It's an Average Life

A Chocolate Walk of Shame

2012-02-21T17:37:00.006-08:00

Well it started off innocently enough, at least that is what I told myself.

Be organized, beat the rush, gather your goodies now blah blah blah.

In essence, this is what really happened.

It was a glorious Wednesday afternoon, and I, in all my glory, sauntered down on my lunch hour to the town's chocolatier to gather up what would be some yummy delectable goodies for my better half and my mother. I roamed around the shelves for what seemed like an eternity picking this treat and that treat and this goody and that goody and then dropped a substantial amount of money on the custom made treats for my beloved and my amazing mother.

I told myself that with Valentine's day less than a week away, that it would be best if I hid the chocolate at my office in order to avoid the prying and overly attentive eyes of that man that I call my better half. Like the nose of a bloodhound, I could foresee my Valentine's Surprise going sideways if those gooey delish items were somehow hidden at home, as in all likelihood they would be snuffed out instantly with that ancestral Lebanese nose that my better half sports upon his handsome face.

This was, as it turns out, my biggest mistake.

By Thursday at lunch, those glorious chocolate were calling my name, beckoning me with their sweetness, taunting me with their rich flavour and I thought to myself (or perhaps justified to myself) that I had bought so much, how could one simple chocolate be missed. I would soon use that excuse again an hour later, and again, a half hour later.

By Friday, the first signs of my impending doom would be fully noticeable upon my chin where a now volcano sized eruption had appear. You would think, or better yet you would hope, that the zit upon my face would have deterred me from ravishing the remaining chocolates, but no, sadly no, I would reach for another chocolate the moment I walked into the office come Friday morning, and again by mid morning. And by lunch time, the evidence of my devouring nature was circled around my lips like a glorious halo of oooey gooey velvety brown goodness.

It was obvious to myself and the multitude of empty wrappers by Friday afternoon, that I would have to somehow muster up my courage and open up my wallet to replace what I had so willingly sucked back in a mere few days.

By the time I returned to the office, I felt safe in the notion that the chocolate would be locked up and away from me for two solid days. A sufficient enough time frame for me to forget those teasers, to get on with my life, and to devour apples in the same glorious way that I sucked the filling out of those damn chocolate filled treats. But alas, I was tormented. Tormented I say. Tormented for two full days, dreaming and craving and dreaming and craving those stinking zit making gloriously filled treat temptations.

By Monday morning, I was nearly running up the stairs and drooling at the corners of my mouth as I burst thru my office doors like a crazy woman shedding her clothing off during a menopausal hot flash. "Come to momma!!!!" the words popped out of my mouth! And with no will power whatsoever, I downed every last piece within an one hour sitting.

As I sat there moaning and groaning partly over my stupidity, partly over my gluttony, and mostly over my serious lack of self control, it dawned on me, Valentines was the next day and I had eaten the gifts of love for the ones that I loved.

And as lunch hour approached, I grabbed my wallet, and with what little self respect I had, waddled my way down once again to the chocolatier. And with a look of disgust upon the sales clerk's face (or just my guilty conscious taking over), I picked out the replacement items, and then did what every respectable woman does, I held my head high, handed over my money, grabbed not one but two pieces of free chocolate from the tray at the cash register, gave the clerk a wink and did the Chocolate walk of shame right out of her store.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

...the art of casting stones

2012-02-13T17:41:00.000-08:00

I got to thinking today about the art of casting stones. It struck me how judgmental we the human race are, especially since we are all essentially born with some type of characters flaws.

I had been reading earlier the different articles over the early demise of the now late Whitney Houston. Far be it for me to ever write about the death of a celebrity, but I had made the mistake of scanning the comment sections of a few articles that were written. I have to say I was horrified by the amount of sarcastic comments oozing off the screen.

I personally have never really been affected by the death of a celebrity, well with the exception of Elvis Presley and only because I was the same age as his daughter, Lisa Marie, and in my astute nine years of age, I wondered how she would fair in life without the guidance of a male figure. Oh hell, I was just upset that she had lost her dad.

Often, when the latest celebrity death hits the net, or social media, or the media in general, I am one of the last to be shocked. It's almost like I knew it was coming. I, along with the majority of the population, could see the train wreck approaching and was just waiting for the moment when the actual collision, followed by the carnage, would occur.

So the death of Whitney Houston was for me, no shock at all.

But what shocks me the most and saddens me to the core, is how we as humans are quick to step up on our soap boxes and bring out our almighty sword of judgment and withdraw our gift of compassion.

I don't know about you, but I can safely say that I am not without an addiction. Hence my chubby little body and my love for fatty foods. I see addiction in everyone. Whether it's shopping your life away (and what could be considered my second weakness), exercising to the point of depriving your body of nutrients, drinking, drugs, hoarding, compulsively counting your life away, frugality, gambling, or counting bottles, whatever it is, we all have some form of weakness that we fight throughout our entire lives. Unfortunately, in the case of Ms. Houston, some addictions are more harmful than others.

It's amazing to me how quickly we do things like jump on the band wagon to find a way to blame someone else for our own problems, or in this case Ms. Houston's problems. But the fact remains, that in the end, we are the only ones responsible for ourselves, no one holds a gun to our heads and forces us to smoke weed, eat another doughnut, drink another beer, buy another pair of shoes, save every single penny, throw money away on a game of poker. Nobody does that but us.

It makes me wonder sometimes, when will we learn to take responsibilities for our actions, but more importantly, when will we learn that passing judgment on others is only a meager disguise for what ails ourselves.

Hopefully, someday, we will learn that nothing good comes from the art of casting the first stone. Sadly tho, I highly doubt it.

Now if you would excuse me, *ahem cough* I think its time for me to step down from my own soapbox.

Until Next Time.

Cheers

Tracy

...and then she was gone

2012-02-07T17:54:00.000-08:00

It was December of 1995, just a mere nine days before Christmas that my mom, a neighbour and myself would trot out to nowhere to see what would become one of the most beautiful blessings of our lives.

Tucked away in the woods, in deplorable conditions was the most disgusting house that contained the most flea ridden, docile ball of fluff that would eventually widdle her way into our hearts and leave a loss so significant, that even now as I sit here typing, the tears roll down my cheeks like raindrops from the sky.

She would be called Maggie Mae and would become one of the greatest love stories of my life.

With hearing so intense and eyes so sharp, high strung to her inner chord, hater of most men and felines, scared of abrupt noises such as her own farts, where kisses were plentiful, and cuddles were memorable, from paw slapping you when she was hungry, to shoving her tiny butt into you when she craved affection, to jumping heights that would revel Superman, she was a wild child at heart and a contradiction on many levels. She was such a gift, our beautiful brown eyed girl, and a complicated sweet soul.

And while she was technically my mom’s little girl, I would spend the greater part of her life being blessed with the kindness of my mother in sharing custody. I would eventually move 20 minutes away and grieve the loss of being a part of her daily life. I would spend the next several years visiting her on Saturday’s and looking forward to hearing words like “Maggie Mae, Auntie Tracy’s here” where she would run excitedly at me and bounce back in a pounce position waiting for her treat followed by love.

Years would go by and time would move on, and she would live what people would deem a long life. But for me, it was not long enough. It would never be long enough. We often made bets that she would outlive us all, or at least until the age of 20, as there was no slowing down for the little girl with the speed and long legs to match.

We would spend her final year watching in sadness as her heart weakened and her health deteriorated. One by one, her usual habits of happiness started disappearing, from rolling on the ground, to barking at me when I went to leave, to pouncing in excitement. Her tail would wag less and her body slept more. It would eventually become apparent, that she was no longer well and a heart wrenching decision would have to be made...

Last Thursday, would be our last time with sweet Maggie. The last time I would kiss her. The last time I would hug her. The last time I would tell her that I loved her. The last time I would tell her what a good girl she was. The last time she would look me in the face. The last time she would kiss me. The last time I would hold her little adorable face in my hands. It would be the last time my heart would feel whole.

And as we reluctantly entered into the vets, she snuggled deep into my mother’s arms, and I stroked her failing body. I watched in agony, as she tried with all her might to keep eye contact with me after the sedative was administered. With my heart bursting into a million pieces, I gave her one more kiss, and shed a million tears. And just before the vet gave her the final shot that would take her from this life into another, I saw a small tear roll down from her eye onto her soft sweet sweet face, and then in quiet peacefulness she was gone. Our beautiful girl... And with her went a huge, irreplaceable part of my heart.

Oh Maggie, how I love you. Thank you for everything little girl.

Maggie Mae
October 22, 1995 to February 2, 2012

Living in Fiber Hell

2012-01-25T17:35:00.000-08:00

Last year, one of my more brighter ideas was to cleanse my body of all toxins. I, after all was said done, quite successful in my, let’s say, cleaning house endeavours. My body, by all accounts, was feeling quite chipper. In fact, I would even go so far as to say elated with joy. Inflammation had dramatically dropped, poundage on my body melted off, my energy level soared, I could run up and down the stairs with narry an ache, and above all, my happiness quotient over the situation peaked me into an orgasmic state.

However, the downside was that I nearly gave myself an aneurysm half a dozen times whilst I struggled with the delicate topic of expelling my lady like bowels. Yes, I was painfully constipated and constantly concerned, as I said in a previous post, that my better half would find me on the floor of our bathroom with half a poop sticking out.

Somewhere during this process, I had made a dramatic discovery between the correlation of the pain in my body and the food that laid within the confines of my colon. When my colon was so clean that it was whistling dixie, my pain was virtually non existent. However, should my engine get a bit of a back up or plugged with sludge, well, let’s put it this way, the little engine that could, would start to suffer some serious internal combustion problems!

I knew that wheat had become my enemy, or better yet the little protein gluten contained within the wheat was a major contributing factor, and still is, to the pain that I suffered. I was at a quandary, or impasse to say the least. Without gluten, I felt wonderful, but plugged up. Without eating gluten, I was seeing stars on my toilet.

In order to save myself any further harm or brain damage, I spent the greater part of December and a bit of this month, traversing the aisles at the different local grocery stores on my quest to fill my fibre need sans gluten.

Surprising, it really has not been such a difficult transition from gluten to rice flour or almond flour. I have enjoyed my excursion to the sprouted wheat bread section of the local grocery store and have thoroughly enjoyed it instead of the genetically modified ground version. I have found the most gawd awful rice crackers and the best raspberry cookies ever, I have eaten bread that tastes like cardboard, and then ahhhed and ooohed over amazing pizza crust and tortillas shells, all in the name of living a gluten free lifestyle. What I can tell you is that living without gluten has forced me to try and enjoy the offerings of other grains, ancient grains, grains I have never heard of, grains that are impacting my life.

What I have also learned is that those grains work like a hot damn. No longer singing the constipated blues in the toilette, there are days that those bloody grains work a little too well. Now the food in my body is squealing in high delight as it exits my nether region like water on a slide.

In any event, I am definitely prepared to do what it takes to make my body happier, and well, let's face it, anything is better than living in fiber hell.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Ink to Paper: An Uncommited Story

2012-01-20T17:27:00.000-08:00

As long as I can remember, I have always carried some sort of calendar with me, pocket sized, day planner sized or hang on your wall size. And within the pages and small daily squares, contained the abridged version of my life at a twelve month glance.

In my twenties, I prided myself on recording pretty much my every moment, much like facebook, with the exception that it was only for my eyes, my review and a reminder of my memories. Come the end of the year, I would flip thru those pages and re-read the highlights, often smiling and giggling and saying things out loud to myself like “oh yea, I forgot I did that” or “wow, that was such a blast, gotta do that again” or quite often “gawd what was I thinking, so embarrassing!” Whatever the moment was, it was recorded there on the pages of my free Hallmark Calendar in bright bold blue ink. Yes, there were many big gashes and slashes thru things that I actually didn’t get to do, but the fact remained that I did so many wonderfully, soul and heart enriching things and that I committed to those moments using ink to permanently mark my time in history. And sometimes if the moment was so amazing, it would be highlighted in a rainbow of colours followed by several exclamation marks. They were the joyful, memory making moments of my youth.

Sometime during this time frame, my parents went thru a very nasty and devastating divorce, one which lasted for many years, one which would have made a Lifetime movie on some sorry network, one which should have put me into counselling for years and one that scarred me immensely. The details are not mine to share, as they are my parents story. I was only a side player with an emotional outcome that would have been a best selling novel, had I written for all to see. And it was during this emotional and stressful time that my once committed pen strokes started to disappear only to be replaced with a more subtle version of what would eventually become my uncommited pencil scribblings.

The word “yes” was no longer in my vocab as it was replaced with words like “perhaps”, “I’ll have to see”, “ummm... I think I have something already that night” and my very favourite and over used phrase “I am pretty tired and sore, maybe next time.” My pencil notations in my calendar were often marked with question marks, like “hang out with Charmaine?”, “go to Cathy and David’s for the weekend?”, “Melrose night with Deanna?” I could no longer commit and what is worse is that I didn’t really want too. I played everything by ear, used my parents divorce as an avoidance, missed dinners and parties, clubs and outing. I had in fact excused myself from life. I had in actuality stepped out of my life.

Year after year, my calendar entries became more sparse, less exciting, virtually uninteresting till finally the only thing that marked my calendars were birthdays, my semi monthly massages and waxing treatments and the numerous doctors appointments for the never ending chronic pain.

So sad and pathetic my calendar had become that I no longer reviewed my previous year, I just quietly tucked it away into my filing system never to be seen again by the light of day. That was until this past year when I sat quietly down and flipped the pages over and over and over again. I sighed long and hard as the flipped pages revealed a year devoid of anything interesting with one exception. I could only account for one meager highlight. One moment to remember when I knew I must have had more moments than that, that I should have had more moments than that, when I should have celebrated more, remembered more, smiled more, giggled more and shrugged more. But I didn’t. I had only one moment in that entire calendar year that I thought was worthy enough to jot down in ink.

I sat for sometime thinking that day. I reviewed moments I passed up, moments I sat with ice packs, moments I watched the same tv show week after week, moments going to bed early, unexciting, brain numbing, emotionless moments.

And I knew that it was enough, life was passing me by. I could no longer use the excuse that I would do all I wanted to do when my pain became more manageable, because the fact is the pain was not going to get any better, and my parents divorce was far behind me and I had risen past the emotional times and I had grown significantly stronger as person. And that mostly, I just needed to live.

