.

So that brings me to my next thought.....a universal free shipping day. It's self explanatory, really. Post what you need on a site like "Freecycle" but like, on a big world level and someone else can send it to you. And I think it should be ANYTHING. If someone in India needs a car, and you happen to have an extra car, it will get shipped for FREE. If someone needs a bag of rice, send them a bag of rice. FREE. Free kittens, free french fries, free beach balls, free swimming pools. BUT people could not be exchanged in this process. And neither should underwear for that matter. There's that healthy skepticism again. I guess this concept would just makes people stop and take note of their excessiveness. What do you have that you really really don't need and that someone else could truly benefit from? Is it important that you make money when getting rid of that object or is it good enough to just know that the item is being put to good use? Kinda existential I guess...Oh, and I think movie stars should give up two things.

On a lighter note, the same concept could apply to socks. We need to all gather up that pile of stray socks sitting beside our dryer, meet on a big field with our strays and do something about this perpetual issue. Or perhaps we need to be more accepting of mismatched socks. It's really not that bad. Maybe we just need to have a Non-Judgment Sock Day.

A few weeks ago I made the mistake of keeping my windows down on my car during a torrential downpour. My friend Stan came over and said, "I have some really, really bad news for you," and then he commenced to telling me that I left my windows rolled down. Holy drama, Buddy! Stuff like that doesn't usually bother me, but the seats were truly soaked pretty bad. I had to sit on a garbage bag for a couple of days, and every time I slammed my door shut, I would get wet legs because there was water trapped in the door handle. And then it just started to get funky in there. I have a dog, and my dog likes to hang out in my car. I had just vacuumed and cleaned my car a week earlier, but that deep rain brought out a smell that is actually funkily unfathomable. It truly smelled like I had stuffed a carcass in the trunk. Invention time.....why the hell don't they make water sensitive windows. Why is it that the windows don't automatically roll up as soon as a specific amount of water hits the windows, regardless of whether the car is on or not. Are we not an advanced society? On that same note, why the hell can't these car companies simply make a coffee cup holder that actually holds a REAL thermal mug. And could it not have a heater in it as well, that automatically shuts off whenever the cup is not in the holder? Maybe that's already being done, but I've never seen it. I'm driving a 97 Chevy Lumina.

But when these types of thought come to mind, I think of how tolerant we are as a society. We put up with stinky cars and unmatched sock and plastic bags in trees. Or perhaps it comes down to incentive. I talk the talk but well, you know the rest....I don't follow through. If I had a bit more motivation, perhaps I'd get off my ass and organize a world swap day. Or make a shitload of sock puppets and sell them at festivals and donate the money to the church.  The world isn't that big anymore compliments of the internet. I could probably make this stuff happen. I should go and write that down somewhere and get back to it. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

Winnipeg Folk Fest Newbie in Da House!

So this year as a birthday gift to my bestie Deanna, I bought tickets for her to go to the Winnipeg Folk Fest with me. I've been going since 1995, so I've been blabbering to Deanna about the folk fest since 1995 because that's when we started hanging out. She had never been, and it was high time that she had "the experience". Now those of you that have been to even one festival will know what I'm talking about; it can only be described as "an experience" because you can't specifically identify it as just "good music" or "good food" or "good blah blah blah"….it's an all encompassing vibe that literally starts as soon as you get in to the car on your way there. Actually, that's not even true because the experience starts even before that, as you're preparing your gear for the festival. You start to ponder; will it rain? Do I really care if it rains when it's always scorching hot? Oh wait, it cools off so quickly in the evenings and if I'm damp from dancing in the rain, that won't be good. What kinds of clothing can I bring that is super warm yet light enough to carry with me all day? Maybe I'll just wear a blanket. Do I need shoes? If it does rain, the main stage area will be a big mud bog and I won't be able to wear shoes anyways. And it's awesome that there's no glass on site so that I can walk barefoot regardless(but man, that gravel by the food booths is uncomfortable under my tender tootsies.) Camera? Definitely. Musicians are cute. Hell, people in general are cute. Oooh, and we'll have to stop at the fruit stand and pick up some fresh fruit to have at the festival. Where is my folk fest chair? And I better remember to bring a watch so I can scoot from Snow Berry to Green Ash in a jiffy. Man, I better bring the sunblock and a waterbottle and a Sharpie marker so that band members can sign my CDs! Wipes. Wipes are a good thing because that water-free sanitizer is actually kinda gross and makes my hands feel really yucky. And I better check out the main stage program online and hey, I heard you can download an app onto your IPod now so that you can program what you want to see over the festival days….super cool and all this a precursor of thought to the main event. (And this doesn't even consider if you are a camper at the festival which I choose to not do. I want to be awake/alive and capable of actually listening and dancing to music during the day! Otherwise I'd definitely add Advil and Gravol to my mental planning list. Some say that it's not a complete "experience" without camping. I did it. Ugh. I've turned into a wuss, I guess. )


