tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1682440171393031172024-03-12T16:01:50.337-07:00Discovering JadeBlogging about: life, death, surviving in management, religion, grief, and anything else that allows me to string more than two words together ...Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.comBlogger563125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-33474751059320721032022-12-12T08:00:00.001-08:002022-12-12T08:00:00.226-08:00Focus: Minimalise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPDSk0sP4Yv7XAxZYRVZM3zjSLdQZ-Jcgx0LXD1RedunF3OZdriHnQuoCK5gSqEtYqaaKBE2h4PiH-HB7Swqlh3T0ePiBSvW6RdIOQtVJofYhu_JC4GY52SlJL8A6csdQ79nB6bs5i3oIJkKx_3qTsmv4dno0OVDNKQCNuzB6H1gaze9eFwrAOA0s/s640/tidy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPDSk0sP4Yv7XAxZYRVZM3zjSLdQZ-Jcgx0LXD1RedunF3OZdriHnQuoCK5gSqEtYqaaKBE2h4PiH-HB7Swqlh3T0ePiBSvW6RdIOQtVJofYhu_JC4GY52SlJL8A6csdQ79nB6bs5i3oIJkKx_3qTsmv4dno0OVDNKQCNuzB6H1gaze9eFwrAOA0s/s320/tidy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div>The word I have chosen for the coming year is <i>minimalise</i>. There are many areas of my life that are in desperate need of being organised. If you've been to my home, you know that I'm a terrible housekeeper; my pantry is a mess, my cupboards are hiding a disaster, and my garage... I can't even describe it.<div><br /></div><div>Basically, the stuff that makes up my immediate surroundings is a nightmare. I've never been good at keeping house, but it's gotten worse the last few years. I know that I will be happier and more productive in a tidy environment, but I always find something else to do besides clean. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Buddha said that <b>unnecessary possessions are unnecessary burdens</b>. Oh, how my mind is burdened by unnecessary possessions. Some of it is the regular clutter of life; but some of it are things I feel deeply attached to. The Buddha has some stuff to say about attachment as well. Things I know and believe, and yet...</div><div><br /></div><div>So, in 2023 I am focusing on minimalising several areas of my life, starting with the aforementioned garage and pantry. If you have any tips and tricks, or words of wisdom, lay it on me. </div><div><br /></div><div>And if you care to share <i>your</i> focus words, please do. We can celebrate each other's successes ... or cry together when we stumble, as we are sure to do along the way.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-51546453216178939072022-12-09T09:31:00.007-08:002022-12-09T09:31:00.222-08:00Journal prompt : self-care<p>I was chatting with a friend recently who was describing regular hair cuts as self-care. I have alternated between very long hair and an above-the-shoulder-length bob for most of my adult life. I grow it out until it's straggly and split on the ends and dry as old straw and then I cut it off when it gets to be a fire hazard.</p><p>I do not get my hair trimmed regularly. I refuse to do anything to my hair that requires regular maintenance. Which means I get my hair cut or coloured once every few years. </p><p>Thinking about my self-care routine I realised... I don't really have one. Oh, I like a good bubble bath and occasionally give myself a manicure but I don't really <i>do</i> self-care. I work from home, don't have to put on any particular appearance, and mostly only go to the supermarket and church, so anything beyond basic daily hygiene feels like a waste of time.</p><p>Add in a pandemic and I live in sweat pants and prefer a messy bun to picking up a hair brush.</p><p>Suddenly though, self-care is a burning need I have. I'm on a mission to find a self-care routine that doesn't feel like work. Already I've taken all the fun out of it by bullet journaling and scheduling the crap out of it. I've got this perpetual checklist that I just migrate, incomplete, from one day to the next.</p><p>Do you have a self-care routine? What does that look like for you? How do you keep it from feeling like work?</p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-23841316300708919652022-12-08T18:00:00.001-08:002022-12-08T18:00:00.223-08:00Big deal, December<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vVz8LynOADKn-nUfUw16XL9gBBsYR7Mj05VXrTrqlYxpruyt11-DUlDoUqmr7BeBh1K4c4FW-xGZAUZMVvMRds8DYEm6jeW1JTGhmekg-z7Zpt5mGS437kXF7GY8eYGcyBqFCuRS2geWi1yiZDu6RG9DHV1AMpmMiKxMAlikBliZZj4ctLYtS6eu/s480/Grandma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vVz8LynOADKn-nUfUw16XL9gBBsYR7Mj05VXrTrqlYxpruyt11-DUlDoUqmr7BeBh1K4c4FW-xGZAUZMVvMRds8DYEm6jeW1JTGhmekg-z7Zpt5mGS437kXF7GY8eYGcyBqFCuRS2geWi1yiZDu6RG9DHV1AMpmMiKxMAlikBliZZj4ctLYtS6eu/w320-h320/Grandma.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>December is a big deal in my life: birthdays and death days, anniversaries both big and small. Parties and celebrations abound. Of course, Christmas, that amazing and dreadful time of year.</p><p>Five years ago on this day, my <a href="http://paganwalk.blogspot.com/2017/12/grandma-claire.html" target="_blank">grandmother died</a>. My mom and I moved away from our hometown when I was 10 years old, so I didn't spend a lot of time around my grandmother after that. I saw her regularly for summer breaks for a few years and a couple times as an adult. We talked on the phone and traded emails sporadically. She helped fund some of my college courses. In the couple years before she died she had been helping me with my genealogy, telling me family stories and filling in a lot of blanks on my ancestry chart.</p><p>Despite being estranged from her for much of my life, and not always getting along with her, I find a bit of .... grace? compassion? something like love for the grandma she was to me as an adult.</p><p>I am Gramanda (my grandma name) to several kiddos - most of whom are grown. I didn't grow into being a grandma like people who do it the normal way... you know, have your own kids who have <i>their</i> own kids, and then get years of practice being around them and watching them grow up into people. I'm not as good at it as I'd like to be. But thinking about my own grandma, about the cards and pictures and letters she saved, it makes me want to do my best. To leave my family feeling loved, and never having to question whether or not I liked them.</p><p>Mostly when I die, I just don't want them to have complicated feelings about me. Sure, they'll remember that I'm a scatter-brain and never finish important projects but I also hope they feel valued as people and know that, while imperfect, I love them with my whole heart.</p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-28807094879171930582022-12-07T20:41:00.003-08:002022-12-07T20:41:44.188-08:00An anniversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtvvM6BCEz3d0uZzNCDEx9-OINFkHuLkZ-P5ex6b1HhRl6_pynyWktHOpaxdF2rO9A_VjYOwzi8DSYjrm_MumiDBg8PCLPQ5dzHFcKQ4IJ4c5_aPDfOseAZDEKwKOn0Cq2osfA8E40lUs2tijJxPmXZpL9XUxlBL0hTOB8D__gxCUglH6dVXTWf3m/s1794/temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtvvM6BCEz3d0uZzNCDEx9-OINFkHuLkZ-P5ex6b1HhRl6_pynyWktHOpaxdF2rO9A_VjYOwzi8DSYjrm_MumiDBg8PCLPQ5dzHFcKQ4IJ4c5_aPDfOseAZDEKwKOn0Cq2osfA8E40lUs2tijJxPmXZpL9XUxlBL0hTOB8D__gxCUglH6dVXTWf3m/s320/temple.jpg" width="257" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Nine years ago today I was endowed in the temple (a place of worship for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). A lot happened that week … on December 6th the office I managed closed and I <a href="http://paganwalk.blogspot.com/2013/11/eve-ensler-helps-me-process-losing-my.html" target="_blank">didn't have a job</a> for the first time in 13 years. The next day I went to the temple to make some pretty serious forever-promises.