So with pen in hand I wrote the following into my calendar:

Three weeks of art classes; and

18 Days in Italy.

Yes, they are there in bold blue ink surrounded with happy faces. What’s more is they are not just pipe dreams, they are dreams that have been bought and paid for and dreams that are about to be fulfilled, and I sense, that they are just two of the many highlights I foresee for myself in 2012.

And you know what? All it took was:

Ink to Paper.

Who knew?

Until Next Time.

Tracy

GOODBYE DIGNITY!!!

2012-01-16T13:10:00.000-08:00

I have the Public Washroom woes.

Horrified by the site of a public piddling station since I was wee tall, I have done my best over the years to visit as few as possible.

Not in anyway designed for comfort, the effort to maintain any sense of dignity is all but non existent for me the moment I enter one of these torture contraptions.

To wit: last evening, my better half and I had taken my lovely sister in law and her hubby out for a pre-birthday dinner in her honour. Knowing my distaste for the public washroom, I usually refrain from drinking anything of an abundance in order to take the pressure off my bladder until I can safely use my own bathroom at home. However, with it being a cold night, the bistro we were at had upped their heating bill by cranking it to an almost uncomfortable temperature. Hot and parched, I removed clothing piece upon clothing piece to the point where I was one more clothing piece away from being charged with indecent exposure. With my throat parched and dry and my body as clothes free as humanly decent, my last resort was to suck back copious amounts of liquid to assist in my rather dry and soon to be hoarse voice.

It didn’t take long for my wee wee to be quite full of potential pee pee! In my stubbornness, I sat there fidgeting and wiggling and crossing my rather short stubby legs in order to avoid a potential catastrophe. Thirty agonizing minutes later, and trying to eat my salad in a calm collective manner, I started moving my butt around whilst I did my own version of a happy pee dance.

Mental telepathy and willing my faithful entourage who were blindly enjoying their meals to suck back their food quickly in order for me to get home to my faithful bathroom companion, was to no avail. The only process that was speeding up was the pressure that was pushing upon my rather weak bladder.

Finally, I gave up the fight and myself and my dignity trotted our way off to the despicable door that would ultimately lead to my relief.

It was only then as I entered into that dubious room, that I realized that they had squished in three very petite bathrooms stalls into what was obviously a two bathroom stall square footage.

Squeezing my big old butt around, I twisted and turned and cranked into position, steadied myself up onto my tip toes and precariously squatted several inches above the toilet in what could be described as an acrobatic pose. With my pants around my knees and slowly slipping towards my ankles, I did my business and reached for the rather large, space consuming toilet paper dispenser and yanked out nothing but a inch by inch square of single ply paper. Knowing that this would not be sufficient, I desperately grabbed and ripped and ripped and ripped one teeny piece after another teeny piece of toilet paper that would not have even wiped a mouse’s butt, let alone mine! Frustrated by the fact that the single sheeted toilet paper was not strong enough to pull around the enormous roll of toilet paper, I continued to rock back and fourth trying to maintain my acrobatic pose when, with one great big tug on the toilet paper, I found myself losing my balance and heading straight towards the bathroom stall door!

And with what could only be described as the most gawd awful sight known too man, I fell head first into the door stall, forcing the door stall right open, straight into the vanity, with my pants now around my ankles, my ass to the wind, still clutching nothing but a single sheet of single ply stinking toilet paper!!!

And there I stood, and there she stood, the older lady who just came threw the door.

And all I could say whilst she stared horrified at my exposed bottom half was: “Yup, goodbye Dignity!”

Until Next Time.

Tracy

A Splinter of a different kind...

2012-01-10T13:13:00.000-08:00

I have always been on the fence in my life fighting a battle between happiness and unhappiness, positive and negative, joy and sorrow.

Cursed with equal parts of my mother's optimism and my father's pessimism, life has been a bit of a challenge for me in my efforts to remain more closely linked to the rose coloured glasses version of the world. And it gets tiring I have to tell you.

Why is it that being negative seems so much easier than being positive? Why can't you be optimistic every day with little to no effort?

I have found throughout the years that my father's pessimism wins far too frequently in my every day life. Of course, things like the world news, my local news, facebook links of abuse to animals, abuse to people, abuse to children seem to run rampant and fuel this part of my soul.

I often wished I lived on an island surrounded only by the ones that I love, beautiful music and art, animals that wouldn't eat me, nature in general and all the colours of the rainbow. Of course, somewhere in my perfect version of life, I would be the proverbial Dorothy living with the munchkins in munchkin land sucking on lollipops until my teeth fell out, without the wicked witch who would still be stuck flying around in Kansas giving some other poor soul a run for their money. In other words, I would be happiest with my head crammed up my ass.

But really, how dreadful is my life (*que violin music please)... Well let's see, even though I work in a dead-end, uncreative job, I do make a fairly decent wage, have benefits and receive four weeks paid holidays every year. And though this dead end job is not what I dreamed I would be doing, financially it allows me to have a pretty decent personal life. And even though my better half and my relationship was not the passionate love affairs that movies are made from (damn those stinking movies), it was a love affair that grew over time and now has established into an amazing relationship filled with kindness, thoughtfulness and consideration. And even though I live in a fairly unattractive city, it seems to sit in the middle of a beautiful landscape of rolling hills, mountains, trees as far as the eyes can see, with lakes and the pounding lyrical song of the ocean's crashing waves.

So what's my problem?

And why do I spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to find that elusive happiness?

And why do I have moments throughout my life where I feel unfilled?

I think that somewhere in my brain, I have short circuited and told myself that life is always about being happy, with no turbulence, no strife, no effort. And, if I was truthful with myself, I would have to admit that it is a mindset that needs to be corrected. The question is how...

The question has always been how.

And whilst I sit on this proverbial fence trying to figure out what will make my heart tick in happiness, I can tell you that sitting here for too long not only leaves a fence railing imprint on your big old butt, but also overtime, your ass gets full of splinters. Yup, painful annoying splinters that keep reminding me that at some point, I must step down from that fence and get on with life because if I don't, that splinter will become permanent. And as the years go by, I fear it will fester into a splinter of a different kind. And I can tell you, that is one splinter I could do without.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Lost in a cluttered soul...

2012-01-04T13:16:00.000-08:00

As I was lounging like the lump of lard I can be on New Years day with my eyes bulging out of their sockets from the hours of mindless television I was punishing myself with, I over-exerted my toneless arm and reached for my plush new copy of a girly magazine. I told my less than desirable body that I was just pampering myself with a lazy day and taking advantage of the fact that the man and the pooch had left me alone for several hours to wallow in chocolate leftovers and slovenly behaviour. What's worse, is that I sadly told myself I deserved it. And as I flipped from page to page in what could be described as sheer boredom, I halted at an article that caught my eye when it started off by stating that a new year, so they say, was the time to start fresh with a clean slate and a new perspective.

I sat there for what felt like an eternity staring at that line and trying to comprehend what that meant for me. What was I bringing into the new year? I still had the intense chronic pain from last year, I still preferred to enhance the chubby bum print on my couch, my hair was still fuzzy and unmanageable, I had a few more new nose hairs and chin hairs that I was more than happy to leave behind in 2011 and I was sporting a rather large pimple on my chin that I swear was not only talking back at me but was giving me attitude to boot.

My drawers were still full of panties with saggy asses or gawd forbid holes in them. My socks and pants were faded due to the multiple times they had been washed, and my bras were no longer holding the girls in place. In fact my poor bras, once brave and strong, that had forced my girls into permanent saluting submission, had now weakened so much that my girls were now happily hanging their heads cross-eyed whilst they surveyed the distance between themselves and my knee caps.

I stood up determined to find the positive in what was increasingly becoming a negative situation. I opened this door and that door, this drawer and that drawer, and all that stared back at me were piles, piles of old clothes, receipts, shoes, mismatched dishes, old spices, canned food from gawd knows when, stale crackers and expired salad dressings. My heart started to beat wildly in my chest as I saw half made crafts, and half written journals, half assed photographs in half assed matting, pickles jars with only brine, ketchup bottles with no ketchup, what was I doing to myself?

Was I unable to let go of my past years, was I holding onto something I feared I would loose, something so intangible that I had to hang onto the tangible? Was I lost, lost deep within my cluttered soul?

My breath became shallower, my chest tighter, sweat was pouring from my temples, my hands were clammy and I swear I was ready to pass out by the enormity of the situation!

It was then, as I spent the next two hours trying to calm myself down and figure out what was haunting me, that I realized that while my soul was cluttered, it was actually cluttered with good things, with soon to be done art projects, and almost completed written posts, articles that were almost perfect and ready to be submitted to the newspaper, photographs that only needed to be developed, and projects that I could not wait to start. Oh yes, my soul was actually happily cluttered.

Sadly, what I really was, was just a lazy slob.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

SO EXCITING.....!!!!

2012-01-02T11:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I got up all stuffy in my nose and an achy stomach (most likely from all the cabbage I put in my homemade chicken chowmein the night before) and thought to myself "Oh great!!! Here's how I am entering into a new year with a runny nose and a runny butt! Yikes!"

And then I opened my email and......

I was nominated in three categories for Best Written, Humour and Life for the 2011 Canadian Weblog Awards!

And I was doing a happy dance all over the place, well specifically I did a happy dance straight to the bathroom, apparently cabbage could not hold back it's excitement either!

In any event, there are a gazillion amazing blogs that have been nominated, so quite frankly I am betting the buck stops here especially with the fantastic competition out there. But in the meantime, I have to say that I do not know who or whom nominated me and I wanted you to know how utterly humbled I am that you would take the time to actually think of me! Thank you very much. How you touched my heart.

And thank you for making me smile whilst I spent the entire day yesterday leaking from all my orifices!

Your kindness has overwhelmed me!!!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Letting go....

2012-01-01T14:20:00.000-08:00

2011 left me like the softness of a lover's caress and 2012 entered just as sweetly and gently, making me wonder what this year will hold.

My Christmas was a typical happy disaster created by the likes of me and my channelling of Lucille Ball. From almost food poisoning my family with raw poultry, to loosing my turkey skewers and having to truss up the turkey with galvanized nails, to my family finding out about the galvanized nails, to sending them into the garage to eat their dinner where I transformed it into a sorry-ful makeshift dining room, to unthawing my Christmas dessert and having it collapse into mush and offering my family the alternative of whip cream shots from the can, to finally capping it off with laughter so hard that I nearly peed my pants, not once but twice, all over the fact that I was definitely the hostess without the mostess!

I spent the rest of this week either utterly exhausted laying on the couch moping to myself or had crazy like moments of being a furious tasmanian devil whilst I ripped down all the decorations before entering into the New Year. I blame the latter on the fact that I consumed copious amounts of chocolate dipped goodies.

In all seriousness tho, I have always had this weird sense of wanting to leave the past behind when the New Year begins and open into the future for all that is new, fresh and mistake free. Of course, eating a bag of chocolate covered almonds and six slices of bacon was not the best way to start the new year, although my stomach begs to differ!

However, for me, I have realized that it is time to let go of those things that are holding me back.

It's time for me to say goodbye to my insecurities, my sadness, my lack of confidence and my failures.

It's time to properly say goodbye to those relationships that are no longer in my life, but to which I hold onto in my heart, though strongly I know that they are gone.

It's time to let go of the past so that I can be open to the here and now.

It's time to close doors and open windows and feel the fresh air upon my face.

It's definitely time to smile and banish my self imposed frown.

It's time to sparkle in my eyes rather than squint (although I have a sneaky suspicious that sunglasses might help this infliction!)

But mostly, it's time to let go of my fears.

This year, will be the year about growing... And as I say that, I wish to clarify with the fates above, that I would like to grow metaphorically as a human and not my ever expanding waist line! However, I am open to growing in my height. Just putting that out there in case you can do something about that!

This year will be the year to believe in myself and realize that I am worth more than I have ever thought.

This year will be the year to reclaim my creativity and enthusiasm.

This year will be the year I fight thru and conquer those chains that hold me back.

And this year, really this entire year, will finally be the year I let go....

And I will... How do I know that, you say? Well, I have already started...

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Gone in a blink...

2011-12-20T17:43:00.000-08:00

The morning alarm went off as usual and I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed scratching my head and catching my fingers in that matted mass I call my hair. Another day of work, I thought. Time to get going and stop putting off the inevitable. And with an old heave ho, I launched my rather large bottom off my rather high bed and landed on the floor with a thunderous thump as I started what would be the last eleven days of 2011.

Stumbling into the wall, tripping over my slippers, I lethargically dragged myself to the glaring light coming from my bathroom. I stood staring in the bathroom vanity mirror for several moments surveying the rather large pimple that was flashing it's white neon head at me from the inside of one of my flaring nostrils. With tweezers in hand I tried to get at the little bugger, but eventually gave up when I realized it was on an angle in my nose that I and the tweezers could not quite comprehend.

With a resounding sigh, I jumped into the shower and turned on the soft warm heat of the soothing water and closed my eyes and thought.... "where did this year go?"

Moments of this year flashed furiously by like a movie in fast motion. And there, in a blink, it seemed to me that the year had disappeared as quickly as it came. Things had changed drastically in my life in twelve short months. I have watched my mother's little pooch go from being spry to being geriatric, I have seen my older niece turn into a vivacious confident woman, my younger niece turn into an Audrey Hepburn beauty with the lady-like manners to match, my grandmother revert back to child-like senses and my sister-in-law struggle over the possibility of not living till the end of the year. I have put my house up for sale, and have taken it down, I have struggled with my own health, bad news and moments of despair. I have shut down my blog, opened it back up and taken time to reflect on the things that became important. I have cleansed my poor body and learned to work with it as oppose to against it. I have put some things into play and sat idly by while I let more important things pass me by.

All in all, it's been a year of learning.

Ironically, I can remember that 2011 was to be the year about me. And while a small part of it was, mostly it wasn't. Part of it became about the battle between myself and my all encompassing nemesis of my daily life, pain.

But mostly, it was about the connection with others thru social media and what it brought to me.