So, Deanna, always the trooper and one to usually go for it, even when it's definitely the unknown, said, "SURE!" and we took off down the 105 highway on a 5 hour road trip to get to the festival. Here's some of the experiences we were capable of sharing together; one as a "vet" and one as a "newbie";

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  The olfactory senses get a good shakin' when people have been dancing in +30 heat. Nothing like getting up close and personal with the world's true scent like at a folk fest, especially when you go into the dancing pits (no pun intended).
  
  
  
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  You meet a ton of people over the few beers had under the tent and almost everyone we sat with was willing to share their story. Over the course of two days, we chatted with a man that "accidentally" spent more money at the Folk Fest Music Tent then he should have buying CD's. He thought he'd wait over a cold beer first before breaking the news to his wife. I personally don't think she's going to be too upset, and hey, he got a free CD out of the deal. (They were giving away Folk Fest compilation CD's to anyone that dished out the big bucks.) We met a woman who was having a romantic dilemma and her friend asked us for advice on her behalf. I thought about how scary it was that I was giving romantic advice. We found out that everyone always ends up knowing someone from Red Lake. We met young carpenters that are hoping to be "responsible carpenters" by using reclaimed wood in most of their building projects. That made me reminisce on how nice it was to be idealistic when I was 24. We met a couple of fathers who allowed us to "ooh and ahh" over their babies while they took a well deserved, very short break from daddyhood. This is when I remembered that babies attach themselves to jewelry by their mouths as my bracelet was completely sucked clean with 7 month old baby slobber. We met a girl that was just about to move to New York City and we met a couple of girls that turned their noses up and didn't want to talk to a couple of small town girls at all. Well….their loss. All of that over beers; so really a beer tent isn't just a beer tent. Yep, it's an experience.
  
  
  
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  You learn very quickly that even a "short chair" is a bit too tall for the folk fest. The ones that that Mad Nomad used to make years ago were really the best ones and I kick myself for not buying one when I had the chance, but I always invest in something beautiful for my neck from the artisan's tent instead of something practical for my butt. But I use the camping seats that sit on the ground and have the supportive back and they do the trick, and it's really easy to sneak into small spaces when you use one of those (like in between tarps at main stage). And they're cheap and light and easy to tote around all day. And I put a strip of florescent pink duct tape on the back of the chair and advertised the Trout Forest Festival on it for people behind me to read. Nothing like a bit of a plug for another awesome festival, right?
  
  
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  You learn that everyone is different shapes and colours and sizes and heights and styles, and we're all beautiful and lucky to be together under the same sun.
  
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  You see that music is transformative, and a folk fest is not what it stereotypically seems. There can be a stigma attached to the term "folk fest" (especially if you live in a small little town….ahem) but the Winnipeg Folk Fest does an excellent job of making sure there is a selection and eclectic variety of music for all tastes. One minute we were sitting in our chairs "butt wiggling" (as I like to call it when you politely dance while sitting) to the sounds of "Delhi 2 Dublin", and the next thing you know, we were in the middle of a wicked mosh pit, bouncing around like a couple of teenagers to their wild fusion music. We started our day on Saturday morning with the soulful gospel of the Sojourners, and we ended our night in the dark with Australia's Cat Empire. And in between that there were a few fantastic Ukrainians.
  