<br />
<br />The promises made in the temple are sacred, so much so that we don't speak of them outside of the temple - not even with other members of our faith. But I will share that those promises are centred around a commitment to my (our) father in heaven, my family, and to doing my best to navigate this world with as much dignity as I can muster.
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<br />I am not always good at recognizing what that is supposed to look like. Sometimes I get it wrong, and sometimes I need others to tell me when I'm failing. That's especially fun, considering how much I <i>just love </i>when others tell me what to do.<div>
<br />For me, being endowed means always trying to be my best self. It means not being afraid to be held accountable for my actions and words. It means having grace for others. It means always honouring the divine nature of every person on Earth. I'm still working on that last one so if you see me failing, know that that is a flaw in me, and not a reflection of God.
<br />
<br />Every year I feel like I learn a little more, and every year I am reminded of just how little I actually know. I am grateful for the grace and blessings that have kept me tethered to this world so I can keep learning and growing. And hopefully, improving.
<br />
<br />I wasn't always a member of this church or even a Christian. I've followed a lot of different paths in life, some of which I still carry with me. I love to learn about other peoples' faith-based practices and spiritual activities. Do you have any practices that keep you grounded?
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<br /><br /></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-75619222679650241712022-12-07T07:00:00.004-08:002022-12-07T09:49:08.303-08:00Focus word 2022<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVEfwZD5uT9cjpp-mCpFrLzODMtKv_2PxgQP8VkHjkZPa5GbCuf2nKwZVDjHJQr-5R3xBn_g7ngux2CFlQnogKqMnwYwCked6kvymJj6yxirzXNu1-ooHtupZ04bx7Zy78XVRROoJtcv98s1vJ5MJqAwnVDJ_6hl3XhYfJaS-yZDTWo3pZMPIEtq9/s960/looking%20ahead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVEfwZD5uT9cjpp-mCpFrLzODMtKv_2PxgQP8VkHjkZPa5GbCuf2nKwZVDjHJQr-5R3xBn_g7ngux2CFlQnogKqMnwYwCked6kvymJj6yxirzXNu1-ooHtupZ04bx7Zy78XVRROoJtcv98s1vJ5MJqAwnVDJ_6hl3XhYfJaS-yZDTWo3pZMPIEtq9/s320/looking%20ahead.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>My 2022 focus word was observe. You didn’t know that though, because the post I drafted about it stayed in my drafts. Beautifully written, complete with a beginning, middle, and end and a <i>plan</i>. Only, drafted. </p><p>I did not focus on observing in 2022. Much like the last couple years, I did not focus on much of anything. The idea behind the focus word, for those who may not be familiar, is to depart from the notion of a resolution (at which I have routinely failed due to a false construct around what I think that means) and instead embrace a concept or idea, identified by a simple word or phrase.</p><p>Focus words have worked so much better for me and give me more freedom to craft plans and concepts around what happiness might actually look like for me. </p><p>When I decided to focus on <i>observing</i>, the idea was that I would pay attention to my mental and physical state, and see if I could draw a connection between what I was feeling and what was happening around me. From there I could make changes - to my diet, my daily routine, how I spent my downtime, how I communicated with those around me. </p><p>One thing that I did observe was dissatisfaction at work. I do love my job - I've been at it for more than two decades, I am a recognised expert among many of my peers and colleagues, and I get to work with an amazing team who supports me and works hard. One area in particular was causing me quite a bit of stress and burnout; I advocated for change and eventually achieved it, with the help of my leadership.</p><p>I didn't have full control over those circumstances, so I can't take credit for all of the change - but advocating for myself is challenging for me (thank you, imposter syndrome). The change I sought was slow to come, and for a hot minute it looked like I was not going to get what I was working toward. I had to sit with the idea that my worth and value could not be linked to the outcome I was asking for. </p><p>It was a stressful time for me; eventually it paid off and while I still have some frustrations, the biggest one has been eased. And I feel better.</p><p>This is the purpose of the exercise of the focus word for me. Not to get too bogged down with specifics or details or rules or self-loathing when I fail not to eat an entire Christmas cheesecake for breakfast all by myself... but to work quietly on a gentle idea, to be forgiving of myself and others, to ease myself into big change for the year ahead. Softly and slowly, day by day, until I feel just a little bit better about life.</p><p>I'm kicking around some ideas for next year's focus. I want so many things and so many changes. But I know me... and I know that if I go too big, it'll just be me and that cheesecake on January 2nd.</p><p>How about you, friends - do you do the whole <i>new year, new me </i>routine? What keeps you on track? </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-87682316739644608432022-12-06T06:30:00.002-08:002022-12-06T18:45:09.181-08:00Currently...<p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLVrclEMd_bg1ajMPNLhMvzT8EPvqLU9zEd-CYBM5GRskfQ86pEsmI4UkK8hAsxVDPuw6sYpICygLYySbVSwJWsTp6JhPhSvt56Sp3CImVykUmOLGHqZGNYwyyfiUaQ6wlTgta-tzBx-yolLlWlZRBHSW9Pm9G_6HAmTf1rY5vB1PM42fj8BRjWx5/s603/the%20letter%20a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="603" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLVrclEMd_bg1ajMPNLhMvzT8EPvqLU9zEd-CYBM5GRskfQ86pEsmI4UkK8hAsxVDPuw6sYpICygLYySbVSwJWsTp6JhPhSvt56Sp3CImVykUmOLGHqZGNYwyyfiUaQ6wlTgta-tzBx-yolLlWlZRBHSW9Pm9G_6HAmTf1rY5vB1PM42fj8BRjWx5/s320/the%20letter%20a.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /> Reading : </i><p></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Fair Warning (Michael Connelly) - I pre-ordered this book when it came out a couple years ago (last year? 2020? I can't even tell the years apart these days) but when it came it was large print. I couldn't make my brain adjust to large print and didn't read it. Now... my eyes are getting worse and large print means I don't need my reading glasses, so I'm back at it and loving it.</li><li>The Zombie Fallout series (Mark Tufo) on Audible; okay, so I'm listening to this but I <i>will</i> fight anyone who says it doesn't count. I'm consuming a book with my ears. If you like zombie stories, check this out. I'm late to this series, so as usual I'm discovering new books many years after they were published. </li><li>Untamed (Glennon Doyle) on Audible. I love everything about this book, and I want to be best friends with Doyle.</li><li>The One Thing (Gary Keller) - professional development reading that centres around the notion that focusing on <i>one thing</i> will allow for the best potential success.</li><li>Scriptures, forever and always. Trying to be the best version of myself I can offer the world. Falling short, and trying my best. It's Old Testament this year, so study helps are a big bonus.</li></ul><div><i>Crafting : </i></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Christmas goodies for my Etsy store (<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/GypsyandJade">GypsyandJade - Etsy</a>)</li><li>Breastforms </li><li>Random crocheted stuff... garland and scarves and bottle holders. It's endless.</li></ul><i>Worries : </i></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Health - I've recently had Covid and I'm still struggling with low energy and intermittent, unpredictable coughing fits. I am sure I'll be <i>okay</i> but lingering illness that keeps me on the edge of exhausted all the time is taking a toll on me. </li></ul><div><br /></div>I've been away from writing for awhile. You've probably noticed, one dear reader. :)</div><div>I spent some time tonight catching up on favourite blogs, reading my own blog posts, and remembering how much easier it was for me to process all my big thoughts when I wrote them down.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, oh do I still have thoughts. Big, ridiculous, random, crazy, hungry thoughts.</div><p></p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-32889478296164414192022-09-26T16:50:00.005-07:002022-09-26T17:12:37.590-07:00Book report: Murder on the Poet's Walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2ppTrCKQm0g53VIEQqnqShUgAc5zUGuwztLL1jV-tX9YkxrldtSZspR2aVy6445S45Wyp-4Qn29FvwR_MsZqeYVxTSBb6hejO8fFDB2wEhX8hqLqa_ZU-VnNoGudFFhDZybcgDFrCgwoyTJhhZSXdZwHxjgcl8SMGy_XVN9l47rQ-JN84l4-81Fl/s720/Blog%20post%20image%20Murder%20on%20the%20Poets%20Walk.