It was about finding joy in small places, simple ideas and everyday situations. It prompted me to start my 500 days of Happiness Page on Facebook. Funnily enough, I never thought I would make it past day 50, and here I am at day 243, with a small but loyal group of followers who regularly contribute and do wonderful things by posting pictures, and writing songs and creating art, all in the name of Happiness. It still makes me smile.

I found out thru the year who I could rely on and who I couldn't, I experienced joy in the reconnection of an old friendships, I found joy in the connection with new friendships, I found joy just sitting at my bistro table watching the birds in my yard. Who knew?

I realized it wasn't about the big things in life, it was about the simple joys of living. It was about those every day moments like reading, singing, twirling in the yard, listening to music, digging in the earth and walking hand in hand with my better half. Sometimes it was even more simplistic than that. Sometimes, the joy was sitting in a lawn chair watching the clouds go by.

This year wasn't the Year about Me, as I so boldly tooted in January. This year was the Year in finding joy. And I did.

And as 2011 starts to wrap itself up, I am excited about what 2012 will bring. I have found that over the past year nothing is better than working together in harmony with others. It has been far more enriching than I ever expected.

And as 2012 creeps quietly upon me, I feel a creative journey ahead of me. And it makes my toes tingle, my heart flutter and my soul aching in anticipation.

And even if I head into 2012 with a pimple in my nose, a rash on my bum and pain in my neck, I can honestly say "so what", because this year really gave me what is important in life. It gave me YOU! And how lucky am I!

Happy Holidays my friends.

Thank you for your continued loyalty, support and friendship.

You all touch my heart.

Cheers

Tracy

Giving back with a Christmas Party, just for you here on my little old blog!!!

2011-12-12T13:11:00.000-08:00

Tis the season to give back, wouldn't you agree?

And you know, it's my turn to give something back to bloggy land. It's been awhile. Last year, I featured 4 to 5 blogs every Monday for three months, and then in January, a wildly enthusiastic, unbelievably successful blog party happened right here on my little ole blog. I did a crazy thing then, I just handed over the keys to my digs for 48 hours and said to my fellow bloggers to just run with it and have fun! And they did!!!

They met new people, discovered new blogs, found new interests and new things to rev up their mojos and keep the excitement ALIVE within blogland!

I don't know about you, but my blogging interest has waned a tad and I would sure love someone (like you), too light a great big old fire under my rather large ass and get me all worked up!

So, here I go again, handing the keys over to you!!!

And you know what? The Rules are totally simple:

For the next 48 to 72 hours, I am handing over the keys to my digs! Yup, that's right! This party is for EVERYONE. And I mean everyone. From beginner bloggers to seasoned ones, from those without followers to those with thousands. Everyone is invited whether you follow my blog or not, take this opportunity to PIMP YOURSELVES OUT!!!!

Here's the house rules:

Leave a comment to this post with a small description of what your blog is about along with your blog address;
Be kind and come back periodically and check out other blogs and their addresses: and
Meet and greet and support each other.

And when you're said and done, make sure you do your own dirty dishes, turn off the lights and lock the doors! What? I'm not your mother for gawdsakes! Pick up after yourselves! :)

And just so you know, I so can't wait to come and meet you all too!

Oh, and by the way, stay out of my underwear drawer while you are here! I don't want to hear about any of you running thru my place with my delicates on your heads!

And for gawd sakes, don't be shy! Now go... meet.... mingle.... be merry! Well not too merry. Oh what the hell, be SUPER MERRY!

Average Girl vs. The Man Cold

2011-12-06T13:01:00.000-08:00

Tis that time of season that I dread the most. Yes, that's right, it's Man Cold Season!

Every time this year, my better half ventures out into the germ infested world of retail and comes back at some point sporting the dreaded man cold.

Nurturing by nature, my "once struck down by the dreaded influenza" better half goes from this:

TO THIS:

Now I am not one to not return the favour when it comes to handing out my fair share of tender loving care to those in need, but during cold season, I am running at a full throttle to escape the ever needy spaghetti arms of my 44-year-old-turned-5-year-old man!

Stuffed up, sneezing, coughing, wheezing, the molecule of puss I currently live with has made it his mission to try and hug and kiss and smother me during his time of plague infection.

Uttered words of "I love you" followed by his long arms stretching out to grab me and to hug me in his clutches whilst he rubs his ooey gooey snot-filled nose in my hair are regular occurrences during the man cold stage.

Cold clammy hands seem to come out of the darkness in the middle of the night and find themselves planted firmly on my back all in the pretense of providing me with a "back rub" when in fact they are heat seeking missile devices looking for a way to suck my warmth out!

Moments of "honey can you make me a tea" or "can you grab me a kleenex" all seem to happen while I am sitting on the toilet or whimpers of "what I wouldn't do for your chicken soup right now" seem to be uttered all too frequently.

Moving like a target, I run from room to room to avoid the shower of spit that seems to evaporate from his phlegm-filled lungs. In an effort to avoid the man cold, I don my arsenal of Tylenol for cold and hide out in my den, waiting for that moment in time when he gives that last large mucus incrusted cough that frees him from the clutches of the dreaded needy five year old to the great 44 year old I know!

Oh well, I suppose its a small price to pay when you live with such an amazing guy, but in the meantime, don't be surprised if you knock on my door and find this Average Girl sporting a surgical mask. I may love my better half, but my momma didn't raise no fool!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

In a chocolate filled bath

2011-11-28T13:09:00.000-08:00

Feeling sore and tired and wanting a change, I took up the challenge of cleansing my poor painful body once more. Perhaps with the annihilation of all bodily toxins, I would see a significant reduction in pain. Prepared for the after effects of sugar, wheat and dairy product withdrawals, I filled my fridge to the brim with fruits and veggies and items that were definitely nature's version of a colon cleaner combo.

By the time I was to be finished, I knew that my bowels would be whistling dixie and hopefully so would many of my painful body parts.

As I have completed many cleanses over the years, the last thing I expected was to be on day ten of the cleanse and get my first real surge of a sugar withdrawal. Surprised by this yearning, I have to say that sugar has never been my weakness. I am more a chip and dip type of girl. Yes that's right, fats and salts have been my weakness for as long as I can remember, and if I could dive into a bowl of spinach dip, I would most likely be the happiest girl in the world. But yesterday, I was craving something so sweet, so delectable, so gooey and yummy that I turned a slight bump in my cleanse into a day's worth of seeking and hunting and searching thru my cupboards.

Ravenous, well at least in my mind, I sucked back strawberries and raspberries, blackberries and apples, in a fruitless attempt (pun intended) to appease the God that was ruling my stomach. As the hours ticked by, I knew that the only thing left to do was too cheat! But with the ever watchful eye of my better half, I was stumped on how to go about it. By 8:00 p.m., I was literally climbing the walls. So with some slight manipulation, I convinced my better half that our pitiful little pooch was in some serious need of exercise and guilted him to take our doodle bug for a walk.

The moment he left, I dashed to the cupboards. I opened this drawer and that drawer, pulled this item and that item, I searched, I hunted, I tore thru my kitchen like the Tazmanian devil on speed. I was, in short, desperate for something ooey and gooey. Sadly, I knew that I could not eat any of the Christmas treats that I had stocked our pantry with as the food police would be counting the wares and would note any corruption of packaging. Finally, I flung open my baking cupboard, and in a moment that can almost be declared a miracle, I saw glimmering down at me, in all it's glory, from the second shelf, a box of Bakers Chocolate. Knowing that my better half is not aware of what all my baking supplies are, I stood up on my tip toes and yanked that box down and ripped it open before you could say "Bob's your Uncle" and just as I had the dubious piece of chocolate in my hand, my better half came trotting thru the door. I stood there like a deer caught in the headlights, slipped the piece of chocolate into the pocket of my hoody before he saw, and mumbled something about checking out my baking supplies for Christmas.

Not knowing what to do next, I sat in the chair quivering over the smell of the chocolate that was oozing up towards my nostrils. I was so close to having my craving satisfied, yet so far away with the Cleansing Commissioner sitting beside me. In short, I was going NUTS!

I stood up and did a fake yawn, told my better half I was going to have a soak in the tub to kick back and relax before bed and flew like a maniac down to the bathroom, only to find him hot on my tail. Being his usual thoughtful self, he ran my bath for me and filled it to the brim with bubbles and sat on the bed to talk to me while the tub filled up with the ever so delightful fragrant scent of sweet peas.

And then with my better half retiring to the living room, I slipped into the bathroom, stepped into the tub with the chocolate in my hand, and eased my way into the steaming hot water. And as I sat there lovingly unwrapping the chocolate square from the clutches of its wrapper, and with my mouth salivating and drooling, I bent down to give that sweet rich chocolate aroma a quick smell, when..... all of a sudden, the damn thing slid off my freaking hand and kerplunked right into the bathtub!

And because I couldn't get out of the tub without risking an inquisition from my better half, there I sat for the next 45 with a great big old chocolate smudge down by my leg staring up at me and taunting me with it's bounty.

I won't lie, there was a moment where I thought about sticking my head under the water and licking the chocolate off the bottom of the tub, but then I farted in the tub and realized that even I have my boundaries.

So much for cheating.

Until Next time.

Tracy

A Winter's Dance

2011-11-16T12:45:00.000-08:00

Old Man Winter has finally come to visit and leaving his gentle touch wherever he goes. From various colours of grey painted skies, to frosting on our roofs, to the bows of trees sparkling with a web of silver, to his butterfly kisses across my face in the morning air.

And while I mock and tease those who are excited about the first snow, secretly I adore winter. This season always invokes wonderful memories of my childhood past, from snow ball fights and snow angels, to creating paper snowflakes, to being surrounded in family. Longings deep within my soul whirl around like fall leaves caught in a gust of wind.

The white old man reminds me of Christmases past and cherished family members that have long since left this earth. He reminds me of my adored and much loved childhood dog and warm fires, Sundays in pajamas, homemade hot chocolate and baking with my mother.

My memories are vast and large and all encompassing, and much like a scene in a snow globe, they has been frozen in time.

As I get older and our family branches from direction to direction, I can’t quite hold onto the winters of my past. They were simple and uncomplicated and full of beauty and I miss them.

Holidays have become about spreading myself too thin from traveling here to there and seeing this person to seeing that person, and I grow weary of the changes. This time of the year always brings me moments of regret for not having children. And I latch onto my beautiful nieces all the more, well aware that they are growing up. And as one informed me last year, will be moving to a new country for University in one short year and my heart breaks again. I miss her already and fear she won’t come back. I strain to see the child in her but I can’t. And as they grow older, so begins another change to our winter traditions. It is growth.

Why is it that we wish to hold onto those childhood moments. I suppose it’s because as a child they seemed perfect. I am betting however my parents would tell me that they were full of imperfection that my innocent young eyes would not have grasped. I prefer to keep these cherished memories as untarnished highlights of my life.

Beautiful, endearing moments of my heart and I would not have it any other way.

Yes, Old Man Winter is welcome at my house along with his ice encrusted suitcase full of my memories. In fact, I look forward to our first Winter’s dance together, under the sky while snowflake confetti lightly touches my face and sticks to my eyelashes and I twirl under the beauty of it all feeling like the enthralled five year old of my dreams.

He is my winter lover, my solace, my moment of dreams and my friend. And like all old friends, he will always have a place in my heart and in my home.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Beware of the woman with Pooh on her hand!

2011-11-02T13:35:00.000-07:00

Three months in and I have to say that selling a house is nothing short of exhaustifying. It never ceases to amaze me that people think that giving me 30 minutes notice during a work day is a sufficient amount of time to leave my office unattended, go home, clean and get my dog out, drive around while they look and be back at my desk within my one hour allotted lunch period.

Now, I will admit, I am a bit of a cleaning freak and have some serious ownership pride going on and prefer to have a requisite 24 hours notice to get everything in order and to find someone to dog-sit my little boy in order to accommodate strangers and allow them the opportunity to roam freely around my home and criticize their heart out. BUT, while I do everything possible to allow the potential buyers to attend my home on their time frame, I have found that even I have limits on what is pushing the proverbial envelope.

Generally in Canada, the rule of thumb for real estate is that the realtor you hire attaches somewhere on the outside of your home a lock box which contains a spare key to your house. The buyer's agent makes an appointment to see your house at a specific date and time for a one hour viewing increment. You gather up your brood, if you have a brood, in my case a hubby and a pooch, lock your house up and drive around aimlessly wasting one irreplaceable hour of your life whilst strangers grab the key and wander thru your life which is now on display for all to see, and then you usually have the joy of coming home to lights on, doors unlocked, and in my case, the washroom being used and furniture being moved. All in all, it really is a self inflicted form of violation for which you pay big financial sums for.

A few weeks ago, I finally reached my boiling point. We had the same couple attend our house three times. Each time, they would come in and point out what they didn't like and then leave demands such as they wanted the exact measurements of our closets or the exact measurements of our bathrooms, and we would willingly provide same in the hopes that they would buy our home. And then weeks would go by and we would receive narry a feedback nor any indication that an offer would be made. Eventually, we would forget about them, and then they would rear their ugly heads again and make yet another appointment to see our home and the process of pleasing them would begin again. Finally, after another long period of time, they made yet a fourth appointment to see our house on a Saturday between 11:00 a.m .to noon. With my home in order, and everything doused in summer happy febreeze air freshener and my pooch securely placed into his carrying crate in the backseat of my car, me, myself and I and my little dog were off to drive around for an hour whilst these time wasting morons went thru our home again.

After an hour passed, I drove back home looking forward to stretching out for a couple of hours before a second set of people were to come later that day. However upon arrival, these potential buyers were still in my home. With a u-turn of my car, I took off for another 20 minutes only to come back and find them still in there. With some cursing under my breath and with another slightly annoyed turn of my car again, I sighed heavily and left my subdivision once more to drive in the repetitive circular pattern that I had already done for the last hour and half. About two minutes down the road, I was immediately engulfed into the most gawd awful, nose hair burning, eye watering stench emanating from inside every corner of my car. Immediately, I whipped the windows open, tried to restrain the gag reflex I was having and pulled over to the side of the road. It was then that I realized that my poor pooch had just expressed his anal glands. And if you don't know what that is, well in a nut shell, my poor baby boy sprayed out pooh juice from his teeny tiny bum and soaked the entire inside surface of his crate. Imagine standing amongst the rot of 500 decaying fish and smelling that in.... Ah, I see recognition on your face, well now times that by 1000 and you get my drift on what my car smelled like.