  
  
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  You are so close to strangers in the crowd, that it really is tempting to touch some times. And sometimes that's ok.
  

  
  
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  Tattoos are the norm at the fest. It's an excellent way of seeing new artistic body creations and delightful to the eye. A woman even asked to take a photo of my tattoo which I was honoured to do. Wait until next year when my family tree is carved into my left arm which I'll wear as a badge of honour.
  

  
  
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  It's said; "Eeere-o", not "Jy-row" at the Greek food booth, and they won't give you what you want unless you say it right! (I'm sooo glad I say it right.) I broke my rule of not eating meat to have East India House's buttered chicken. I apologized to the poor factory farmed chicken that suffered for my gluttony and divulged. Then I had an amazing vegan meal at the Mondragon the next day. Call me a hypocrite. Everyone has their weakness and mine is folk fest food. There was Thai, Greek, Italian, Vegan, vegetarian, meatitarian, sweetitarian, fresh, processed….everything delectable for the palette along the food strip. Dish out the coin and help the local vendors by buying their food. Plus, it's a huge pain in the ass to tote a cooler around. I immediately taught Deanna the importance of going for a meal during "down time" to avoid the lineups. But the line ups are kinda fun too because of the various conversations you pick up and the interesting characters that walk passed you to get to where they're going.
  
  
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  DOES ANYONE REMEMBER THE SUCTION CUPPED NIPPLE DECORATIONS FROM A FEW YEARS BACK? I almost built up the nerve to get some this year and they weren't selling them. I don't have a lot of time left with gravity. Time's running out. But I'm learning that doesn't really matter….at least not at the fest.
  
  
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  I also learned that you can't control the festival and Karma is fantastic. Let me elaborate. Deanna was having a extraordinary time at the festival and I was super happy that she had an excellent experience. We were at main stage on Saturday night and the Cat Empire was just starting. We scooted our chairs into an excellent free spot and pulled out the bug dope. Then Deanna's neighbour asked her what she was spraying on herself, so she told him. Then she sat down and her neighbour asked her whether she needed a blanket, and she kindly declined. Then Deanna's neighbour asked her where she got her camping chair, to which she briefly replied. Then it happened, and in all of my 15 years of going to the festival, I've never been subjected to such ignorance. The woman in front of us scolded Deanna, specifically Deanna, telling her that she should go over to the dancing area if she wants to chat. I was personally embarrassed for my friend who was just being polite, and just being a part of the experience by chatting with a stranger about Folk Fest-ish kind of stuff; warmth, bugs, chairs….you know…main stage topics. I apologized to Deanna, explaining that was not a common occurrence. In my mind I thought, man, if that woman was so desperate to hear the Cat Empire in pristine conditions, then she should buy the Cat Empire DVD, which is available, and watch it at home in her controlled environment. Or she should get off her ass and buy a tarp ticket so she can be a part of the tarp run and not have to sit way at the back with us other chumps. I also thought, maybe this woman has just had a bad day, which is an oxymoron, considering she's at the WINNIPEG FOLK FEST, and then she made her second "error" which led me to a pseudo psycho analysis of her….a young boy was walking passed her and she redirected him so that he wouldn't walk in front of her. Obviously this woman had control issues. So, this is where karma comes in, because something completely beyond her control happened next. The Cat Empire demanded that the whole audience get off their feet and dance. DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! 10000 people stood up in front of her and danced their faces off and she couldn't see a thing because of course, she didn't stand up. This is a woman that doesn't do what SHE'S told. And I knew allllll the words to their fantastic music, which probably didn't help a woman with control issues. I didn't have to say a word to the woman that doesn't realize that she can't control a folk festival. Karma and the Cat Empire took care of that. Does that mean that I think people should be loud and obnoxious and talk on cell phones at festivals? Hell no, but Deanna was not that at all, and neither was her neighbour. They were being folk fest-y the best way possible by cashing in on the whole experience.
  