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2ppTrCKQm0g53VIEQqnqShUgAc5zUGuwztLL1jV-tX9YkxrldtSZspR2aVy6445S45Wyp-4Qn29FvwR_MsZqeYVxTSBb6hejO8fFDB2wEhX8hqLqa_ZU-VnNoGudFFhDZybcgDFrCgwoyTJhhZSXdZwHxjgcl8SMGy_XVN9l47rQ-JN84l4-81Fl/s320/Blog%20post%20image%20Murder%20on%20the%20Poets%20Walk.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21;"><div class="hael596l alzwoclg jl2a5g8c qjfq86k5 r227ecj6 gt60zsk1 s1m0hq7j" style="align-items: flex-start; display: flex; flex-direction: row; margin-bottom: 12px; padding-left: 16px; padding-right: 16px; padding-top: 12px;"><div class="cgu29s5g" style="flex-grow: 1;"><div class="alzwoclg cqf1kptm siwo0mpr gu5uzgus" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="jroqu855 nthtkgg5" style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="gvxzyvdx aeinzg81 t7p7dqev gh25dzvf exr7barw b6ax4al1 gem102v4 ncib64c9 mrvwc6qr sx8pxkcf f597kf1v cpcgwwas f5mw3jnl szxhu1pg glosn74e kkmhubc1 tes86rjd rtxb060y ztn2w49o" color="var(--secondary-text)" dir="auto" style="display: block; line-height: 1.2308; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><span id="jsc_c_a0"><div class="i85zmo3j fxk3tzhb jcxyg2ei" style="align-items: center; display: inline-flex; justify-content: center;"><span class="f7rl1if4 adechonz f6oz4yja dahkl6ri axrg9lpx rufpak1n qtovjlwq qbmienfq rfyhaz4c rdmi1yqr ohrdq8us nswx41af fawcizw8 l1aqi3e3 sdu1flz4" style="align-content: inherit; align-items: inherit; align-self: inherit; display: inherit; flex-direction: inherit; flex: inherit; height: inherit; justify-content: inherit; max-height: inherit; max-width: inherit; min-height: inherit; min-width: inherit; place-content: inherit; width: inherit;"><span class="om3e55n1" style="position: relative;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span class="spvqvc9t qfa2pajt s8sjc6am" style="clip-path: polygon(0px 0px, 0px 0px, 0px 0px, 0px 0px); clip: rect(0px, 0px, 0px, 0px); position: absolute;">s</span><div class="qi72231t nu7423ey n3hqoq4p r86q59rh b3qcqh3k fq87ekyn bdao358l fsf7x5fv rse6dlih s5oniofx m8h3af8h l7ghb35v kjdc1dyq kmwttqpk srn514ro oxkhqvkx rl78xhln nch0832m cr00lzj9 rn8ck1ys s3jn8y49 o9erhkwx dzqi5evh hupbnkgi hvb2xoa8 f14ij5to l3ldwz01 icdlwmnq h4m39qi9" role="button" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-radius: inherit; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; position: static; text-align: inherit; touch-action: manipulation; user-select: none;" tabindex="0"><div aria-label="Edit Privacy" class="i85zmo3j alzwoclg jcxyg2ei" style="align-items: center; display: flex; justify-content: center;"><div aria-hidden="false" class="jcxyg2ei fxk3tzhb i85zmo3j b7mnygb8" style="align-items: center; display: inline-flex; justify-content: center; margin-right: 4px;"><img alt="Friends" class="gneimcpu oee9glnz" height="12" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/rsrc.php/v3/yJ/r/zPcex_q0TM1.png" style="border: 0px; filter: var(--filter-secondary-icon); vertical-align: -0.25em;" width="12" /><span style="background-color: transparent; text-align: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Book report: Murder on the Poet’s Walk by Ellery Adams 5</span></div></div></div></span></span></span></div></span></span></div></div></div></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21;"><div dir="auto"><div class="d2hqwtrz r227ecj6 ez8dtbzv gt60zsk1" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_a1" style="padding: 4px 16px 16px;"><div class="alzwoclg cqf1kptm siwo0mpr gu5uzgus" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="jroqu855 nthtkgg5" style="margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="gvxzyvdx aeinzg81 t7p7dqev gh25dzvf exr7barw b6ax4al1 gem102v4 ncib64c9 mrvwc6qr sx8pxkcf f597kf1v cpcgwwas m2nijcs8 hxfwr5lz c61n2bf6 oog5qr5w tes86rjd pbevjfx6 ztn2w49o" color="var(--primary-text)" dir="auto" style="display: block; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><div class="m8h3af8h l7ghb35v kjdc1dyq kmwttqpk gh25dzvf n3t5jt4f" style="margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span class="fxk3tzhb b2rh1bv3 gh55jysx m8h3af8h ewco64xe kjdc1dyq ms56khn7 bq6c9xl4 eohcrkr5 akh3l2rg" style="display: inline-flex; height: 16px; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;"><img alt="⭐️" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tb4/1/16/2b50.png" style="border: 0px;" width="16" /></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Secret passageways, a deadly mystery, and more secrets than ever make this another thrilling installment in the Book Retreat Mystery Series. </span></div></div><div class="l7ghb35v kjdc1dyq kmwttqpk gh25dzvf jikcssrz n3t5jt4f" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Jane Steward- Guardian, mother, and resort owner, once again finds herself struggling to protect the most precious things in her care. She has opened her resort to a writer’s competition- the winner will receive a coveted writing contract for an up-and-coming greeting card <a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer;" tabindex="-1"></a>company. The competition turns deadly when guests being dying; bodies posed in ways reminiscent of poets past, and everyone at the competition is suspect. </span></div></div><div class="l7ghb35v kjdc1dyq kmwttqpk gh25dzvf jikcssrz n3t5jt4f" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Jane and her friends must solve the mystery, keep the remaining guests alive, and prepare for a wedding.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I often say that returning to the grounds of Storyton Hall is like visiting with an old friend and reading Murder on the Poet’s Walk is no exception. I am not generally a fan of poetry but Ellery Adams inspires me to check out some of her favourite poets, which she very helpfully lists in the back of this book. </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">To my talented writer friends: do you enjoy poetry? Why or why not? To readers: who are your favourite poets? </span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: helvetica;"><i>Thank you to Kensington Cozies and Ms. Ellery Adams for the opportunity to read this book in advance of publication in exchange for a review.</i></span></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span></div><br /><p></p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-62165231934475469612021-02-17T20:23:00.002-08:002021-02-17T20:30:51.365-08:00Giving up<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">The
last time I observed Lent was 2012. I gave up coffee in preparation for my
baptism as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I made
a paper chain to count down the days and had milestones with rewards for
myself: 2 days in I treated myself to a day off work and stayed in bed with a
book <i>all day</i>; a week in I bought a gourmet hot chocolate with extra
peppermint.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I
made it the full 6 weeks and then I drank all the coffee for a little over a week
before I had enough and finally gave it up for good. The last coffee I had was mid-April 2012. I've given up many things since then, but that was my first big give-up in observance of Lent, and proved to me that I really can do hard things in the name of being obedient to new values.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I
grew up Catholic, though we weren’t strong practitioners of that faith. Even
so, every year I fought with my mom because I thought giving up broccoli or
cleaning my room were perfectly acceptable Lenten sacrifices.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I
never had a testimony of sacrifice, of denying the flesh. Not as a Catholic,
certainly not as a Wiccan; not even as a Buddhist, which practice focuses on
self-mastery and overcoming carnal pursuits. It took joining the Church, one
that doesn’t strictly hold to Lent practices, for me to truly understand how it can draw me closer to my own spiritual needs, to having better control over that which does not serve me, and ultimately to Christ.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am
imperfect at denying myself ... well, anything that I really want. I have an
inner hedonist at my core that rarely gets to do what she wants. The part of me
that wants to connect with my faith, with the self-mastery that comes with
denying worldly pursuits and reflecting on what my spirit truly needs to
thrive, is battling that girl inside me that wants all the stuff all the time.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">This
year, I am going small and cutting out electronics after 9p. I tend to spend 2-3
hours at night, every night, on my phone. Scrolling social media, reading the
news, filling my head and my heart with what can surely wait until the morning.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> My
phone isn’t going into a box with a complicated locking mechanism. For those