Instantly, I made a turn into our local hospital that has a wooded park like setting, pulled my poor smelly pooch out of his stinky confines and walked him around in a desperate attempt to air out his little patooty.

And as we silently strolled around the tree lined parking lot, we ran into the hospital security guard. And as I was saying "hi", my beloved pooch decided that this was the perfect time to drop a bomb that was about five times his own weight right beside the foot of the ever watchful security guard. I stood there sheepishly, blushed profusely and reached into my pocket, grabbed out a bag and picked up the offending mountain of slop and walked hurriedly back to my car.

As I was reaching my vehicle, I felt a warm oozing sensation in my hand. And wouldn't you know it, there was freaking hole in the bag!!!

Being without any form of kleenex, I single handedly picked up my pooch in my pooh free hand, secured him into his smelly crate, and drove like a one handed maniac home while I desperately tried to contain my breakfast in my stomach.

And as I approached home, some almost two hours since I left it, I came back to find those damn people were still in it! Still in it! Still in it! Did I mention that THEY WERE STILL IN IT!!!!

With a queasy stomach, a hand covered in pooh, a dog with a smelly ass and temper to match my mother's red hair, I drove up my driveway, opened up my garage, marched in my house, looked at the startled never-to-buy-my-house-but-constantly-waste-my-time potential buyers and unceremoniously escorted them out.

With open mouths and complete shock they scurried out of there faster than you could say "Bob's your Uncle".

And the moral of the story: If you are not going to buy my damn house, than beware of the woman with a smelly pooch and pooh on her hand, because she is prepared to slap you up the side of your head with her pooh encased hand for wasting her time!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

In the Battle of Woman V. Girdle....

2011-10-24T17:27:00.000-07:00

As a rule of thumb, I don't dress up that much. I am short and stumpy, and somewhat lumpy. With no beautiful attributes to behold, I can say without malice that one part of my body just blends in with another. At work, I am only one step up from casual and on the weekend, I am your typical small town hoody and jeans type of girl. With a secret fantasy of my legs growing longer and my body becoming fabulous, I hoard away my share of accessories. Purses, jewelry, shoes, shawls, scarves, you name it. If it is feminine, its sitting in my closet pining for a day it will actually be used.

So, when I was invited to a Murder Mystery party this past weekend by a friend of ours who really is the hostess with the mostest, I knew that I would have to bring my A GAME in the dressing up department! With the accessories needed to spruce this average girl up to a 1905 flirtatious tramp named Chastity Darling, I knew that the only thing missing was the clothes to cover my rather less than desirable body. So with credit card in hand, I tromped off to the local clothing store.

The moment I walked through the store, I instantly heard the sound of angels followed by a blinding light coming down from the heavens and shining on "IT" in all it's 1920ish glory. Beautiful beyond words, delicate in appearance, the black and lace frock with a kick out at the bottom portrayed the look of a bygone era. With my size in hand, I ventured into the change room and tried it on! And wouldn't you know it, the bloody thing fit!!! I stood and viewed myself with a tiny bit of admiration until I moved in the mirror. What was that I thought... It couldn't be? It can't be? Oh my lord it is!!!! The only thing holding me and this beautiful frock from creating a binding love affair was the nasty betrayal of my jelly belly that was wiggling to and fro with every movement. And just as I was about to declare defeat and send it back to it's place on display, words of wisdom were shouted from the great beyond, better known as my mother: GET A GIRDLE FOR GAWD SAKES!!!!

Huh? They still make those? Really? So as I scampered around the store, wouldn't you know that they had a seamless and promise to show no lines, guarantee to thin you by two sizes, spandexly happy version of the modern day girdle.

So with dress, nylons and girdle in hand, I arrived home to start the process of transforming this average woman into a character worth remembering.

Laying out all my wares on our bed, I scooched my better half out of the room, and emphatically stated "No matter what you hear, whether it be grunting, groaning, whining and howling, DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT OPEN THIS DOOR!!!" Good lord it was bad enough that I had to witness the debacle of moving fat around on my body let alone subject my better half and cause him permanent blindness. So with box in hand, I opened it to reveal a two inch by two inch square of stretchable fabric. Was this it? Seriously, I was suppose to get that around all of my body? Never one to back down from a challenge, I stepped one leg into the 16th century torture contraption. And with another leg in, I yanked, I squeezed, I tugged, I pulled, I sweated, I groaned, and I even whimpered once or twice until that two inch by two inch thing was made into a two foot by two foot thing which was then yanked unceremoniously up my body and secured into place. With my stomach now pushed up into my breasts and my breasts now pushed up into my throat, I was ready to venture out.

At the dinner party, it became painfully obvious that with cutting off all amount of circulation to my stomach, the food was resting somewhere between my boobs and my mouth. As the minutes ticked on and on, I could feel my stomach collecting gas and trying to expand beneath the torture device that was holding it securely in place. With a shift here and a shift there, I felt light headed and dizzy and I was sure that a fart was going to explode out through my nostrils! I moved from hip to hip and leaned as far back as I could in a desperate attempt to find some type of relief. I spoke to my body silently willing it to conform, to adjust, to please just be good! But as the night progressed, I could feel my fat bubble into other free areas of my body. I was developing a new form of a muffin top, a second set of boobs, and third double chin, GOOD LORD MY FRIENDS, I WAS GOING TO EXPLODE!!!

And just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore, the game was over!!! And with a run from my chair, I grabbed my bag that contained jeans and a hoody and comfy undies and sprinted to the bathroom to make my change from gaseous trollop to everyday average girl.

And as I stood there in my lovely friends' washroom, all halloweened up, I did the only thing a really comfortable friend would do, I took off the girdle and let my rather large patooty explode!!! And as my body parts then settled back into their regular roles, I proceeded to jump around like a maniac trying to wave the rather nauseous scent away, then I rejoined the group, prayed nobody needed the bathroom soon, drank some wine and relaxed.

And what I can say my friends is that in the battle of Woman versus Girdle, that damn Girdle won!!! Well sort of that is because when I got home and deposited my nemesis into the garbage, this woman snidely looked at the evil little thing and said "you may have won the battle my friend, but your off to the incinerator which means that I won the war!!"

And then I walked away cackling!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

BACK AWAY FROM THE MAGAZINE, AND NOBODY WILL GET HURT!!!

2011-10-18T17:37:00.000-07:00

By this point (unless your new to my blog or new to my life), everybody is most likely aware that I have some odd idiosyncrasies. One of the craziest things about me is my love of a fresh and never been handled magazine. Oh how I adore them with their new smell, their feel, their glossiness, and the fact that I am the first to touch their clean pages. Why in fact, it is nothing short of utterly exhilarating. It's a love affair I have had for more years than I can count and it probably started when I was a child. You know I use to have two subscriptions, one to the Annie Oakley Fan club and the other to Junior National Geographic (yea yea, I know I look like a dweeb, but please there were no junior/teen fashion magazines back then and probably is the reason behind the way I dress now!) Anyway, I use to wait that long 30 days in between until the next magazine would come in, and when it arrived in that delightful brown paper packaging with my name on it, I would bolt to my bedroom to savour the excitement of opening it all to myself.

Oh the joys of it all as I sat there staring at my newly minted magazine in all it's shiny, new and cleanly glory. Many years later, and I can confirm that I still feel the same way. It probably would come as no surprise to find out that I nearly burst a vein on the side of my forehead if someone else touches my virgin magazine before I do. Those who know me well, know that I must be the first to flip thru it's untouched pages and I must be the first to read it, and if I am not, don't even bother giving it to me!

Of course, it should also be no shock that I absolutely cannot touch a magazine in any office setting. You know what I mean? Those horrid disgusting, finger licked magazines that glaringly stare at you while you are sitting at your doctor's or at your dentist's office. All I can see is a zillion little fingers that have flipped thru those pages. EEEEWWWW! It blows my mind that most doctors offices require you to put a face mask on during flu season so as not to spread germs, but leave out for everyone to touch, sneeze on, cough on, snot on, paper reading products! Like we aren't going to catch anything off those little germ collectors! *shudder*.

Ironically, I have been with my better half for eight and half years and he still does not understand this flaw in my personality. And I nearly get frantic when I come home from a store and he starts to empty out the bags and grabs my magazine and does a quick flip thru those virgin pages. It takes all my strength not too leap across our kitchen island, put him in a choke hold and slap him silly! He regularly looks at me as though I am some sort of maniac, and perhaps I am. But it is only when I have read the magazine thoroughly and I mean every page from top to bottom, from side to side, from article to article that you may pick it up and view it. Yes I know what you are thinking and you wouldn't be the first to call me crazy!

I think I can say with total assurance that at this point in my life, it is highly doubtful that I am ever going to change when it comes to the virgin magazine. And if you are ever in a magazine aisle and you see this girl reaching for the magazine way way waaaaaaaaaaaaaay at the back of the pile, the likelihood is, that is just crazy old me! Harmless of course, unless you touch my virgin magazine and then I take no further responsibility for my future actions.

Until next time.

Cheers

Tracy

...in the midnight hour

2011-10-12T13:19:00.000-07:00

I live with a man who during the daylight hours I adore completely, but during the night hours, it takes all my control not to throttle him senseless with the pillow he rests his rather large head upon.

I am sleep deprived you see.

My mild manner better half is driving me to the brink of exhaustion!

To wit: the other night, I had curled deep within the warmth of my duvet and fell off into a lovely, dreamless slumber when I was ghastly awaken by the following:

"GET UP GET UP, YOU ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR WORK!!!!!"

With my heart beating fast and sleepy-filled eyes, it goes without saying that I hopped out of my warm and comforting bed and moved my decrepit body as fast as I could over to the loo where I dropped my pj's and scrambled into the shower to clean the old body in the most expedient way I possibly could!

Still feeling slightly tired, I came out of the bathroom to find my lovely better half deep alseep and snoring peaceful under a mound of duvets. What was more curious was that it was still dark out. Usually by this time, there is a thin stream of daylight coming in from yonder window. However, the only thing that I could see was the glow behind my curtain of the mandatory street lights.

I stood there and scratched me head and proceeded to hobble over where the alarm clock was sitting and took it over to the window to get some light to read it. I stood and stared at perplexed, shook it a few times and wondered if perhaps the batteries in the back had finally died, as this time couldn't be right! On closer inspection, I could see the second hand moving without hesitation. In shock, I stood and watched that bloody second hand moving in perfect sync and felt a mad rush of warmth gather over my face. With a turn of my heel, followed by a thunderous over-exaggerated walk, I stomped my way over to my side of my bed, grabbed my pillow and unceremoniously hit my better half in the head with the following screaming words:

"IT'S ONLY MIDNIGHT YOU BLOODY FOOL....AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Stunned by the onslaught of my pillow, sleeping beauty looked at me with confusion, and then it dawned on me that the freaking stinker was talking in his sleep again!

The rest of my evening went something like this:

1:00 a.m. finding said better half sitting on the side of the bed, asking him what he was doing, his answer "nuttin" and then him falling back on his pillow and snoring.
2:30 a.m. finding said better half sitting on the side of bed, asking him what he was doing, his answer "nobody's business" and then him falling back on his pillow and snoring.
3:45 a.m. finding said better half standing at one of our bedroom windows peeking out thru the slit of the blinds and saying "did you hear that, did you hear that?" and then him walking back to his side of his bed, climbing in and not missing a beat to his snoring.
4:30 a.m. finding said better half standing over our dog's crate and saying the street light is keeping Fred awake and then him climbing back into bed and snoring once again; and finally
6:30 a.m. the alarm going off and better half waking up with a stretch whilst Tracy drags her sorry ass out of bed.

I don't care what they say, I am going to do my best to bring separate bedrooms back into fashion!

Good lord, someone help me now!

Until Next Time!

Tracy

This Post is not for the Faint Hearted

2011-10-04T17:38:00.000-07:00

You know I have always been a pretty open blogger when it comes to my personal life. And in doing so, I have lost readership and I have gained readership. It's life. I have always been honest in my posts and have shared many things about my aging droopy body, from my ever-reaching-floor boobs, to the odd stray hair poking off the side of my nostril, to eating fart bars at will just to get even with my better half. All of which compare nothing to the tale I am about to tell you.

So if you are easily offended or grossed out by bathroom humour, now is the time to skip to the next blog. I promise, my next post will be all flowery and full of daisies.

But in the meantime, all ladies and gentlemen, are warned to avert their eyes.

On to my story:

If you are familiar with me at this point, you know that I am a chronic pain sufferer. I tend to shy away from pain medication until there comes a point when the pain is making me so outwardly miserable to all those around me, that I just have to give in and take something. Such was the case for the last week and half.

So with a click of my magic fingers, I blinked up my delightful cocktail of pain meds and happily went on my way much to the pleasure of all those around me.

The unfortunate part of pain meds is that after a few days they back up my old garbage disposal, if you get my drift. You know what I mean right? My engine gets a blockage, my cat gets a fur ball, there's a rat stuck in the wall... No? You still don't know what I mean? Oh for gawd sakes, I get constipated people!!!!

And constipated good, I must say. This time it had been three days, three long days of torturous agony, until I took it upon myself to drastically force a flushing of my radiator.

It all started like this. I finally could no longer take one more moment of the pain in my lower back or the bloating in my ever increasing stomach. Not too mention the constant pressure on my poor tookis. So with toilet paper in hand, and a determination in my gait, I finally, on the third day, decided to get the deed done and reward myself with a warm bubble bath to soak my soon to be released from agony nether regions. So with the bathwater running, I decided to disrobe, and plant my naked body on the toilet to give an old heave ho to my ill suffering bowels, and from there jump into my bath and soak my sore patooty.

While idly sitting, for what felt like an eternity on the toilet, and bursting several blood vessels on my face, a few odd and disturbing things popped into my mind, like:

What if it didn't come out before the water in the bathtub started to overflow and my better half came into the bathroom to see why there was an indoor flood happening only to find me in all my naked glory sitting there grimacing and grunting on the toilet with two inches of water around my ankle yelling "we're almost there baby, almost there!!"