  
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  You know that cliché saying "dance like nobody's watching"? Do it at the festival. Everyone else does and nobody cares.
  
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  When you're driving back to your hotel or friend's house or where ever after the festival, and you stop at a red light and turn up the music really loud and decide to see whether you and your friend can make the car shake with your butt dancing, make sure you don't have a cab full of people pulled up beside you watching in shocked surprise. Or refer to the point just before this one.
  
  
  
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  Buy at least one piece of pottery, one piece of jewelry, and one piece of clothing that remind you of the warmth of the festival during those stupid, cold nasty winter days. And take the time to chat with the artisans. They put in a lot of time over those cold, nasty winters to give you something that represents goodness.
  
  
  The folk fest hones in on your perspective, what you think is important in life, your philosophies, what grinds your gears, what makes you an individual…..it smacks you in the face when you hear a drum beat that resonates so deeply in your flesh that it's all you can do to catch your breath, when you hear words arranged so eloquently that all you can do is weep at the blatant truth that you denied until you heard it sung so sweetly, when you sip a beer and smile at your best friend who understands more about who you are through "the folk fest experience". I have gone to the folk fest with a lot of different people and I actually think it's an excellent way to know whether you "click" with someone or not. Throw some sweat, music, food and bugs between you and that person you dragged along with you, and you'll both walk through those gates knowing way the hell more about each other than you did when you initially got that wrist band put on (too tightly, I might add). Haha
  
  Hey, Deanna; let's do it again next year, my friend! Happy birthday.
  
  
  
  
  
  

Calling All Small Town Artists

Have you met my friend, Harriet Carlson? If not, you're sure to miss out, because she's a fantastic person, and incredible photographer. She actually has taken the photo that I use as my title image for this blog site. Harriet and I have a superior relationship based on creative energy which puts us at a level of ease in understanding each other's perspective. We are also connected by the unfortunate commonality of being perpetually judged. It's tough to be an artist in a small town. I remember when I went off to university, (and I really didn't even go that far...I went to the University of Manitoba  which is only a five hour drive away), I walked into the "School of Fine Arts" (which we affectionately called SOFA) and felt like finally, finally I was hanging out with people that spoke my own language. They knew what I was talking about, they understood my perspective, and a majority of these people were left handed  AND WITH TOE THUMBS TOO! (I've always stuck to my guns in believing that having toe thumbs is an inherent artistic genetic trait.) Not once in those four years at SOFA was I called "Artsy Fartsy", not even by someone that afterwards said, "You know I'm just kidding." or "You know I don't really mean it." (You know you're just passive aggressive....)

So let's put this concept into perspective with a true to life scenario that just occurred last week. Harriet went into a public office to deal with some kind of mundane paper work. Harriet happened to be wearing her favourite leather jacket with a spectacular red ruffly flower pinned to the jacket. She looked dynamic. Instantly, the woman behind the counter commented on Harriet's appearance with a "good for you for dressing up like that" kind of statement. She might as well have said, "Good for you for having the courage to wear something so ridiculous that I would never be caught dead in." Harriet wasn't sure whether that kind of statement was supposed to be responded to or not. Was she supposed to thank this woman for pointing out Harriet's ignorance in not realizing her ridiculousness? Was Harriet supposed to apologize for her natural instinct to like beautiful red flowers and her yearning to surround herself with beauty at all times of day? 

You may be reading this thinking, Come on, what's the big deal? She was complimenting her! But that is far from the truth and the scariest part is that this woman actually would genuinely tell you that she was giving Harriet praise that day. There is a fine line between being flattered and being offensively insulted and judged. Incredibly, many do not know the difference. Here is where the difference lies: a compliment is nice and a judgment is not nice. Sounds fairly simple, but there are so many complexities intertwined. Why was Harriet so rightly offended by the "good for you" comment? Because in that sentence, there were implications that Harriet is weird. And above that, there were implications that Harriet is so comfortable with her "weirdness" that she can handle being constantly told that her appearance and actions are considered weird by others.