few people who reach out to me when they need to talk or vent, I love you
forever and welcome your texts any time of the day or night. I’m just shutting
out the electronic cacophony that darkens my spirit.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I
know a few folks who observe Lent- I’d love to hear your experiences, as you
are willing to share them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">May
the spirit of Lent help you find peace.</span></p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-9512157860140406492021-01-25T20:05:00.005-08:002021-01-25T20:05:41.900-08:00Book report: Ink and Shadows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dJgzEXNyg6k/YA-UL6OOW8I/AAAAAAAABk0/Qp3i4XzeAm01MOyghihoGhJEp3uEVifRgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/06019593-2CA1-42ED-AB45-9C200BC30D73.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dJgzEXNyg6k/YA-UL6OOW8I/AAAAAAAABk0/Qp3i4XzeAm01MOyghihoGhJEp3uEVifRgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/06019593-2CA1-42ED-AB45-9C200BC30D73.jpeg" /></a></div><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Through her characters, Ms. Adams displays exceptional grace to those who wrong others. Her writing is characterized by compassion- she touches on social issues in ways that seek to understand the marginalized and the victims, but also the villains of her stories.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Ink and Shadows centers on four women who have grown close over their time in Miracle Springs; through their individual talents they uplift their community and do what they can to protect the core values of the small town: community, friendship, and protecting each other. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">When newcomers Celeste and Bren are targeted by the local busy-bodies, the Secret, Book, and Scone society gals offer their trademark friendship to rally around them.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Mystery, secrets, and scars from the past are ever-present in the newest installment - and, of course, book-lovers will take extra delight in seeing what Nora and Sheldon are up to at Miracle Books. Ellery Adams doesn’t disappoint this cozy mystery fan!</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Thanks to Ellery Adams and Kensington Books for this advanced reader copy in exchange for my honest review.</span></p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-88115375075184837902021-01-02T11:00:00.001-08:002021-01-02T11:00:04.365-08:00Year in Review - 2020Last year's focus word was <i>Intention </i>and my goal was to approach life with more awareness; to go about my days with more engagement, and not allow myself to slip into mindless behaviour or activities that would eat up my time.<div><br /></div><div>At the start of the pandemic and during the first days of shelter-in-place orders, I went into a sort of vacation mode in my brain. Every day was a day without responsibilities; I already worked from home, so I had that routine down. But things like exercise, which I could no longer do with my work-out buddy in a classroom environment, eating healthy, bedtime routines... all of it ceased, immediately. And I never got it back on track.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've always struggled with cleaning and cooking and the domestic aspects of life; when quarantine orders were issued, I abandoned even the small routines that kept my life running in an orderly manner. Not <i>intentionally</i> ... just sort of passively.</div><div><br /></div><div>All around me I am seeing and reading about folks who are using their quarantine time to learn a new skill - COVID skills, they call them. Michelle Obama took up knitting and is making her family <i>sweaters</i>. Not only did I not take up a new skill, but I mostly abandoned all the things that bring me peace and clarity. My focus word didn't help me at all in 2020 - there I was, there I always am, struggling to face each moment with grace.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am not sure precisely how I will change that in 2021 - I've chosen a <a href="http://paganwalk.blogspot.com/2020/12/focus-word-letting-go.html" target="_blank">new phrase </a>for the year and I've got a list of things I want to do with my time. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am hesitantly hopeful about this year; I need an internal reset in the worst way, and I'm looking forward to seeing how I can accomplish that by letting go of the things that are keeping me... <i>un-reset</i>.</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-61728422809017327432021-01-01T11:00:00.003-08:002021-01-01T11:00:04.665-08:002020 Reading Wrap up<p>Here is what my year in books looked like:</p><p><b>130 </b>total books - <b>46,734 </b>pages<br /><b>112 </b>of those were audio<br /><b>15 </b>were physical books<br /><b>2 </b>were a combination physical + audio<br /><b>1</b> was electronic that I read on my phone</p><p><b>11 </b>of those books were written by people of colour; <b>1 </b>by an LGTBQ+ author; <b>33 </b>were written by women.<br /></p><p>I had several 4 and 5 star reads this year - it was hard to choose 10 top faves.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i-6K8ZnAqtE/X-9mg-2NRUI/AAAAAAAABjk/_Zg6_e79hEgYU84Cdw8HYbj7PhoJo1nmACLcBGAsYHQ/s1800/Top%2B10%2B2020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i-6K8ZnAqtE/X-9mg-2NRUI/AAAAAAAABjk/_Zg6_e79hEgYU84Cdw8HYbj7PhoJo1nmACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Top%2B10%2B2020.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas<br />The Chelsea Girls by Fiona Davis <br />An
Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon<br />The Cider House Rules by John Irving<br />The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh<br />On the Come Up by Angie Thomas<br />State of Wonder by Ann Patchett <br />Anxious People by Fredrik Backman<br />Silver Sparrow by Tayari Jones<br />Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe by Heather Webber</p><p class="MsoNormal">My 2021 reading goal will include fairy tales - Grimms Brothers and Hans Christian Anderson; I am reading a couple epic series- Song of Ice and Fire (re-read) and Outlander- I'd like to dive into the next books of both these sets; and finally - more non-fiction.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Happy 2021, and happy reading!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-83152399038326593952020-12-31T17:00:00.001-08:002020-12-31T17:00:06.349-08:00Focus word: Letting Go<p>This next year's focus will be on <i>letting go</i>. </p><p>Of expectations on myself and others; of guilt when I don't do things exactly as I think I should; of frustration when I'm reminded again and again of my own imperfections.</p><p>In taking stock of 2020 I can't help but feel the way I suspect a lot of folks are feeling: where did my year go? It was at once the longest and the shortest year I've ever experienced. So many things I had planned were derailed by the pandemic- either because I couldn't actually go and do them, or because I was so emotionally overwhelmed and exhausted every minute of every day.</p><p>2020 brought few family gatherings; it brought the diagnosis and treatment of endometriosis. My doctor agreed to remove some of my lady bits while treating that, which brings me immense relief.</p><p>This year has brought old friends closer, and sent some activities to Zoom that I otherwise would have missed out on. I have read or listened to 129 (and counting) books. I have finished a handful of knit items, most of which have been donated or gifted.</p><p>I am not expecting anything remarkable or magical to happen in 2021. I'll take my same hopes and fears into the new year, and the pandemic and everything else will follow right behind me. But the new year always brings a hope for the future and a desire to improve.</p><p>And this year, I'm hoping it will bring me a little closure on a few things I can send into the wind.</p><p>May it bring you that which you wish to manifest or eradicate from your own lives.</p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-4392886400282793862020-12-29T16:57:00.003-08:002020-12-29T17:04:49.058-08:00After-ChristmasGratitudes: family visits; music; grandchildren; hugs from my niece and nephew.<div><br /></div><div>My brother-in-law, Chris, and two out of his 3 children visited for a few days after Christmas. We weren't expecting to see them this year due to COVID and all of us being extra cautious. But they didn't want to stay away, and well, we've all been being extra cautious.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were missing our oldest niece - she's grown now and has a life and a job and responsibilities that kept her home; likewise my sister-in-law, who is like a real honest-to-goodness sister of my heart, wasn't able to join us. But we had a nice visit all the same. It was a quick one but this family knows how to pack a lot of fun and a lot of love into even the shortest of visits.