What if, gawd forbid, I pushed too hard and gave myself an aneurysm, fell off the toilet and my better half found me naked, lying butt up in the air, dead to the world, with half a poop sticking out. Good gawd, how on earth would he explain that to the family!!!

And if that wasn't bad enough, I spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about taking a pair barbecue tongs and pulling and tugging until I set my bowels frees. Of course, when I merely mentioned my fantasy to my better half, he raced into the kitchen at full speed, and lets put it this way, I haven't seen those tongs in two full days. Like I'm really going to use them. Okay, maybe it is good thing I can't find them.

In any event, I am happy to report that I did survive the bowel gate scandal of 2011 and that I burst out into glorious song the moment it happened!

The fact that I am now sitting on a pillow and a heating pad, is nobody's business but mine, and well, maybe yours too, and anyone else who has the courage to ask! Because, damn it, I am not ashamed! Okay, maybe I am blushing a bit in the cheeks, well, the cheeks I am sitting on that is!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

In Shrouded Form

2011-09-30T17:25:00.000-07:00

As mentioned before in past posts, I work in a haunted building. Yes, you heard me right, a haunted, historical building. Once a beautiful church, the inside has been transformed to showcasing a sad and lack luster version of a 70's decor gone wild. With golden oak trim, green speckled carpet and orange counter tops, the only thing missing is a disco ball.

But beneath it all tho, and in the untouched corridors of it's youth, the old building retains some of its original charm of thick trim and window casings, old bannisters, bubble glass windows and locked up rooms with the original dark stained hardwood floors still intact.

Time, along with the landlord, has not treated this beautiful gem with the kindness it deserves. With the less than inspired housekeeping staff, there is narry a corner of the building that isn't oozing in gauzy cob webs, decaying bugs, fast moving hairy little spiders and burnt out light bulbs.

Eleven years of working here and I have seen and heard my fair share. From distant sounds of imaginary children running up and down the stairs, to spring loaded doors opening on their own, to closing up my office and then hearing behind the locked doors, the filing cabinets and inner doors being opened and shut, to standing in the foyer downstairs and hearing the sounds of running back and forth above me in my office, all after I, the only employee, have locked and alarmed up my office.

Much to the dismay of the doctor's office below me, they are unfortunately provided a full-on audio entertainment each morning from my offices above until I arrive to start the day.

And there have been other spine tingling and unexplainable moments like light bulbs being smashed on my desk even though all six light bulbs were still sitting in their track lighting above me, to forks and pens and keys disappearing and then reappearing in the same place I had just looked at a few minutes earlier. Or, the night my better half picked me up and as I walked to the car I noted the sheer horror on his face and turned around where I stood breathless and in shock as a fantastical lighting display was happening where only mere moments earlier I had been sitting and typing.

You would think that I would be use to all these chill boning special effects that accompany my every work day. And by all accounts, with the exception of the odd hair sticking up on my neck, I am. But lately, a new thing is happening that is so disconcerting that even as I write this, my arms are fraught with goosebumps.

I am constantly seeing a shrouded form in my peripheral vision. It happens so quickly and suddenly that for an instant, my senses are swirling and it takes all my effort to catching my breath in attempt to calm down and not go screaming into the night. And while it is not all the time, a few times a week seems to be more than I really wish to experience. I just cannot shake the sense that I am being watched. Tall, dark and ghostly opaque qualities, it often stands and occupies a corner of one of the several empty offices that makes up the entire floor that I work alone on. Undoubtedly after several weeks of this, I am starting to sense the moment before it happens. I see it there from the corner of my eye, but when I turn my head it evaporates into thin air.

And, as fall creeps in closer and the days get shorter, my concern about being alone in the building whilst I wait the extra hour for my better half to pick me up, is, I have to say, unnerving to say the least.

I suppose, it's all part of the fun of working in an older building, but I must admit that my dreams of owning an older character home have all been shattered since working here. It's nothing but new construction for me now, as I want to ensure that the only thing haunting my home, is my better half's lingering, wretched farting sprees.

In the meantime, I believe it is time for me to go as the hair on my neck is starting to stand straight up and my spidey senses are in full gear.

Until next time.

Cheers

Tracy

Meh!

2011-09-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

I think I have lost my mojo..

My umpf...

My witty repartee...

My imagination...

My zest (oh wait, did I ever have zest? Hmmmm.... nope, I am pretty sure I have always been a zest-free zone)

In short, I have those damn Blogger Blues.

You know where you are too tired to think of something to write in the waking hours of your life? I mean it goes without saying that some of my best ideas for blogging come about in the middle of the night or when I am taking a shower, or gawd forbid, when I am sitting on the loo. All of which leads to a very inconvenient time to blog.

I have barely even taken any photos in the last five weeks, which is so unlike me as usually my camera is surgically attached to my eyeball.

Even today, I posted a new post on my other blog As I Dream It as it had been about 5 weeks since I posted over there. And guess what, the bloody thing won't show in the reader or on any blogrolls and for some reason, I am too tired to figure it out. It's kinda sad because it is a little thank you post for Mandy at Tatter and Wild and Nana at La Table De Nana for some lovely things they did for me, for which they will never see it, because it is yet another glitch with lovely blogger.

Anywhooo, since I have nothing worthy to say and I have snagged you this far into my meaningless clutches, oops I mean post, I'd like to take this time to say thank you for a couple of things.

First, there are several new people who have joined my possey, so thank you Justin, Rebecca, Elliot MacLeod-Michael, Liz it is and Twilightgazing. Nice to see your lovely faces, and if you haven't already, and you want too, feel free to input your blogsite up on the above tab called the Meet and Greet Page so that other great bloggers can find out about you and what you have to write about.

Secondly, I have thank my friend, Paul, over at I took the One Less Travelled for passing on a lovely award to me. You are too kind my friend, too kind indeed!

Finally, I want to invite you all to leave a comment below with your blog addresses so that after you read my boring schmoozle of a post, you can actually go and visit a post worthy of a read!

Cheers for now lovely ones!

And if you were here in person, I would probably give you all a big smoocharoo!

Tracy xxoo

A MOVELESS RAIN DANCE

2011-09-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

This is a post I wrote from last year, one that is near and dear to my heart and one that expresses how I feel today.... Happy Sunday to everyone!

It’s raining today, and out of nowhere, my senses have been exhilarated with this deep feeling that my soul is cleansing it’s self. The skylight above me renders a constant pitter patter noise and I am adoring it. I pull my sweater closer around my neck while my eyes flutter in an attempt to remain open and focused.

Thoughts and ideas flit thru my mind, but I am too relaxed to be able to retain them. I am having a moment where I feel peaceful. So ironic for me.

I jump up from my desk at the lunch hour and walk outside and stand there while the sky drizzles down upon me, doing my own version of a moveless impromptu rain dance. Drops are glistening in my hair and then silently rolling down my cheeks and it feels so good. People walk past and give me crazy looks. I smile back and even cheekily say “you should try it some time”. They scamper away from the lunatic on the sidewalk who allows the rain to soak her. But the rain is not soaking me, it’s saturating my soul. Curiously, I feel warm rather than cold. But I understand, the rain is washing away the accumulation of disappointments that I have been holding onto so tightly and for far too long. Slowly and ever so slightly, I feel small releases as each one leaves me. I tell myself it is time to move on from those things I have no control over.

And then, in a moment of haste, I almost miss her. The sweetest child with blonde hair and blue eyes looking up at me perplexed. She blinks and strains her lovely face my way until the recognition dawns on her and she smiles and looks up at the sky. I stand there mesmerized as I watch beautiful silver streaked droplets of water splash on her soft brown eyelashes giving her an almost ethereal glow. She slips her warm soft hand into mine. My heart beats hard because I know her. I once was her. Innocent and happy, kind and thoughtful, with the world before me. She tells me that all will be okay and for a fleeting moment I believe her. I bend down and kiss her forehead and say “I know sweetheart”.

And then, with a turn and a sigh and a yank of my warm duvet, I wake up to the beautiful sound of the rain falling gently on my roof. And my day begins.

Until Next Time...

Cheers

Tracy

She can’t be rosie and sunshiny all the time, can she?

2011-09-15T13:11:00.000-07:00

I’ve got a friend and she is the epitome of happiness every day. I mean every day! Did I mention every freaking day of her life? She is so damn happy, that I want to throttle her at times. Of course I wouldn’t because that would be paramount to the evil Queen giving Snow White a poisonous apple and since she has a large number of dwarfs and happy animals surrounding her, they would probably drop me like the sack of potatoes I am!

I am not jealous, I tell ya! Seriously, I am not (okay maybe a bit, but just a teeny tiny little minuscule amount). And I just keep thinking to myself, that it can’t be normal, can it? Perhaps, she is just sucking back some vodka infused lollipops every day and walks around with a goofy smile on her face that everyone interprets as happiness! And perhaps all her gooey rainbow happiness status lines on facebook, is nothing more than the silly verbiage of liquored up woman!

In any event, this is where I step in and tell you, that this person is nowhere near my persona. I am anything but, and this week has proved to all those around me that there are days that I put the “ass” in crabass. Sorry to those who do not like swearing, please avert your eyes, I don’t swear often in my posts and would hate to offend any of you lovelies.

The gist is, I want to gripe here but I am having a problem in doing that, simply because I look at my blog as a place to practice my writing, as a place to get better with my writing, as a place to grow in my writing. It’s just my lovely little place in the blogosphere.

But I am breaking the rules today, and here I go (now if you don’t like rants, can I kindly suggest that this is the moment you should go and check out another blog):

Please do not ask me to work on a project for three consecutive days and finally get it organized between three lawyers, a Judge, a Doctor, three court houses, a video service and camera man and then cancel it the next day.

Please do not ask me to hold your mocha while we are driving, and peal back the lid and have the foam splatter my face and clothes and wonder why I won’t talk to you for an hour.

Please don’t tell me that you will take a certain amount on an item you have on ebay and have me submit the offer, only then to make me wait two full long agonizing days before you accept it, just on the off chance you might get a better offer.

Please do not call me at 11:30 a.m. on a work day and tell me that someone else wants to look at my house, and tell me to go home on my lunch hour (via taxi) to clean my house, and then take a taxi back to work, to then take a taxi back home after work to get my dog out of there before 5:05 p.m. to accommodate a potential buyer who is RETIRED and can come at any time!!!

Please do not arrange a viewing of another house for me to look at and then cancel it five minutes before I am suppose to be there!

Please do not give me extra onions and no pickles on my sandwich after I asked very nicely for no onions and extra pickles.

Please do not give me a mascara and tell me its not waterproof and then I spend the next two hours in my bathroom trying to peel off the mascara that is obviously waterproof.

But mostly: Please do not wake me up on a Sunday morning to tell me you want to look at my house and make me leave my house for five hours while you keep postponing your viewing and then tell my realtor that you want to offer me what I paid for it 6 years ago at the base price before I paid the provincial tax on my then new house, before my upgrades, before the built ins, before I put appliances in, before I put custom blinds in, before I put a built in vacuum system in, before I put an alarm system in, before I had custom built ins put in my living room and den, before I had custom lighting put in, before I landscaped it, before I put a fence up and I before I had a pergola put in. Because nothing ticks me off more than someone who wants to buy my house $118,000.00 under the assessed value and wants me throw in $50,000.00 in upgrades!!!!

Oh my gosh, I think I feel better!

Hey??? Maybe I can be rosie and sunshiny all the time!

Yea right!!! Who am I kidding!

All hail the Queen of the Crabasses!

Long Live my Reign!

FALL FLUTTERS

2011-09-09T16:44:00.000-07:00

Summer came in a whisper and went out just as gracefully. I opened my eyes to the sun and soaked in the warmth of it all. I adore this time of year when summer runs into fall leaving an indelible warmth in my bones that carries me forward towards the harsh wet winters on the west coast.

My lush green garden has become over grown, my flowers have become straggly and weedy, and finally the growth of the hair on my legs has slowed down to a snail’s pace leaving me the need to only have to shave them every few days or so. Yes, it is true my body runs with the seasons and so does my heart.

Never being one to love the parched direct heat of the summer months, I have found that as I get older, I now look forward to July and August perched within my well worn lawn chair. I love those moments watching the clouds sail on by, reverting to my five year old self in an attempt to see faces and figures in the pillowy softness of the sky.

We are experiencing an “indian” summer, if that is even politically correct to say anymore. Warmth is in an abundance, my garden is still producing veggies and fruit, flowers strain to give a few last blooms and the insect life is in full autumn mode in an attempt to gather their last feasts before the inevitable rains knock the remaining vegetation to the ground.

For me, I enjoy this time of year with how the air changes and brings with it a distinctive smoke-filled hazy scent that reminds me of roaring fires from my youth. Nesting creeps up upon me and I feel the need to bake and cook and hunker down for the cold winter nights.

Quietly, I wander out on my lunch hour and head for the local bookstore gathering my necessary reads that will see me through the next several months. I stock up on bubble baths and soaking salts for those moments later this year when I rush into the house frozen to the bone and emerge myself into a steaming bath full of flavourful scents and aromas. Oh, how I can already feel the sweet scented warm water as I let out that deep “ahhhhh” after the first foot in.

Moments of cuddling with my little pooch on our couch under soft warm inviting covers and evenings in my bed as I quietly inch my way over to soak up some of that arab heat that emanates from my better half’s body.

Creamy hot chocolates and chai tea lattes are already calling my name and deep within some suppressed memory, I can smell my mother’s spaghetti sauce bubbling and boiling on the overworked stove.

I look forward to that moment when the first set of maple leaves fall to the ground leaving me to crunch my way through them, or that first fall wind which is neither warm nor cold, but carries the last sweet infusion of earth before she closes her shop up for the winter.

Yes, I am in love with the amazing beauty of fall. But more importantly, I am in love with how fall sets my heart aflutter.

Until Next time.

Cheers
Tracy

It's the Great Postcard Campaign Charlie Brown!!!!

2011-09-06T17:32:00.000-07:00

Tis true my lovely friends... The witty JDay over at The Ramblings of Charlie Brown started the Great Postcard Campaign of 2011.

The gist, everyone who signs up, is assigned a month to send out postcards to everyone on the list in order to connect without the aid of social media.