Imagine this; take the one thing about yourself that you are the most self-conscious of and then imagine that people were chronically pointing that one "flaw" out to you and saying GOOD FOR YOU FOR blah, blah, blah. Or even imagine your culture, your gender, your sexual preference, being perpetually exposed and discussed at the most inappropriate times. Imagine standing in line at the bank waiting to do a deposit when someone walks up to you and says, "Wow. You must be Ukrainian. It's soooo obvious that you are Ukrainian. Good for you for being so Ukrainian." or "Oh, I see you're in a wheelchair. Good for you for using a wheelchair." For some, the need to point out the obvious or unavoidable at any inopportune time is apparent. So, here's what happened to Harriet the day after being insulted for wearing a flower on her jacket (doesn't it sound ridiculous to even say that?!). She went to the grocery store and ran into a person that she had just recently met through a mutual friend. In Harriet's true personable nature, she started to talk to this individual, who interrupted her conversation to point out to her that she had "hanging irises". Excuse me? The person then went on to explain that Harriet happened to have an eye condition called hanging iris, which we were unable to find later in Google searches. Have you seen Harriet's eyes? Gorgeous, along with her personality, and this shmuck couldn't get passed his own pretentiousness to keep any comments that he many have felt the need to speak out loud to himself. Even later when Harriet ended up at the same social gathering as this fellow, and she gathered up the ambition to call him on his rude comments, he barely apologized, feeling he was just stating a fact and had the right to do so. Scary. And harmful. And dumb on his part because now he'll never get the opportunity to know a great person because of his issue with eye conditions that he couldn't keep to himself.

I get that too. I get that all the time. Someone is always commenting on the type of clothing I'm wearing (It has actually been said like this to me before, "No, no, no. Why do you have that on?" AND "What the hell are you wearing?") or the colour of my hair (Why green, Rhonda?), or the type of bike I ride, or the type of art that I create (When are you going to take that weird shit off the wall and hang up some real paintings for sale?)

or the shape of my eyebrows, or where I spend my time (Where you going today, Rhonda? Garbage picking? hahaha). It's one thing to share in my zest for life with fun comments but it's another to downright criticize. And I worry that one day, someone's just going to get blasted, completely blasted in the middle of the produce aisle with an "Are you kidding me? You in your Disney laden embroidered clothing? You in your matching earrings, belt, shoes and purse? You in your clothes that is all about comfort over style? You with your old lady perm? You with your perpetual need to go shopping for crap that you don't need? You with your......"  But I never say those things to other people because it's just not fucking nice, and who am I to feel I have the right to control what others do, say or have? I simply don't, and if I do judge people, as is human nature, I simply keep it to myself. Simple.

And then I hear people tell me that it's because I'm different; that I call it on myself. Do you think I'm not aware of that? Do you think I wake up in the morning and think, "Hey! How can I mess with everyone's minds today based on what I choose to wear and make them want to say something about me? How do I draw more and more attention to myself?" Trust me; that is not in my thoughts at 7am. I'm barely alive at 7am. This is just the way I am. I am a creative, artistic being and this is how I view my world and live in my world and never once have I asked the public for their opinion in that regard. When I do want to know, I ask - point blank. Do you think I want to change my lifestyle or personality or style or hairdo? No thank you. I don't want to live an existence where my definition of excitement is sitting down in front of the TV to watch my favourite show. (Oh sorry...did I just offend somebody by saying that?) Instead, share with me, celebrate with me,embrace our difference and recognize that we are all unique individuals with our own take on this big, big world. See the difference?  Don't assume that I am unconscious and incapable of being hurt just because I may be different AKA weird. I am different but I'm not a robot, even though I can do a wicked robot dance. I'm sure I've been judged for that in the past too.