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of my favourite things about having my brother-in-law visit is when he and Stephen play music together. Chris wrote a song for my oldest granddaughter as his Christmas gift to her, and I don't think anyone in the room <b>wasn't</b> in tears by the end of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone has now gone and my house is quiet. I am a solitary person by nature, but I miss them when they've gone. I plan to spend the next several days moping and playing with the things they've forgotten here and drinking all the hot chocolate in the house.</div><div><br /></div><div>Merry after-Christmas!</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-35877788824822035822020-12-28T14:00:00.002-08:002020-12-28T14:00:07.698-08:00Writing goals: fairy tales<p>I recently wrote a short story, a sort of fairy-tale-ish thing. It's not the normal sort of writing I do, and I was a little nervous about sharing it with my family (you can read about that experiment <a href="https://paganwalk.blogspot.com/2020/12/the-adventure-of-three-bears.html" target="_blank">here</a>). The most lovely <a href="https://girlgriot.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">GirlGriot</a> suggested that I write more fairy tales, as it's so far out of my comfort zone.</p><p>If you know me by now, you'll recognize this as a challenge most exciting- I love doing stuff outside my comfort zone.</p><p>So I want to know, my friends: what are <i>your </i>favourite fairy tales? I prefer the dark and morbid to modern-day happy ending stories so of course I dug out my decades-old copy of Grimms Brothers stories. But I don't love fairy tales in general, so I need a bit of help to get started. Give me your most and least favourites!</p><p>Regarding that family project: it was an absolute delight to hear what others had written. There are 8 stories written so far, and we went around the room and read them aloud to my father-in-law. There is so much talent and humour in this group and it was precious to see that coming together in such a personal way.</p><p><br /></p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-7605243563173362152020-12-27T23:11:00.007-08:002020-12-27T23:11:38.951-08:00Disheveled<p>That
is how I’m feeling this year. Every day feels like a crisis, though I can
honestly say that I’m not plagued with <i>crises</i>.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I
observed several notable days this past month that have left me feeling at
odds. My grandmother’s death day anniversary was December 7th; Colin’s birthday
on December 16th; and my dad’s death anniversary on December 17th. To varying
degrees, I mourn them all so much still and each day of observance has me
feeling upside down.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Among
these days are birthdays: RHG, one of my oldest and best friends, had a
birthday on the 15th; my sweet mother turned 60-I-don’t-know on the 19th (I
actually *do* know, I’m just protecting her from a number that surprises both
of us). Also on the 7th was a deeply spiritual day for me- that is the
anniversary of the day I went through the temple for the very first time.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These
back-to-back birth and death days left me feeling a little wrung out. I can
handle a heavy emotional observance. I’ve been living in that space for a while
now; but I need time to process, to have a lot of feelings and eat a lot of
cheesecake about it. So many days with conflicting emotions right in a row
means that I did no processing. I ate no cheesecake. I didn’t have long enough
with any of these days to stare them in the face and memorize the shape and
feel of them.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And
now Christmas is right around the corner and I am unprepared emotionally to
face that. I struggle with Christmas already, and when you add in all my big
feelings about everything else... well, let’s just say the Christmas spirit is
struggling to find a gap to slip into.</p><p class="MsoNormal">...</p><p class="MsoNormal">I wrote this several days ago - Christmas is now past, and I am filled with the love of my family. I am looking forward to seeing the backside of this year, and feeling just the smallest bit of hope for the future.</p>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-85644467679171432422020-12-20T20:25:00.001-08:002020-12-20T20:25:10.907-08:00The Adventure of the Three BearsMy father-in-law is a master storyteller. He used to tell stories to the kids that always started the same way but ended up somewhere different. He would begin "Once upon a time there were three bears. The Butcher, the Baker, and the Candlestick Maker. And they all sailed out to sea." And from there he would make up a different story each time.<div><br /></div><div>My daughter has asked everyone in our family if we would write a story for my father-in-law in this same manner. I thought this idea was lovely and couldn't wait to participate. <br /><br />Until I actually sat down to write and realized, I am not a good make-believer. Fairy Tale writing or "storytelling" is definitely not my bailiwick. But I love the idea and want to contribute, so here is my attempt at a story...</div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Once upon
a time there were three bears: the Butcher, the Baker, and the Candlestick
Maker and they all sailed out to sea. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">They lived
in a town called Garibaldi on the Oregon coast. There weren</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">’t many other bears in
Garibaldi at this time and everyone in the small town knew everyone else- knew
their failures and their hopes and dreams; knew their personal histories and
their darkest secrets.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Well</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">… they knew most of the
darkest secrets in town. The Butcher had a secret that no one knew. He had been
born to a family of cattle-farming bears that were all expected to work the family
business. The Butcher was a very strong bear and a fine butcher, having learnt
from a long line of butchers. He was deft with the carving knife and knew to
trim each cut of meat and he always knew exactly how to give his customers what
they wanted.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Every
bear in town had a story to tell about the Butcher and his dexterity with a
sharp knife.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">What
no one knew, not even the gossipiest of gossipers, was that the Butcher used
his sharp-knife skills on more than just cows. Every so often a human would
come through town, and never leave. The Butcher harbored a deep and unpleasant
need to practice his skills on humans even though this was not allowed by the
other bears.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He eventually
grew tired of butchering -cows </span><i style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">and</i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
people- and wearied of carrying his secret. He was a hunter at heart and wanted
to do more with his paws than work in a butcher shop. He wanted to hunt. At the
first opportunity, he would be leaving this town behind.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
Baker, too, had always been a baker. He had never done anything else and craved
change. In Garibaldi, there isn</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">’t a lot of tolerance for change and the boring old bears only
liked bread made with honey; but the Baker wanted to bake with rye, and diced
peppers, and herbes de Provence! Whenever he added a bit of something different
to his bread dough the other bears turned up their noses and avoided his shop.
Garibaldi was no longer the place for him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
Candlestick Maker was a young lady-bear who was most definitely not suited to
this vocation. Like the Butcher and the Baker, her family had been making
candlesticks for many years. She was pressed into service of the family
business but had no passion for it. Her passion was stories- she could often be
found in her father</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">’s
workshop gazing out the window. She spied the Baker across the way tending a
private garden of lavender, basil, rosemary, and tarragon; she watched as a few
men straggled through town and she noticed the Butcher pausing as he swept his
front stoop to watch the men as they begged at the Baker’s store-front.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Her
imagination took flight as she watched the bears of the town going about.