The purpose: well trying to find a way to reconnect with each other on a more personal level.

I received my first postcard last month, and this month, it is my turn to send them out.

Can I tell you that I had the worst time in the world trying to find generic postcards! Secondly, I am so not use to writing very often and I needed an icepack and some good old pain cream to rub into my shoulder after all that freaking writing! And thirdly, I, believe it or not, was stumped on what to write! Good grief Charlie Brown!!!!

Lastly, I think it will be fun... so if you haven't already, go on and skip over to JDay and sign up and be a part of connecting with other individuals from other countries, but for PITY SAKE PEOPLE, please sign up in October, I already did my freaking post cards and I can no longer feel my fingers!!!!

And on a side, I want to thank Ruth at Welcome to Me and The Frisky Virgin for both passing on such lovely awards to me! You two are way too kind *blush*!

Finally, I am going to be slightly AWOL over the next few weeks, or at the very least, blogging sporadically. This is a crazy busy time at work, lawyers and trials, you get my drift. And already I want to pack my bags and head for the high country... Anybody want to put me up?

Will hopefully resume normal programming in the very near future, or, if not, send a search team out for me, you will most likely find me licking out the contents of a margarita drink pitcher in a dark back alley tearfully whining "why me, why me", whilst I scratch my head with my now permanently "postcardwritingitis" claw-like hand!

Cheers for now

Tracy

GET YOUR DANCING SHOES ON.... IT'S FRIDAY!!!!!!!

2011-09-02T14:26:00.000-07:00

It’s Friday and I want to do a happy dance! Yes, an all out jig around my office, except that I am worried that some of my wiggly parts may take out a few objects here and there, but what the hell, I am going to jiggle and wiggle around this office until I am out of breath, sweating profusely, laying on the floor and panting like I just had the best night of my life. Just wait there... I will be back in five!

Okay, I am back and it felt good. Really good, even those wiggly parts that may have been bruised from slamming into a couple of walls still feel good too.

What is it about Fridays that just brings out the best of the best in energy and emotions? For most of us working slobs, nine to five, five days a week can seem somewhat tedious and mundane. And while I am not knocking my job, sometimes I think it would be just spectacular if my job was shift work because it would certainly help break up what has become an unfortunate monotonous routine.

I suppose it is all about attitude. I have always been grateful to have a job even jobs in the past that I absolutely abhorred. Even with the worst employers, I was still grateful to be able to put a roof over my head, food on my plate and have a social life outside of my work environment.

As I get older however and closer to the possibility of retirement, I find that Monday thru Friday seems to drag on and on and I relish in the idea of more time off. Is this the fault of my job, absolutely not. But it is my fault for not working as hard on my personal life as I do in my professional life. In my 20's, I was a social butterfly and it seemed that every night after work I was going somewhere and doing something and it made my career choice bearable and my life enjoyable. But as I have gotten older, I seem to have lost some of my twenty something "umpf" and replaced it with my forty something "ugh". And I now tend to leave my social gatherings, if I socialize at all, till the weekends making my work week seem very long indeed.

You see the biggest problem is that my better half and I have fallen into this “homebody” routine. We go to work, come home, play with our pooch, make dinner, clean up, play on the computer, watch some tv and go to bed. It’s like a bad repeat of a terrible TV show that’s gone into syndication when it should have been canceled years ago. Complacency people. I have spoken about this before. Complacency is the culprit that breeds disinterest and lack of enthusiasm. It’s there like a weed growing around your brain that seriously needs to be plucked and I need to pluck our complacency before it becomes a permanent fixture in our everyday life.

Last night we started. We invited some really nice friends out for dinner and with them just accepting the invitiation, they unknowingly assisted us by helping us to throw out our usual routine. Albeit, it was one day before the weekend, but the fact remains it wasn't on a weekend and it broke up our tiresome repetitiousness. And you know, I enjoyed going out, and what's more, I had forgotten what it was like to socialize beyond the confines of the constraints I had self imposed upon myself and my better half. And even better, I just checked my whining, my pain, my fatigue and my complacency at the door and enjoyed the evening out with our great friends.

It's a small step, but small steps lead to big steps and before you know it, I will be donning those dancing shoes and wiggling and jiggling any time I want too! And that people, is what I am aiming for.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

A Love Letter.....

2011-08-29T17:25:00.000-07:00

Dear James:

Eight years ago today, we met on a sunny Friday evening at a campsite just outside of my home town. By all accounts, it was a rocky blind date full of awkward moments, uncomfortable silences, and each of us staring off into distant lands. Who knew that this moment would eventually lead into the solid foundation that brings us here today.

I still remember you, you know, frozen there in time. You stood there a significant foot taller than me, wearing jeans and a white polo shirt, your dark set of curls matched your swarthy good arab looks and you had done all that you could to hide the emotions in your eyes in fear of another heartache. I searched for you that night in your eyes. I strained to find out the man you were. You gave nothing away. I left feeling unsatisfied.

You made me work for your trust and your heart and there were moments when I was ready to throw up my arms and walk away. And then finally as I held my breath, brick by brick your defences came down, and you gave me you. Not a small amount, but your entire being. You reminded me that our relationship was worth fighting for.

Now the years have come and gone, some so quickly that I reach out in a desperate attempt to hold onto the memory. Others so painful that I wish they would leave my heart as quickly as they entered. We have grown you and I. From awkward and terrified to easy moments and laughter.

Your handsome looks still take my breath away. And while I can still see the man you were eight years ago, it is the man you are now that thrills me to the core.

You have seen me at my worst. Those terrible moments where I am on my proverbial knees begging and pleading for pain relief, and I, in turn, have seen you on your knees holding me and comforting me in those unforgettable moments.

You have held on tightly to my suitcase when I wanted to runaway from my life in a hope to leave my pain behind. You have made me step up and face it, even when I didn’t want to breathe in one more moment of this life.

We have weathered storms ones that others would never understand. We have stood beside each other through ups and downs, side by side and all without any regrets.

We have driven each other nuts by our anal retentive natures and have matched each other by temper to temper, stubbornness to stubbornness and laughter to laughter. We have had water fights, and snowball fights to wedgie wars that brutalized our poor bottoms.

We have cried at losses and we have cried over happiness.

We have grown stronger and deeper, and we have done this together.

And while others may think we are crazy, the fact is, we are just crazy for each other.

And while we breathe separately, when necessary, our hearts blend together to beat as one.

You are my rock.

And you know, nothing is more beautiful than the love that has weathered the storms of life.

And, when all is said done, you have stolen my heart James, and it really only ever was yours for the taking.

Happy Anniversary my love.

Tracy

It only took 18 years to get there

2011-08-22T17:30:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a pivotal moment in life. One that felt so profound that it took your breath away or where your heart skipped a beat in anticipation over something you couldn’t quite comprehend?

I have and this past Saturday, was my day.

My mom and I had decided to finally catch the latest and last Harry Potter flick about an hour away from home. I had been looking forward to it for some time.

Strangely though, I had woken up somewhat on the sad side that morning. And what was worse, is that I wasn’t quite sure why. The sun was out, it was a beautiful day and my loveable pooch was all wiggly happy as per his usual self. In my mind, I couldn’t wait to get up and get going, but in my heart I felt disturbed.

As I drove to my mom’s place, I could feel my face grow hot as tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I felt at a lost as I couldn’t figure out the reason why.

Finding composure, I pushed it from my mind, crawled into my mom’s car where I aimlessly stared out the window at the scenery going by on our way to the show.

In a moment, I will never forget, a surge of panic hit me so hard that it knocked the breath out of me. It was a moment that made my heart miss a beat. My chest grew instantly tight and my heart hurt so much that I couldn’t breathe. I could feel panic spreading to every fibre of my being. My mind raced and raced around and I felt frightened of my future. A number flashed before my eyes. It was the number 18.

It was the number of years I had been living with chronic pain. It was the number of years of adventures that chronic pain had stolen from me. It was 18 years of pain free living that I had not experienced. It was 18 years of declining invitations or bowing out of things at the last moment because I hurt so much. Eighteen years of ice packs, pain medications, and heating pads. Eighteen years of massage therapy, physiotherapy and acupuncture. Eighteen years of constant research on how to live a pain free life. Eighteen years of doctors and specialists. Eighteen years of getting up stiff and sore and walking like an old woman. Eighteen years of moments lying in beds unable to move. Eighteen years of wishing I was like other women my age. Eighteen years of being jealous of people riding their bikes, or running or walking or living. Eighteen years of being too scared to try different things in case they aggravated my injuries. Eighteen years of pushing myself and suffering the consequences. Eighteen years of giving up dreams I had. Eighteen years. Eighteen years. Oh my gawd, it was 18 years of my life.

Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, and in my panic, I searched for what I wanted to say that would describe exactly how I felt at that moment, that translated all that I felt, that said what my heart was screaming, but the only thing that bubbled out from my lips as I looked at my mom was “is this my life?”

I couldn’t tell you what my mom had said to me, as my pulse was beating so hard in my ears that I couldn’t hear her.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and let out a long sad sigh and realized that I was mourning. I was mourning for me. I was morning for the Tracy at age 25 and for the Tracy at age 32 and mostly for the Tracy at age 43 who was sitting there reflecting with sadness on the losses of her life. I finally let myself feel those losses that I had so neatly tucked away as far from me as possible. Those losses that haunted me and that perhaps if I actually confronted would do more damage to me than the chronic pain had.

I went home that night tired and drained and sat staring at my blog wanting to pour my heart out, but frightened to put it into writing. And as I sat there staring at the monitor, I let Tracy have a very long hard cry. I let her mourn, I told her it was okay to feel sorry for herself. I told her she could have that moment as it was hers to own and then I told her that she would have to move on.

As I write this though, I can tell you that I still feel raw and teary some two days later, but I suppose that grieving for the things I cannot have or cannot do is all part of the healing process, well at least for me anyways.

And to think, it only took me 18 years to get there.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Weebles Wobble but they don’t fall down: My Week in Review

2011-08-19T12:53:00.000-07:00

This Weeble has had quite a week and while I would love to bore you right into a snooze fest with all the gory details and specifics, I thought that perhaps point form would work best. And since I can't remember Monday, which is probably a good thing, the rest of the week was as follows:

- On Tuesday, I ordered chicken strips and salad with a side of curry sauce for my chicken. As I was walking back into my office parking lot, I dropped the curry sauce and it exploded like a bloody grenade! I had curry from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I spent the next hour in my office kitchen exposing my lily white, chubby body donned in a black bra, turquoise and black polka dotted underwear and my goofy orthopaedic runners and sport socks whilst I scrubbed my clothes. Can you imagine if you walked in on something like that! Besides running out screaming for your life, I am betting you would be scratching at your eyes screaming “I’m blinded! I’m blinded!”

- Later on Tuesday, a client came in to talk to me, she kept avoiding eye contact with me and then finally she said “ummm Tracy and pointed to her nose”. Horrified, I pulled out my mirror and saw that I had a clump of curry hanging out of my nostril! Nothing like trying to explain to your client that it was not a booger in your nose! And yes, she did walk away from me very quickly like I had rabies! Ugh!

- Wednesday, I decided to go the safe route and buy some sushi for lunch. After I popped a piece into my mouth, I rubbed my eye forgetting that there was some wasabi on my fingertip! Yes I jumped out of my seat, said a crap load of unlady like profanities, followed by a crazy body dance and then my eye proceeded to water like a faucet, leaving me with mascara and eye make-up on one eye only!

- Wednesday night, I went for a waxing and moved my head at the wrong time and lost a small part of my eyebrow! Please grow back please grow back!

- Thursday, I was eating strawberries when I realized I had a seed stuck between my teeth. After an agonizing 20 minutes of not being able to get the little sucker out, I looked in my office drawer and found a thumb tack that I could use as a dental pick and accidentally stabbed my lower lip! There is a plus side to this one though. My lip swelled right up for 10 hours and I looked like I had a sexy pout going on! I might have to accidentally stab my lip again for future sexy lip looks!

- And I won’t elaborate on Friday, as it’s not quite over and let’s face it, I am afraid too!

One thing is for sure, this Weeble may wobble, but she isn’t going to let anything make her fall down (because apparently I can do that ALL by myself)!

Have a fantabulous, safe, non exploding weekend!

Cheers to all of you!

Tracy

Can I borrow your loaf of bread? I need to beat my better half!

2011-08-15T17:25:00.000-07:00

Did I ever tell you how much I detest grocery shopping. Oh lord, it's like having teeth pulled for me (not that I have had any of my teeth pulled, nor have I ever had the need to have teeth pulled, in actuality, I have pretty spectacular teeth, no cavities, no fillings, no braces... Oh sorry off topic). Anywhoo, I really despise it.

I suppose if I was going to get to the crux of the matter, it has to do with my better half. He loves grocery shopping, and in fact, he is one damn good shopper. He is like my own personal walking coupon. Sales, sales, sales... he can sniff them out like a drug dog at an Airport. But along with his freakish ability to seek out and find outstanding sales, comes his habit of complete pokiness in the grocery store.

He wanders down every aisle and reads the price of every product and small things like picking out juices for his lunch can take anywhere from 10 minutes to 20 minutes for him. He has to compare quantity, quality and price, and sometimes after 20 minutes, he will throw up his hands and say, “too much money, nothing is on sale!” and then move on. And all I can think of is Really, Seriously? It took you that long to come to that conclusion? Well now that is 20 minutes of my life I will never get back!

The ironic part of this is that he is not frugal in any other part of our life, just at the grocery store. He’ll put a product back on the shelf because it is five cents cheaper somewhere else, and while I can appreciate his thinking, it will ultimately cost us $2.00 in gas to get to the other grocery store just to save the five cents! Unfortunately for me, grocery shopping has become nothing short of an excruciating torture-like experience. It’s my own personal version of bamboo shoots being shoved up my nails, and I have to tell you that some days, it takes all my effort not to run down the aisle and tackle him and scream at the top of my lungs: “JUST PICK THE DAMN BOX OF GRANOLA BARS BEFORE I BEAT YOU WITH IT!”

Yup, grocery shopping just brings out the worst in me. I often fantasize about knocking my better half into the shopping cart and strapping on some in-line skates and going down the aisles in record speed while knocking products here, there and everywhere right into my shopping cart and when I am done, the only thing you can see of my better half is his feet hanging out the end of the cart and some breathing movement underneath all the groceries.