Alas, in a double edged sword kinda way, I have pretty thick skin now, and have learned to throw it back at the offensive individual that seems to think that they are somehow better that me and have chosen to say what's on their condemnatory mind, even if oblivious to that concept. But it took a long time to get to this point. I did keep my thumbs tucked into my palm of my hand until I reached university so nobody would see their shape. And I look back on my photos when I was a child and I never smiled with my mouth open because I didn't want anyone to see the big space I had in my front teeth. And I learned to turn it around too. I think, what is this person missing in his/her life? What is he or she lacking that the need is so great to turn their insecurities onto others? They should really just deal with their own shit. Have I mentioned that is my life mantra? "It's not my shit". Sometimes it's hard to acknowledge it when I come across this type of scenario on an ongoing basis. I really thought that one day I'd grow up and be allowed to just be me, but unfortunately, people still feel the need to squelch that. Fortunately for me, that's not going to happen. But I'm not others, and if it's happening to me, and it's happening to Harriet, then it's happening to others as well.

If you were to think about it logically, you would think that people would mind their p's and q's....if a young, vibrant, creative person moves back to a small town, wouldn't you think that you'd want that person to stay here, help the local economy and get established as a permanent resident instead of feeling the need to flee? "Good for you for embracing your weirdness" is not necessarily a phrase extracted from the Welcome Wagon's Guide to Living in a Small Town.

Here's an idea....take the time to process your words before they are ejected from your mouth. Decide whether they are going to be put in category one, (compliment?) or category two (judgment?) and act accordingly and responsibly. Nobody should feel the need to change anything about themselves to suit the needs of others and words can do nothing but perpetuate resentment if used without care and understanding.


*The first photo of Harriet was taken by  Kemal Krluch who is a buff Bosnian photographer extraordinaire. (Now that was a nice thing to say!)

I don't know a thing about soccer.....

 I always seem to say I don't know a thing about soccer, yet, I'm a soccer coach. I have been coaching high school soccer for three seasons now, and every year I say, "Well, that was exhausting and frustrating and I think I gained 5 pounds," but not this year. This year I am 100% sure why I am a coach, and why I'll stick with it.

Let's put things into perspective so that you understand why I say I don't know a thing about soccer. I grew up playing soccer on the fields of Ignace with Jamie Larson, Joey Zappitelli and the other boys. If you ever go to the back of Ignace school, you will see that there is a section of trees that are perfectly smattered around the yard that instantly become goal posts. At any given time, you would see at least three different games of soccer being played at recess time within the confines of these trees, er....goal posts. And that's exactly what we did. It killed me that I had to walk home for lunch every day because it cut into my soccer time. Eating and walking was cutting in to my opportunity to kick a ball. (As a side note, I remember once deciding to wear a skirt to school, which was a rare thing indeed. It was recess time and I had to dive for the ball, did a complete somersault and flashed my strawberry patterned panties to the world. I was mortified and the boys didn't even notice. They were in the game. Lesson learned on two levels; it's all about soccer, and never wear a skirt to school.)

Then I moved to Red Lake and the boys didn't play soccer. They played tag football instead, and the rules were different, and hormones were involved. *sigh* So I had to wait until we had soccer in gym class, which was always ridiculous, especially because our gym in public school was carpeted. Who the hell decided that it would be a good idea to put carpet in a gymnasium? Hey! Let's see how many kids we can rug burn? Obviously administration at that time didn't think it would be worthwhile to communicate their "new age" concepts with the teachers and students before making that decision. Hmmm........(no, I won't go there. This blog is about soccer.) When I got to high school I was pretty excited because I thought for SURE that there would be soccer. And there was during class time. We all drooled as we waited for the snow to melt so that we could kick the ball around on that swampy, duck laden, bug infested, poor excuse of a field. I even went to the gym teacher and asked if we could start up a girl's soccer team to which he replied, "Girls don't play soccer." I think he's an administrator now. Seriously.

Then about ten years into my teaching career, we were all sitting in a staff meeting and it was decided that there wasn't going to be a boy's soccer team because they couldn't get anyone to coach it. The people that usually coach were burned out, and understandably so. I'll get into why in a few paragraphs, if you'll endure my babbling. Well, I just couldn't let that happen. IT'S SOCCER FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! A boy's gotta play soccer (and girls)!!!! So, I volunteered and immediately thought, "Holy shit." I turned to my colleague, Wilkins, and begged for his assistance.