Melted wax pooled on her workbench as she made up stories in her mind and her
father shouted at her. </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Look
at this mess! Stop your lollygagging and spin these candlesticks!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
young bear ground her teeth and decided to leave her father</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">’s candle-making shop and
sail about the world. She threw off her leather apron and declared herself a candlestick
maker no longer. “I’m a Storyteller.” She whispered, and then she left.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">And
that is how the Hunter, the Fancy Bread Baker, and the Storyteller all found
themselves at the port of Garibaldi, fed up with the town and their
expectations.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
three became friends and spent their journey together. The Hunter had sausages
to share; the Fancy Bread Baker had several rosemary and pimento loaves; the
Storyteller set out candles from her pack to light their table.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The Hunter and the Fancy Bread Baker extended
a fatherly protection over the Storyteller, and she kept them entertained with
stories of delight. They talked of their families, and of the burdens they
carried.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I don’t like making candlesticks, but
Father doesn’t care what I want to do.” The Storyteller told them. “He only
cares about the family business.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Who wants to eat the same boring bread,
day in and day out?” The Fancy Bread Baker complained. “Where have this town’s
taste buds gone?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I kill the humans that come to town.” The
Hunter explained. At the shock on the other’s faces, he rushed to explain,
“Only the strangers though! </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I often wanted to
kill my customers, but I didn</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">’t!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
Baker and the Storyteller stared at him. </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“J-just don’t kill any more, and don’t kill
us, okay?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">The
Hunter allowed that as he had no friends beside these two, he would kill no
more humans and also refrain from using his knives on them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> <span> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
ship eventually docked at a faraway island port, and the three disembarked.
They had very little of their supplies left and decided to stay together for a
time. They made their way along the coastline of the island and as night was
falling they came upon a village. There was no inn, and anyway the three had no
money. They met a nice old bear who pointed them inland and described a small,
abandoned cottage that they might find suitable for the night.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
cottage was in poor repair but the three set about making it comfortable for
their first night on land in some time. The next day the three split up to
explore the village. They were given food and bed rolls and wheat for flour, in
exchange for help around the village.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
villagers were generous, but very poor. They were kind and shared what they
had, but they also lacked in many areas. They welcomed the three strangers to
their small village, and shared their woes with the newcomers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">There
were many animals surrounding the village, but the bears of this town had
little in the way of hunting skills. They had gardens, but no experience with
herbs and no recipes to speak of. The young bears were mischievous and were
often left to their own devices while the adults tried their best each day to
complete their chores and gather food.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
Hunter brought his skills with the knife and was able to provide not only meat,
but protection for the whole village. The villagers asked many things of the
Hunter -because he was such a strong bear, he was often asked to help with repairs
around the village. In exchange, the villagers shared their meals with him, and
helped him improve the little cottage he and his friends were living in.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
Baker tended the gardens and taught his recipes to others and baked fancy bread
for everyone. The bears of this village loved the clever flavours he blended
together and often brought their own ingredients for the Baker to experiment
with. The shared their seeds and harvest with him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
Storyteller gathered the children each day and taught them to read and write,
and tell stories of their own. She taught them about the virtue of contributing
to their village and got them thinking about what they wanted to be when they
were grown bears.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">And
so, accepted by their new friends, the three bears thrived in the village. The
Butcher never again turned his knives against a human; the Fancy Bread Baker
spent his days baking delicious treats for a community who encouraged his experimentation.
And the Storyteller found her niche in raising up a new generation of young storytellers,
who could be both productive </span><i style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">and </i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">whimsical.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-style: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The End<o:p></o:p></span></em></p><br /></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-56787738107156441902020-08-04T13:30:00.002-07:002020-08-04T13:39:17.794-07:00Journal Prompt: What do you lie about?My instinct is to say I don't lie about anything. I am honest in all my dealings with my fellow man.<div>When I was growing up, my mother impressed upon me, in very strong terms, that lying is a cardinal sin and we must never do it. I don't remember the lies I told as a child, but I remember that my mama did not appreciate a liar.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I didn't lie. I told the truth always, much to Mom's chagrin - it turns out, sometimes parents might appreciate the occasional lie. </div><div><br /></div><div>The doctrine of my church stresses the importance of honesty, and I take that very seriously. To be entrusted with the care of others' feelings, one must practice honesty and transparency. So, I don't lie.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except when I do. </div><div>How are you? Are you okay? <i>Yes, I'm fine. Everything is wonderful!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>This is a big one for me. I understand the importance of being honest about my feelings, I do. But I also reserve the right not to spill my guts about every emotion I have. If you know me, you know I spill my guts on a fairly regular basis so it may be hard to imagine that I hold <i>anything</i> in reserve. Believe me, I am protecting you from some of that, some of the time.<br /><br />In my marriage, we place extra importance on honesty. So I'm learning to say <i>I'm not okay, but I'm not ready to put words to it yet.</i> This is at least the truth, and I can trust Stephen not poke at my bruises.</div><div><br /></div><div>The last time I visited a therapist was right after Colin died. I saw a very nice woman that my job put me in touch with. She had no idea how to counsel a person who had experienced traumatic death, and that became painfully obvious right away.</div><div><br /></div><div>After expressing an inappropriate amount of shock and bother about the manner of Colin's death, she asked me how I was processing my experience, and I spent 40 minutes tell her about all the things I was doing: I started my day off with an hour of yoga and meditation; I had developed a morning routine of self-affirmation, journaling, and a healthy breakfast. I spent my afternoons writing and reading and drawing. Evenings were for quiet reflection, more journaling, and some stretching before an early bedtime so I could get plenty of restorative sleep. I told her all about my plans to get a cat, go to college, and change jobs. She proclaimed me her healthiest patient on record and told me to call her if anything changed.</div><div><br /></div><div>The only part that was remotely true was that I did have plans to get a cat. Every other bit of it was false. I spent my days drinking, crying, and throwing up but I wasn't going to tell <i>her</i> that. I didn't get anything out of that therapy experience - because I lied.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have a better relationship with my own emotions these days. I still cry or vomit when my body demands it, but I don't drink any longer and I rarely create such extravagant falsehood around how great I am doing.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, how am I doing? Well ... the 20 year anniversary of Colin's death is 14 days away and I'm not okay. I will <i>be</i> okay, but for today I am giving myself permission to not feel great.</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-39536731779193114212020-08-03T17:16:00.032-07:002020-08-03T17:26:53.657-07:00On this day: Baptism <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gJRSxmSaxXk/XyioNhPnaeI/AAAAAAAABgE/iaDWu-gZzSQQ1YfUJESYvy0tjIm9zfR1QCLcBGAsYHQ/s4032/Flowers.jpg" style="margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gJRSxmSaxXk/XyioNhPnaeI/AAAAAAAABgE/iaDWu-gZzSQQ1YfUJESYvy0tjIm9zfR1QCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Flowers.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Eight years ago I was baptised a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The missionaries in my ward remembered that today is my baptism anniversary and dropped off these lovely flowers to recognize that. <div><br /></div><div>These are the things I know to be true:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>I am a child of God</i>. Knowing this inspires me to love myself and honour that celestial part of me. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>You- my reader, friend, beloved human, random stranger- are a child of God.</i> This means that I am also inspired to love you; to honour your spirit, your divine nature, your beauty. This is true whether or not you are a member of my church.