And you know, shopping with him has become a two hour excursion at best, and while I try to wander down the aisle enjoying just being with him, I can’t shake this vision of us in 20 years from now where we both are hunched over, wearing depends, doing the old people shuffle and having to schedule a whole day just for grocery shopping. Eeee Gads!

Pray for me tonight will ya! Our fridge has been empty for far too long and it is time for me to suck it up and get it done. But if you happen to see a girl in the aisle cramming broccoli up some guys nose, best you look away. It might be better for your safety!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

2011-08-15T06:30:00.000-07:00

Just a quick happy 1st blogoversary to my friend, Simple Dude, or better known as "He Who Must Not Be Named". Okay you guessed it Voldemort is alive and kicking in Minnesota! Just kidding! Lucky for me tho, I do actually know his name and count myself very fortunate for all the things he has done for me in the past, like pimping me out a zillion times, asking me to guest post for him, being an ear for me when I wanted to chuck my blog into the wasteland, and to top it off, he has me up in his distinguished link page, and even kept me there after I quit blogging and shut it down. How's that for loyalty.

This guy has always had my back and my blog's back, and well, I kinda adore him!

If you get a chance, please go over to The Simple Dude and wish him a happy blogoversary!

SD, in my book you rock, my friend! Here is to your continued success!

Tracy

Under the warmth of the cherry tree

2011-08-13T15:49:00.000-07:00

Silently, I stood staring at the face of the woman in the mirror as I desperately searched into her eyes for a shred of who she once was. The vacant look staring back at me frightened me to my core and I noticed that she was devoid of all emotion. She stood still and quiet as if to say "what more do you want of me".

With a previous evening of pleading and praying for her body to heal, nothing was left but the defeated shell of her former self. Sadly, she could only reflect back a drawn, pale and exhausted look. Her once youthful appearance was now etched with deep lines marking her with the tale of chronic pain. With resignation and sadness, I turned away from the mirror, snapped off the light in the bathroom and hunkered down for the day realizing that today the pain had won and I had become a prisoner in my own home.

I shifted back and forth from seat to seat in an effort to find comfort. Covered in pain sprays and ice packs, I was to find no relief. Later the zombie effect from the pain medication I would succumb to taking would eventually take hold of my mind and I would feel devoid of all personality.

In a final effort to find relief, I slowly and awkwardly dragged my favourite supportive lawn chair from the garage to outside and positioned it under the young cherry tree that I had planted three years ago. With a soft creamy pashmina wrapped around my shoulders, I climbed into the chair and reclined back and watched as the speckled sun cast it's beautiful glow through the dancing shade of the cherry tree leaves that were silently casting their shadows upon my body.

I sighed within and closed my eyes tightly while allowing the sun to lightly reach out and caress my tired face. A soft warm sweet breeze drifted about me carrying the heady scent of lavender from my front yard garden. The sweet wind gently created a lovely song of summer as it swept thru the leaves of the poplar trees across the street.

Bees buzzed happily around the garden and once and awhile would dive towards my face but would abruptly pull up in swift precision as if to show me their uncanny navigational skills.

In the distance, I could hear the lovely sounds of the neighbourhood children laughing and my chimes lyrically singing their sweet gentle song of summer.

With sunglasses on, I looked around to see that the colours of late summer were intensified dramatically.

Above me, soft rolling clouds were slowly overtaking the sky and every once in awhile they would claim victory over the mid August afternoon sun. They seemed to meld into each other creating new kaleidoscope images every few seconds or so and I realized that nature was providing me with it's own dramatic theatre and that all I needed to do was lay back and watch.

Down below my feet, my adorable pooch snored happily as he sprawled out to feel the heat of the earth.

With quiet resignation, I once again closed my eyes and listened to the gentle sounds of nature and asked that the powers that be please grant me my wish of a fulfilling life that was pain free.

With a heavy heart, I snuggled deeper into the softness of my pashmina and let the all encompassing heat of the afternoon sun envelop me in it's soft embrace until I fell silently asleep under the warmth of the cherry tree.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

WHERE HAVE ALL THE BLOGGERS GONE....

2011-08-11T13:06:00.000-07:00

I have this song lingering in my brain, and every now and then it pops up. It was a song from the early 60's made famous by Peter, Paul and Mary. By the time I was a child playing in the 70's it was already a classic that was constantly being played on the “oldies” station. It was called “Where have all the flowers gone”. Haunting tune, I loved it so much as a child.

I hadn’t thought of that song for years, until the other day when I caught myself humming it in the shower but I had, for some reason, replaced the word “flowers” with the word “bloggers”. It went something like this:

Where have all the bloggers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the bloggers gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the bloggers gone?
Girls have picked them every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

If you don’t know the song, I highly recommend that you Youtube it. Perhaps, a tad sad but a beautiful song nonetheless.

Blogland has been bothering me lately, especially when I view my blogroll. So many of my favourite bloggers have gone awol and I am missing them. In fact, I am downright concerned and worried about some of them.

It’s been almost four months since Andrea from Maundering Mutterer stopped blogging. I fell in love with her straightforwardness. Living in Africa, educating her loyal followers on life there, teaching me things I never new, sharing her heartaches, such as her mother passing of cancer, her finding out she had the same cancer, her kind heart that adopted a wide range of animals her mother left behind, the nasty brother who was all for the money, and her finding the strength to take him on. I think of her often and hope that she won her battle against the cancer.

Then there was “J”, also known as the International Woman of Mystery. Her blog started off as an expat from the US living abroad in Europe. She had been there for nine years and it was her tale of life and seeking love over there. Abruptly, her world changed when her job transferred her back to Boston. She was having culture shock living back in the US, she was mourning the loss of her life in Europe, she was trying to fit in, she had lost her beloved grandfather and she was coming to terms with the changes in her family and personal life. She was one of those ones I wanted to hug and tell them it would be all okay.

And then Deborah from the Adventures in Ceredo, one of my first and most loyal followers, broke off from blogging. She only posted a pic or two per week, but I looked forward to seeing them. I knew that was all she was able to give of herself, and I felt that it was such a precious part of her. I always anticipated a comment from her on each post and am sad that I don’t see her in my feedjit anymore. It was like losing a friend and I wish so much for her.

There have been others that have gone MIA that I think about often too, like:

Hannah from Erratic Questions about a Simple Life - I was just getting to know her.

And Tracy from Life's Little Stepping Stones

And let’s not forget the lovely Paul from I took the Road Less Traveled He was one of my favourites and I often hope that his wife’s pregnancy went well, and that hopefully, he is just so happily involved with the newness of fatherhood that he doesn’t have time for the demands of blogland

And Bruce Johnson... I could always count on a daily giggle from him.

There are many more, I am afraid to say...

It’s funny how involved you can get into a stranger’s life and how much it effects your life when they are struggling or happy, sad or delighted. Eventually, they work their way into your heart and become your equal, your little sister, your support system, the older brother, the girl next door, the funny guy at the party, a mother figure, but mostly your friend.

So for Andrea, “J”, Deborah, Hannah, Tracy, Paul, Bruce and all the others, I hope you are safe, you are happy, and that life is so wonderful you have no need for blogland, but mostly I want to thank you for touching my life, you have impacted me in ways words cannot describe.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

FOR SALE....

2011-08-10T13:32:00.000-07:00

I stood in my kitchen exhausted and frazzled. I was ridiculously worn out from the constant cleaning of my house for the sole purpose of showing it to potential buyers.

I had once been in love with my quaint little home. It was the first place that my better half and I had built. The first place we owned together as a couple. It was where we would find our love of our life, better known as Fred our little pooch. It’s where I would create myself a garden of my dreams. It was the place that I had lovingly and painstakingly decorated to suit both the female and male personas living there. It was where we had displayed our art together, our dreams together, our joys together and our hearts together. It was, simply put, a reflection of our love.

We knew at some point we would out grow our little nest and so begun the process of selling our home. We had listed it last year, but after two and half months on the market and seeing countless homes for ourselves, I had second thoughts and pulled the listing.

I knew however at the beginning of this year, that time was running out and we needed at some point to reconsider our options. And with resignation and a heavy heart, we came home two weeks ago to see the “For Sale” sign neatly placed amongst our garden.

With a little too much pride, I had began spending an inordinate amount of time polishing, dusting, vacuuming, sweeping and cleaning my little home. And last night was no different with the exception of the players involved.

Standing beside me was my mother who silently stared off into the distance and neither participated in any conversation or assisted me in any way possible. Curious I thought and this was so out of character for my mother, whose love of cleaning I inherited.

I followed the direction of her gaze and saw a strange woman standing in my living room. She was my new realtor she said. Stunned, I wondered where Richard, my actual realtor was. Unfazed, I accepted her explanation of things and carried on with my nightly cleaning ritual.

I noted that she was busily moving things and placing things and creating a disaster. I kept questioning this new relator’s motives. And she kept asking me to trust her. With a glance at my watch, I realized that I had less than 10 minutes to pull my house together, and too boot, I was still in my pajamas.

With one more gaze at the time, I heard this horribly screeching sound from outside. In a furiously, hurried pace, I ran out the door to spy people sitting at my neighbours across the street singing and playing a guitar and smoking weed. What the heck was going on? Who were these people and when did my neighbourhood become a 1960's flower power show? At the top of my lungs and in a voice I did not recognize, I bellowed “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP”. I had lost my calm composure and ran back inside my home! Seriously, how on earth was I going to sell my house with a realtor who had just messed up my freshly cleaned home and with the local neighbourhood hippies strumming their guitars outside my window. I was doomed. I was tired. And damn, I was still in my pajamas.

And then they came, the potential buyers.... and with a ring of my doorbell....

I woke up.

Relieved that it was a nightmare, I got out of bed and with a pitter patter of my feet and a deep long sigh, I quietly opened the blinds and peaked out the window, and there it was, gleaming in all it's glory in the soft creamy haze of the moonlight, the “for sale” sign. And with a furtive glance at the clock on the wall, I realized that I had only 2 more hours of sleep left before I had to get up and get my house ready for a viewing, all for the joy of selling. And as I went to pull down the blinds, I realized that I was wrong, the buyers were coming now and that I had overslept, and damn if I wasn't still in my pajamas.

And then I really woke up!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Trust me... I don't got it!

2011-08-09T16:52:00.000-07:00

Some days you have it and some days you don’t.

I love the days when I decide to write a post and I don’t have to reach for any words. It’s like my fingers are on fire and they are spilling out exactly what’s in my heart, or my soul, or just on my mind. No effort required. Oh how I am missing that!

Unfortunately, I am a tad uninspired today, well the past week or so. Whether that is a case of my ridiculously sore legs being my focus, or the fact that I have been eating cherries all day and I am farting so much that I have burned out the hair in my nostrils and am actually disgusted with myself, or that I went to touch up the roots of my hair and I did it with the wrong dye and now I have a copper penny head with blonde long strands and it has been horrifying me straight now for the last two days, one can only guess.

Needless to say, I have nothing to talk about except that I am kind of a disgusting oozing mess who has been gobbling and sucking up cherries like an ant eater on speed!

Ain’t I a beauty!

PLEASE SAVE ME FROM MYSELF and someone
suggest a topic for me to write about in my next post!

Cheers for now.

Tracy

Have you lost JEWELS TURNING 30?

2011-08-08T12:30:00.000-07:00

Life is too short to loose your jewels, whether it be ones you wear around your neck, ones you were born with or ones that you read!

So if you were a follower of the lovely Jewels over at Jewels turning 30, you might have noticed that her blog went capoot, finito, disappeared into the ether, slipped down a blackhole, was a return to sender with the address unknown, goodbye, farewell, sayonara... well you get the drift.

Well never fear my friends. She is still around. She decided that she preferred wordpress over blogger and you can now find her here:

ACCORDING TO JEWELS

She has lost all her links to the blogs she has followed, so if you get a chance, please skip over and say hi to the lovely Ms. Jewels and pass on the word! Nothing worse than building up your readership to have it all vanish in the click of one button!

By the way.... thank you all for the lovely comments you left me yesterday, you are way too kind and you made me feel significantly better!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Wandering aimlessly

2011-08-07T14:03:00.000-07:00

No words today as I have had a significant setback on the pain front. So much so, that its been a real effort to get out of bed. It's unfortunate that it scrambles my brain and makes me sound like an idiot. Sometimes when the pain is this intense, I grasp to find words that make me sound normal. In the long run, it does not really matter though, especially when I can go out and see something as gorgeous as the below. Makes me realize that the world will revolve whether I am participating in it or not. And in some corny way, it kind of rejuvenates me...

Hope you have all been well.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

In a blink....

2011-08-05T08:27:00.000-07:00

Three more days and my holidays will have come to an end.

I am already mourning the loss of them and counting down the days until I can rebook my next set.

Tired and worn out, my holidays have been jammed packed full of everything and anything. It's been about reconnecting with my better half, warm cuddles with my pooch, aimless wandering amongst the flowers, sitting on the ocean and listening to the crashing of the waves. It included spa treatments, artisan markets, finding new stores and eating at little bistros. From lying on my back watching the clouds soar by, to nodding off in the car whilst my better half navigated down forgotten winding roads, to sitting at my mother's bistro table and staring at her beautifully animated face as she intently discussed the things that were on her mind, I must say that these two weeks have been nothing short of memorable.

They were not anything I expected and still, they were all that they were suppose to be.

My soul is tired from the non stop movement and yet my spirit feels ridiculously free. I know, you are shaking your head over the corniness that I tend to out pour in my personality and in my writing. I suppose, it's just who I am.

And after a long, arduous trip today that included going to a ridiculously expensive world renown gardens only too fight off the zillion rude tourists that inhabit my part of the world every summer, I came home and sat in my pergola and reflected upon the fact that I needn't to have gone very far as beauty was right here in my own little garden.

And as I sat and gazed out into my little place in the sun and listened to the comings and goings in my neighbourhood, I couldn't help but smile when I heard the gentle snore of my poor exhausted pooch after a day of being mauled by the masses of little ones with their sticky ice cream hands, screeching at their mothers "a wiener dog a wiener dog, can i pet the wiener dog!!!" Poor Fred, he was trooper by all means.