I will never forget being in the gym with a bunch of sweaty teenaged goons, as they slam the ball so hard into the walls of the gymnasium that they were leaving dents. Did that dude seriously just do that with his own body? Holy crap. I was completely intimidated and uneducated. I would go home at night and read all I could about soccer. I was researching the game, trying to figure out the rules, what all of those damn lines on the field were for, and where the heck everyone was supposed to be in that space. And I wanted to do drills with them that actually helped them, that challenged them and I realize now how ridiculous that was. I do remember them telling me that they were impressed that I was taking the time to actually try, that I was showing them that I was at least interested in playing the role of "coach". But basically I just stood along the sidelines at games screaming along with the fans, trying to figure out why they weren't allowed to cross invisible lines. Damn offside rule......Alas, we finished the year, and I chalked it up to another experience and left.

That is until the opportunity arose to coach girl's soccer.This is what I've learned while coaching girl's high school soccer;

1. Catholic girls have potty mouths when they are away from God's ears.This may win them games now, but in the scheme of things, karma will get 'em.
2. Girls wear a lot of jewelry (that ends up loading down my pockets before every game.)
3. Nobody is allowed to bleed on a pitch, but a person can be in complete agony and the game will still play on. 
4. "Some" girls can't sing, but can certainly dangle a ball.
5. We play better in the snow than in the heat.....typical Northern girls.
6. Girls are very gassy.
7. I always miss the goals because I'm too busy looking at the "holes" on the pitch (By the way, I call a soccer field a pitch. Some hate it, some don't. It's just what I learned and I can't unlearn it). I'm an artist, so I naturally look for ways to "balance" and when I see an empty space on the pitch that needs to be filled, I make sure someone is there to fill it. I have based my practices on space. It's kind of funny if you think of it that way. Just about as funny as an artist coaching soccer.  
8. We should always have the "honeymoon" suite when we have out of town games because playing charades and painting our nails together are team builders! 
9. Because I don't know the proper terminology for anything, we have come up with some really goofy names for some of our tactics we use such as "do a ham and cheese on rye", "pull a Diego", "fill that pocket", "dig in" or "shake it off like a zebra". We all know what that means, but the other teams thing we're weird. haha
10. Girl's are emotional and play soccer with their hearts more than their feet. To date, with every game we have dedicated to someone else, we have either tied or won. Let me elaborate;

 Last year, one of our key defense players schmucked her knee really badly in the first five minutes of the soccer season. We thought she might be out for a game or two, but she ended up not being able to play for the whole season. She now has metal in her leg, and couldn't play any sports for a year. I think Syd is still struggling with knee problems. We dedicated a game to her and kicked butt. This year, one of the coaches from another town forgot her sportsmanship and was not very polite so I asked the girls to kick ass so that I could live vicariously through them, and they did just that for me. We also dedicated a game to my son who came to practices after school at least once a week, helped move pylons, and made sure we knew what time it was. And he's just damn cute and deserves it. But last week was the most important game we've ever played. A girl from our school was flown out to a city hospital, highly ill and struggling for survival. Most of her friends are on the soccer team and they were really trying hard to keep composed for the day. They knew that we were hosting the first soccer tournament the school has ever had, and that the whole school was going to be watching. The pressure was on to perform and there was a huge ache in their hearts. They dedicated their game to this girl, saying, "If she can fight hard for her life, we can try our hardest on the field." I didn't have to say a thing. These girls play with their hearts. I'm just the lucky one that gets to be in their presence and share the experiences with them.

 Every year I say to myself that this will be the last year that I will coach, and I have to be honest, I said the same thing this year. It's extremely exhausting and I give up a lot of time with my family to do this. It's tough to do as a single mom, and I become highly dependent on others to fill those "pockets" for me. But there is something so rewarding about coaching these girls. I don't go into it to win, even though I truly do love to win, don't get me wrong, and it is a goal that I set with the team, but I coach because it's damn fun. And kids are good. And when they're not good we sit down together and talk about it as a team, and learn from the experiences, and move forward. As I coach, I watch these girls balance their school work, and their jobs, and their social situations and family dynamics, and they still come to practice with a smile on their face and a yearning to be supportive of others. Wearing a medal around the neck won't change that. They may not know it yet, but they've already won. And so have I.