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>My life is better now that I am a member of this church. </i>I am still imperfect, a flawed and awkward work in progress. I cannot claim to <b>be</b> better, only that my life is improved. I am a happier, kinder, gentler version of myself. I am still rebellious, still working through my own stuff. But I'm happier doing it, and content with the questions that still loom large in my mind. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>I believe that other’s lives can become better through discipleship to Christ. </i>As I have found happiness here, I believe that you can too. And if you want to know more, to learn about the church and why I love it, I will happily talk my face off about it. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>I believe that it’s important to respect each person’s will and desire. </i>For me, that means if you <b>don't</b> want to hear about the church and why I love it, I will happily talk my face off about what <b>you</b> love, and what makes <b>your </b>life better.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am grateful to know these truths; grateful for the knowledge that we -member and not-member- are in this life together and that despite differences in belief or faith we are truly connected to one another.</div><div><br /></div><div>And because of that, I owe others grace, dignity, and equality. If I do nothing else in this life, I wish to be someone others can look to for love, friendship, and safety. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-75215241246448979172020-08-02T08:00:00.007-07:002020-08-02T13:00:11.294-07:00Death dreamsI have this dream where I'm going about my daily life, and I encounter Colin. <i>Where </i>always changes - sometimes I will run into him at the grocery story and we'll have that awkward moment where I expect him to be dead and he wants to talk about what I've been up to. Sometimes I'll look out a window and he'll be standing there watching me. Sometimes he will walk right into my house and my life and want to pick up where we left off. <div><br /></div><div>He's always so casual- thumbs hooked in pockets, just-saw-you-there-and-wanted-to-get-coffee vibing at me. I am always in turmoil. My vibe is very much 'where the hell have you been?' And, 'how are you not dead? Did you die and come back, or have you been not-dead all these years?' Also, 'if you've been not-dead since the beginning you owe me big answers'.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dream-me is always tempted to go with him. I have been mourning this man in some way or another for my entire adult life and there was a time when the idea of having him back alive consumed my every thought. I can remember what that feels like in the pit of my stomach, as though it was yesterday and not nearly two decades ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wake from these dreams confused and relieved. I have built a whole new life around the Colin-shaped void in my soul. I reserve some space there for him, for my experiences and my love for him; there will always be room for Colin there. The space where he sits is sacred, but the space around him has gotten smaller over the years. I've filled it up with my first 'mom' experience raising an almost-daughter; with Stephen's children; with grandchildren and nieces and nephews and a daughter-in-law who is my best friend and with Jesus.</div><div><br /></div><div>These dreams leave me feeling like I've betrayed him, because my body remembers the trauma of losing him. I can feel that in my bones. And my bones spent a long time wanting him back, wanting him alive again no matter the cost (as if there was anything I could pay - if it were possible, I would have done it).</div><div><br /></div><div>But my bones are also relieved - for the family I have now, for the happiness I've managed to pull around myself. I'll always hold space for Colin. But he has to share it.</div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-73113519044133661602020-08-01T21:00:00.003-07:002020-08-01T21:00:02.828-07:00Book report: July<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cs5-aS5smg0/XyW3XH-R1yI/AAAAAAAABfk/xasZibayIXcAMgYBb3e_x3GFoXzLRpXbQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1800/IMG_4151.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cs5-aS5smg0/XyW3XH-R1yI/AAAAAAAABfk/xasZibayIXcAMgYBb3e_x3GFoXzLRpXbQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_4151.JPG" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I read or listened to nine books in July. </div><div><br /></div><div>Favourites:</div><div><b>Book: </b>The New Jim Crow</div><div><div><b>Author: </b>Michelle Alexander</div><div><b>Dates read: </b>June 24-July 3</div><div><b>Rating: </b>5 stars</div><div><b>Review/synopsis: </b>This is a non-fiction work about systemic racism in America as it relates to mass incarceration of African Americans. Ms. Alexander presents information about how political rhetoric shapes society's mindset and allows us to create and reinforce laws that are administered un-equally between Black and White Americans.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Book: </b>On the Come Up<div><b>Author: </b>Angie Thomas</div><div><b>Dates read: </b>July 3-4</div><div><b>Rating: </b>5 stars</div><div><b>Review/synopsis: </b>This is a work of fiction about a young Black trying to make her way - in life, in music, and as a Black American in a world that wants to push her toward its own expectations.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Book: </b>An Unkindness of Magicians<div><b>Author: </b>Kat Howard</div><div><b>Dates read: </b>July17-19</div><div><b>Rating: </b>4 stars</div><div><b>Review/synopsis: </b>Magicians are real, and their world is run quite differently from ours. As various families vie for power and control we learn of a dark history upon which their society is built.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>All three of these books gave me a bit of a 'book hangover' and left me wanting more.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reader friends: share <i>your </i>favourites! I've been doing read-a-longs with friends and I'm *always* on the hunt for my next favourite book.</div><div><br /></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-71700969489736244212020-08-01T08:00:00.004-07:002020-08-01T11:58:26.849-07:00Journal Prompt: Daily Routine<div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>My routine</i></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've been working from home for several years now, so the viral outbreak and consequent quarantine haven't really interrupted my life much- except that I did go from having about 3 free evenings each month to now having all the free evenings. That has been nice. I have been fortunate in that there was no interruption to my paycheck. I am feeling very grateful for that.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I first started working from home, I had a routine: I got up at my regular time, took a shower and dressed for the day, and arrived at my home office at the normal time. My job had gone from high-stress to zero stress.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something I have learned about me is that I need at least a little stress to function. If I'm not under some sort of deadline or looming crisis, I don't get quite as much done. Having no career-related stress meant that within a very short amount of time I abandoned the routine.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And now, 7 years on, I have no routine at all. Between morning time and go-to-bed time, my life is mostly ruled by my work calendar (and of course, I've worked myself back up to having some stress related to my job, </span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">If I actually had a routine, it would look like this:</span></span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I would make my bed every morning. <i>Do any of you do this? I'm so in the habit of rolling out of bed and bolting for my office in the morning before my brain is even engaged. How do I change this?</i></span></span></li><li><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Breakfast, vitamins, water. <i>My day starts with Rockstar. Energy drink, not e-string guitar. I feel like I would do much better with a healthy breakfast. By the time I remember this each day, I'm three meetings in and consuming my second energy drink.</i></span></span></li><li><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Exercise. <i>A couple years ago I was working out with a personal trainer. My dad had just died, I had braces on my teeth, and I was working out regularly which meant I was very close to my target weight. Thanks to COVID I rotate between day-time PJs and night-time PJs and eat like I'm on vacation. </i></span></span></li></ul><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know there's more that would help me but I feel like if I could add these few things to my daily routine I would be happier.</span></span></div></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "martel sans";"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.32px; white-space: pre-wrap;">For those of you who have a routine, <i>please please please </i>share with me. I need help, and motivation. What do you do that works? How have you changed your habits? </span></span></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-28367558105033780242020-07-31T12:00:00.001-07:002020-07-31T13:16:42.002-07:00Anniversary(s)<span style="font-family: inherit;">Stephen and I celebrated a couple anniversaries in the last few weeks; June 30th marked our 8 year wedding anniversary and July 18th was our 5 year sealing anniversary (a sealing is a temple wedding ceremony for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). </span><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had plans to do a little gushing on social media about how fantastic my husband is, but I made the mistake of looking at my 'memories' on Facebook and found this from my mother-in-law: </span><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLJou3drgxk/XyNWa_57hlI/AAAAAAAABfI/tj_opaoMoi0eh3Hmb2PoNon3aiNnQAawwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1125/FB%2BNF.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="1125" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLJou3drgxk/XyNWa_57hlI/AAAAAAAABfI/tj_opaoMoi0eh3Hmb2PoNon3aiNnQAawwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/FB%2BNF.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nancy was a another mom to me, and anyone who knows me (I'm looking you, first-mom) knows that moms sort of bring out the rebellion in me. I don't like to be told what to do; I don't like to be counselled, or advised, or warned. I don't like it when other people know better than I do what's good for me, and I especially don't like other women telling me what's what.
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nancy had a way of speaking to me that didn't tap into that rebellion. She had a bit of magic about her that soothed me. I'm a little un-soothable, so I'm not sure how she managed it.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">She helped me see when I was being too hard on myself; and she helped me understand when I was being an ass. She brought a grace to my soul that I didn't have before I knew her, and that I fear I've lost now that she's gone. I am desperately clinging to the vestiges of that grace in the hopes that she isn't looking down on me, shaking her head at my awkward attempts to do life without her.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The nice part is that she raised a whole mess of people, formally and informally, who are among my favourite people. I miss her terribly, but I'm grateful to be surrounded by those who reflect her love and her gentle spirit.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Especially her number one son, who always makes me feel loved and never minds it when my crazy leaks out.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-43364142740959851352020-07-30T16:07:00.000-07:002020-07-30T16:07:53.553-07:00Telling storiesA couple months ago I had an opportunity to participate in a spoken-word storytelling project where individuals share real-life experiences around a theme. The theme I participated in was Total Recall, and I wanted to share that story here. <div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>I’ve had so many moments over the course of my life that came to mind when I heard the theme of Total Recall. Moments of recall so visceral it takes my breath. Moments that contain an entire lifetime in the space of heart beat. I am shaped by those moments and continue to be influenced by them.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
Most of my strongest moments of recall are related to music. <br /></div><div>
One moment was my first husband’s death and the recall that I have around it changes. Sometimes it’s hearing a song or phrase that will take me back to a moment in our life together - I have these memories of sitting on the boardwalk outside a pub, enjoying a drink and people watching and sunshine; I remember feeling so thoroughly content with my life and my choices, and so invincibly happy. We had this favourite song with the line: Someday there will be a cure for pain, that’s the day I throw my drugs away. When I hear that song now, I’m taken back to that moment when I felt like I had it all; that husband took his own life and the knowledge that his pain couldn’t be cured knocks me to my knees.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
Another moment for me is with my dad when I was a little girl. My dad suffered from substance addiction when I was growing up and was often absent. My parents were split up and I didn’t see him often. He had a traumatic childhood and didn’t really know how to be a dad. He was this kind, loving person who got buried beneath drugs and alcohol. When we spent time together we were often in his garage working on his motorcycle. I had my own tool set and workbench, and he would teach me how to work on engines and fix things.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
We would have the radio on and there were a few songs that required us to stop what we were doing and give ourselves to the music. One song was Drift Away by Dobie Gray. My dad was not a playful person; he was this reserved, stern-faced guy. He didn’t play, or rough-house, or cut loose. But when Drift Away came on the radio he would transform somehow. He would dance me around the garage, swaying to the music and singing along.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
My dad died a couple years ago and when that song comes up in my playlist, everything stops for me and I have to cry and sing at the top of my voice and have a moment for my dad. My dad who was not playful or lighthearted, but would sing into a wrench like it was a microphone when his favourite songs came on the radio. My dad, who was not around for most of my childhood but who somehow managed to make me understand that he loved me.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
I hear that song and I am infused with feelings of safety and security and protection. My dad was probably the first person to ever make me feel that way.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
There is a part of the song that says “The world outside looks so unkind, so I’m counting on you to carry me through”. When I think about my childhood with my dad, that sort of sums up how life was for us. The world was hard and painful, and even if he did it imperfectly he carried me through. He taught me to be stoic when life gets hard, and he taught me that life didn’t revolve me and that things were going to hurt my feelings, and that I would be okay.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
He straightened his life up once I was an adult; he got back together with my mom, got sober, and became a sort of informal mentor to others. He became a person people could count on, someone with wisdom and kindness to share. It was the most amazing thing to witness.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
I also have a lot of less pleasant memories of my dad but when I think about the net impact of my experiences with him, it’s the good memories that hold the most power over me. That feeling of safety I have when I think about him dancing in the garage is more important to me than anything else.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
How I process information and form memories is often about how I feel about a situation at my core, and less about what actually happened. That’s a huge problem in our society, that we rely more on how we feel than what is actually happening. But it has a funny way of playing out in my head.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
My grandmother, my mom’s mom, was sometimes hard to be around. I went to visit her with my mom a few years ago; during that visit my grandma pulled a file out of her cabinet - every single letter or card I ever gave her was in that file. From the time I could hold a crayon, through my 20s when I reduced our relationship to cards in the mail - she saved them all. I can’t even begin to imagine what it means but when I think about how it makes me feel - I feel loved.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
My husband’s death was probably the single most devastating experience of my life but after nearly 20 years what I remember, what I feel when I think about him is that he made me feel loved and the life I’ve been living since his death is one that has brought me tremendous happiness. It’s awkward for me to acknowledge the cause and effect relationship there, but it’s undeniable.<br /></div><div>
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My mother in law once told me that no matter what I said, I should always make sure the message of love comes through. When I reflect on my experiences, good and bad, my memory is informed on whether or not I felt loved. I connect with others based on whether or not I feel loved. I want to be the sort of person who inspires love in others, the sort of person others can feel safe with. I don’t always know how to do it, but the desire is there.
</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-22473182621269061332020-07-28T15:31:00.001-07:002020-07-28T15:31:47.397-07:00Celebrating Bill<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZmgRia7x8zE/XyCl9pf1fKI/AAAAAAAABes/l7GL8TKiPN4MWcXm8xi9r3PTrk16vafZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_4092%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZmgRia7x8zE/XyCl9pf1fKI/AAAAAAAABes/l7GL8TKiPN4MWcXm8xi9r3PTrk16vafZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_4092%2B-%2BCopy.jpg" /></a></div></div>
My dad's favourite dessert was cheesecake. Every year for his birthday I would make him a delicious crust-less sour cream cheesecake; sometimes I'd make two, so he could have one all on his own.<div><br /></div><div>His birthday was yesterday - he would have been 65. I had plans to make a cheesecake, like I do every year, and enjoy it on his behalf. Except I couldn't. This happens to me when I'm sad or depressed, or just having some feelings; I can't do the things I plan, can't make my body move the way I want it to, and lose all motivation for all the things.</div><div><br /></div><div>The year he was diagnosed, he spent some time in the hospital; when he came home, there was no expectation that he would get better. So when he asked for Taco Bell for dinner, it was hard to deny him that. While the idea of feeding a dying man Taco Bell was kind of unappealing, nobody really wanted to tell him no.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, he got Taco Bell for dinner. He kept it down, and his health <i>did</i> improve very slightly in the weeks after. A few months later he was even able to return to work for a very brief time. He joked that it was that Taco Bell, curing him and making life better.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bill didn't need a lot of things to make him happy. Shelter, his family, a job, books. When we celebrated his birthday, he never wanted a fancy meal or big extravagant gifts. He often asked for fast food and a gift certificate to a bookstore. His tastes were simple, and his needs were easy.</div><div><br /></div><div>So last night, feeling low about Bill and wishing we weren't celebrating his birthday without him, Stephen and I ate his favourite food - Taco Bell and a store-bought cheesecake.</div><div><br /></div><div> I dressed mine up with blackberries and mint from my own garden. He would have hated that.</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168244017139303117.post-20877880162594231472020-02-22T17:00:00.000-08:002020-12-29T17:02:27.031-08:00Reading report: February <u>Sackett’s Land by Louis L’Amour</u><div><u><br /></u>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">I’ve always considered myself not-a-fan of Westerns. I found the movies dull and never wanted to read a Western novel. I am not intrigued by the Wild West and the plight of the pioneer family has never interested me. </span><br />
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After my dad was diagnosed with a fatal illness, I decided I would read some Westerns and we could finally discuss his favourites. Louis L’Amour was my dad’s favourite author, so I chose to read the Sacketts series. I never did get around to reading these with my dad, so now I am reading them in his memory.</div>
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I enjoyed this one very much, and I only wish I had made time to read it sooner. The story is simple, straight-forward, and told in such a way that I care about the characters.</div>
</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129167684257702370noreply@blogger.com0