Thanks girls, for an awesome season!

Click here to see how the girls dedicate their games.....



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Toasty Thoughts on Toast

I write this shortly after eating a toasted egg sandwich that really wasn't evenly toasted. Disappointing. One side was obviously colder and softer than the dark, rich, crunchy bread to its immediate right (or left depending on how I ate the sandwich). Why is the idea of eating a completely evenly toasted piece of bread such a difficult concept? Why can't I have the fantastic experience of eating pumpernickel or rye holistically with sheer satisfaction? I'll tell you why; because in this crazy world, everything is exponentially larger than it needs to be, regardless of what that "it" is. It's because bread slices have been getting bigger and bigger, but toasters haven't. You would think that someone like Dyson would notice this by now. He probably doesn't eat toast. He probably just eats grass. Then you're probably thinking, if we made toasters bigger to accommodate bigger pieces of bread, then we'd be stuck with these big honkin', bulky toasters on our counter and that would just look weird and be downright inconvenient. But I don't think it needs to be like that at all, well, to a degree. I think that if they just found the biggest slice of bread they could imagine, and used that as the basis for the size of the toaster, then it would all be good. It's kind of a 'one size fits all' dealy. To this, you probably think, but what if I put a small piece of bread in that toaster? I'll have to use a knife to get it out (Yes, you have. I know you have.) and perhaps risk getting electrocuted (because I know you also occasionally forget to unplug it while fishing for that little piece of burnt bread.) Here's the solution; SENSORS! Sensors seem to be the answer to everything now a day and they're used for everything; from automatically opening and closing the garage door to ensuring that your dog stays in the yard….why can't they be used in a toaster? The toaster would automatically sense the size and weight of the bread in the toaster and instantly adjust the "basket" or internal walls of the toaster so that it gets just the right amount of equal toastiness from all angles. So if a small piece of bread is in there, the bottom of the basket just rises a little. Brilliant. No more soggy egg sandwiches. 


So let's go back to size for a moment because if you're from a family of four and have one of those 4 slice toasters, then you are probably imagining a dishwasher sized toaster sitting on your counter. But perhaps I could propose the concept of excessiveness, and that perhaps we all just need a one slice toaster; especially if its sensors have just indicated that it has the largest slice possible sitting in its slot. Maybe that one slice could even be cut in two and shared after it is toasted. And then perhaps you think about time and how hectic your mornings are and how inefficient it would be to have to put one slice of bread in the toaster at a time. But maybe on "toast days" (instead of oatmeal or cereal bar or grass eating days), you would wake up a bit earlier, use your time a bit wiser, and leave more room to congregate with your family in the kitchen while everyone waits for their token piece of perfectly toasted toast. *Ding!* Maybe the toaster is like a metronome, set on the slowest pace possible, to make a family stop. ….just stop and wait for their toast and fill that time with conversation. You could say things like, "I wonder how that toaster makes such a perfectly even piece of toast?" or, "I wonder what Dyson eats for breakfast?" 


Hmmmmmm…..I don't think I was trying to get too philosophical or metaphorical with my thoughts on toast. Mind you, you can take them anyway you want. These are simply the kinds of thoughts that go through my head on a daily basis. I don't know whether that makes me insane, or ingenious. I truly think that I may have been an inventor in a past life, albeit, not a very good one, because I have no engineering savvy or fathomable comprehension of physics in the least. Planes flying through the air are sheer magic to me. Projectable hunks of metal carrying hundreds of people over an immense ocean are sheer magic. Toasters that can toast evenly are sheer magic. Sweatshirts made out of recycled pop bottles….you got it….magic. But I'm always thinking of ways to make that experience just a little bit more magical, even if not very logical. 


So here's a toast to the modern toaster. Cheers!