It's funny how life can drag on and then other moments you wish to cling to for all eternity whip past you in a blink.

These holidays were a definite blink, a colourful, bright, memorable, exciting blink. And I have to tell you that I would happily take a blink over a drag any day of the week!

Here is some of our blinks:

Sandcastle competitions

Just chillaxing after a picnic

Reveling in a new pedicure

Attending an artisan festival

Eating at one of many bistros

Listening to a live Barney Bentall concert on the ocean

Sky gazing

Moments with my mom

Discovering new stores

bubble bath mishaps

Intrigued by an ingenious water fountain

Looking and locating many of these!

Attending a very over priced flower garden in the height of tourist season

Taking a break and making sure the pooch is well hydrated!

Extremely Exhausted!

But mostly elated!

Whatever else this summer brings, I do hope that

for you, it is a beautiful, enduring, long lasting blink.

I hope you all have been well!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Spas, Gas and Bubble Baths! (And maybe a naked girl)

2011-08-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

Every year, my better half and I lock up our house, drop off our pooch too his adoring grandmother, pack up our most relaxing of clothes and traipse an hour and half north to a spa situated on the ocean and surrounded by the lush green forest of the pacific northwest.

We often choose to stay in what is affectionately known as the spa bungalows. They consist of various four little connected units set in a wooded area, away from the beaten track, with a king size bed, kitchenette and a jetted bath tub for two that opens up to the fireplace.

It's a place to unwind, rewind, kick back, relax and let your cares just drift away.

The spa part itself is unique in that it has this fabulous cave like mineral pool and a tree top tapas room that is only accessible if you are

a. getting spa treatments; and

b. are wearing one of the resorts fluffy plush robes.

Thus ensuring that the spa remains quiet and uninterrupted.

And while this is all incredibly decadent and a lovely way to wash away the stress of my job, the thing I love the best is the deep jetted bathtub for two back in our bungalow.

Now being a bit of a bathtub hog, I have to say, romantic or not, my better half is never included in my jetted tub moments. I am kind of selfish that way. I just want to light some candles, add some bubble bath, turn on the jets and melt away into some exotic fantasy that no doubt includes Shemar Moore, body oil and me. Not that my better half is not a wonderfully handsome fantasy man, but every girl should have a fantasy man that does not provide the reality of stinky room-filled farts, random wedgies and who asks if his ears and nostrils are clean!

Needless to say, I take full advantage of my lovely jetted bathtub friend every night we are there.

However, I fail to learn the same lesson each and every time I am there and about five minutes with the jets on you will often hear me start to panic and freak out and flail my arms around like a maniac as I reach and search desperately for the "off" button to the jets.

Yes my friends, note to you and myself, when being piggy and selfish at bathtub time and adding bubble bath to a jetted bathtub, use only one cap full of bubble bath, not a half of a freaking bottle, or you will find that you will have to swallow your pride, do some serious begging and ask that farting, random wedgie, ear wax and booger free nose man of yours to come and rescue you!

Yes, it is a naked "Average Girl" under all those bubbles

UGHHHH!!!!

Moral of the story: greedy bubble bath girls should always include their stinky, booger free better halfs into their fantasies and into their jetted tubs!

Until Next Time

Tracy

PS Thanks to the latest and greatest to join my site.

I look forward to getting to know you!

And the Photo winners are.............

2011-07-30T21:43:00.000-07:00

Drumroll please............ "brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" (okay that was a sucky drumroll, it sounded more like I was freezing).

Anywhooo, thank you for playing along with me on the photo giveaway. It's good practice for me to be able to give my photographs away. I am so shy about it, really I am! And so ridiculously scared on what people will think of them when they are printed out on paper, so this has been a good exercise for me in learning to, as corny as it sounds, let a piece of me go.

Anyway, I decided to choose two people from facebook who participated and two people from bloggy land.

And I did that incredibly scientific way of writing down everyones names, chucking them in a bowl, having my better half mix them up and me reaching in and pulling out two names from blogland and they are:

The lovely Sherilin from LAUGHING MY ABS OFF

and

The equally lovely Beliza from A SERIES OF RANDOM THOUGHTS

If you get a chance, make sure to stop by and check out these amazing bloggers!

Sherilin has already provided me with her mailing address and I would ask that Beliza kindly send me an email with hers to itsanaveragelife (dot) gmail (dot) com.

Pictures are in the process of being developed and will be sent out shortly.

Thank you all for playing along with me and leaving your very lovely comments.

And thank you Hazel from PABLOS ANGEL for giving me an award, lovely one... I just got back from holidays and will be over to check it out!!!

Resuming normal blogging posts tomorrow.

Cheers to all of you.

Tracy

A PHOTO GIFT FOR YOU....

2011-07-25T09:15:00.000-07:00

I am about to embark on a week away at a spa. Ahhh bliss. I cannot wait.

But I was thinking to myself what wonderful people you are, great commenters, great supporters, and fantastically loyal.

So I wanted to do a thank you. And here it is, I would love to give you one of my photos in a 5x7 or maybe larger, and all you have to do is leave me a comment on which one is your fav, and I will chuck your names into an official hat (okay more like a grocery bag), shake it up really good and pick a winner when I come back.

However, with that said, you might think that they are all a bunch of crap and not want one at all. In that case, pick the one you despise and you can chuck it up on your dart board for practice! :)

So here they are in no particular order:

PLEASE CLICK ON EACH PICTURE TO ENLARGE

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

Have a great week everyone

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Soul Searching

2011-07-20T13:28:00.000-07:00

I silently stand on the edge of my lawn looking beyond my corner of the world, past my neighbourhood and deep into the cerulean sky. With resignation, I close my eyes tightly and feel the warm wind of summer whipping its magic around me. It scoops up the tendrils of my hair and tickles me lightly with them. I breathe in, I breathe out, trying to find that balance and centre that has been alluding me of late.

I stand there for what seems like an eternity with my feet firmly planted solid into the earth trying to find a connection that will ground me. I am not lost but I feel my thoughts wandering aimlessly around and away from me. I chalk it up to being tired. I am tired. The pain makes me tired, my job makes me tired, and lately, life is making me tired.

Slowly, I saunter back to my house. I neither wish to go in nor do I wish to continue standing like a lunatic in the middle of my yard for the neighbours to watch. What a crazy girl they must think I am.

Reluctantly, I open the door and instantly feel the pressures come tumbling towards me. They are so slight in nature these pressures, but they are there, like some type of omnipresence coming to engulf me. They come in all shapes and forms and they require decisions, but my decision making skills seem to be on hold for the time being.

And I see those pressures more firmly etched within the lines of my better half’s handsome face. With a self absorbed sigh, I turn away from him and proceed to try and squat down to give my little pooch some much needed love, all the while forgetting that my knee won’t allow me to do this one simple maneuver. And with an ungraceful thud, I fall to the floor, shaking almost everything around me and causing a bit of commotion and worry with my better half. Sadly, I am a constant worry to him. I have aged him, I think, and somedays I yearn to be a better and different woman for him.

Later in the evening, I am without words to add to the conversation and I kiss the two men in my life goodnight and slip into bed where I can be by myself. I push my thoughts aside and wish. In the morning it will be better, I tell myself. In the morning, it will be better.

And as daylight breaks, I find myself wandering outside once more, digging my feet deep into the earth, praying for answers. I am soul searching.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

In moments of contemplation

2011-07-17T20:07:00.000-07:00

The lights are bright and painful and unwavering in their assault to my senses to the point that my eyelids are heavy from the strain of it all. The rushes of uniforms in and out and around me are making my head turn in dizzy despair. I hear panicked moans from those sitting across from me, along with discomfort, unhappiness and unease. Some sit with their heads in their hands, others are sobbing softly to themselves, while some are so entranced in their handheld electronics that they are oblivious to their surroundings. And as for me, I feel kind of silly being here and I am anxiously watching the second hand of the clock go around and around and ache to go home.

Somewhere in between the air has gotten thick, almost nauseatingly thick with a sickly smell, one that perhaps I am vaguely aware of, but I can't quite put my finger to it. And then I see her run past me, and then another one, followed by another. There is a sense of panic. They call for housekeeping to clean up the blood in room 13 that has now slowly flowed, almost like lava spillage, over and under the curtain into room 14. I avert my eyes the best I can from that direction and try to focus on something else, although I make a silent prayer to whomever is now in the middle of this frightening crisis.

I look over at my beautiful sister in law and watch as her delicate nose wrinkles up to the bloody scent that has now engulfed the entire waiting room. I wonder if she is having flashbacks to February when she almost bled to death in another emergency room. She whispers low to me "I hate hospitals". I smile at her with that all knowing smile that says that I couldn't agree more. With a big sigh, I look at the time on my phone and mumble to myself "gawd how long have I been here, how long." And I wonder how much more time I will be relegated to this place until I get the prognosis.

A routine checkup at my doctor's office 4 hours earlier for grief I have been experiencing in my leg has propelled me to this moment and to this place. A possible fatal blood clot in my leg, she explains. I am not worried until I look deep into her face. She grabs me by both arms and makes me promise her that I will go straight to the emergency room, kind of like I just pulled the jail card in a game of Monopoly, do not pass go Tracy, and do not collect 200 dollars.

I feel a small amount of fear growing in me as time ticks by. I try to joke the moment away with stupid status lines on facebook asking for pizza to be delivered, and if its my last meal, to send me for desert Shemar Moore from Criminal Minds or a jar of pickles, because at this point, I am scared and humour is my best defense. In my thoughts though, I am checking off my list:

Last Will and Testament done - check
Is my list updated on where all my finances are - check
Although not written anywhere, does everyone know that I want to be cremated - check
Did I tell my mom that I love her - check
Did I do all that I wanted to do - no
Did I become all that I wanted to be - double no
Have I actually made a difference in the world - sadly no
Did I make it to Italy and stand on the Amalfi Coast - damn, no!

Finally, after a few more hours of uncertainties, I hear my name called. I limp my way over to the doctor smiling at him, believing in the power of positivity, or the power of naivety, whichever one works because at this point I no longer care. He neither smiles at me nor stops looking me in the face, he is a factual man.

I do not have a blood clot. I let out a long sigh and give him a grateful nod but not before he adds that I have damaged my knee and will require a trip to an orthopedic surgeon. Something I am not happy about, but a prognosis I am more than grateful to accept.

On the long hour and half trip home, I close my eyes and drift off into a moment of contemplation, but not for my life, but for that man's whose blood was on the floor, for that woman who was holding her stomach while they arranged an MRI, for that girl sitting there sobbing in the chair, for that young boy with a bandaged wrapped around his head, for that elderly man rocking back in forth in his chair while holding his wife's purse. I thought of those still waiting there, sitting there, wondering there, praying there, hoping there and wishing there. Were their prayers answered that night? Oh gawd, I hope they were.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Oh honey, not the bloody watermelon again!!!!

2011-07-14T13:07:00.000-07:00

While I cannot recall the date, I can pin down the exact moment the gerbils started spinning their wheels in my over-sexed, forty something, better half’s brain.

It was a morning several weeks back, I had just gotten out of the shower and was sitting at our bistro table in our living room applying the goop to my face that would eventually make me acceptable enough to step out into public. My better half was sitting, still half asleep, on our love seat dozing while the television blared out the morning traffic news. I don’t know where you live, but where I live they have this version of the morning news called “Breakfast Television”, just a revved up more interesting version of the regular daily current events with tidbits here and tidbits there, and something for both sexes. Somewhere in the midst of it all, a quick blurb was made about the powerful aphrodisiac qualities of the bountiful fruit, better known as the bane of my existence, or by it’s proper name, the watermelon. For men, it was nature’s inexpensive version of viagra. For women, it was guaranteed to find your middle aged lost mojo. As for me, I didn’t give it a second thought.

Later that week we went off to do the dirty business of grocery shopping, a chore that I vehemently abhor. In the middle of the veggie aisle, my better half came walking towards me with the mother of all watermelons. Shocked, I reminded him that there was just the two of us and that I was concerned that at least half of it would go bad or go to waste before we finished eating it. He, gently reminded me that it was summer, and watermelon was the “best of summer foods.” A little bit stupefied, I stood there quizzically staring at him wondering what summer he was talking about, since as of today, I am still wearing a coat to work. I chalked it up to him looking for the rainbow in the grey sky and off we trotted home with our 20 pound bouncing baby melon.

For the next hellish two weeks of my life, I would wake up every morning to watermelon cut and laid out for me for breakfast, slices cut and snuck into my lunch, and a plate full at night to finish off dinner. I was getting to the point where I waterlogged, bloated and ridiculously watermeloned out. In fact, I ate so much watermelon that I spent every night peeing like a race horse, and so exhausted the next morning from having my poor who-ha permanently attached to the toilet, that I was starting to doze off at work.

In between the bladder overload and my exhaustion of sitting on the toilet all night, my better half was becoming ridiculously amorous. Now listen, I like sex. But I have to admit that I have moments, of course, where the chronic pain is so bad, that I definitely do not want Tab A inserted into Slot B. In fact, those are the days I would like to shred the human handbook of lovemaking. But for the most part I am happy to oblige, partake and enjoy.

After two long weeks of eating that bloody pink atrocity and two weeks of peeing most of my body weight out, my better half finally pops up with “damn watermelon’s not working!” With a final dawning of realization of why a melon had been thrust down my throat for the last 2 weeks, I looked up at my better half and said: “Damn stinkin’ breakfast television!” And then I got up and dumped that blasted pink seeded piece of horniness unceremoniously right into the garbage and walked away.

Oh now, don’t feel too bad for better half because after a good couple nights of sleep and some recuperation time, my better half was duly rewarded. But in the meantime, let's hope that he finally understand the definition of moderation! And if I see another blasted watermelon, I am tossing it right out of my second floor window!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

PS Thanks to the latest peeps to join my site. If you haven’t already, please go and write something about yourself on my Meet and Greet Page. So everyone can get to know wonderful you!

SO WHAT'S IN YOUR FRIDGE? (Gee thanks Simple Dude and Mynx)

2011-07-07T20:37:00.000-07:00

So it started innocently enough with a Simple Dude and his lady friend showing off the insides of their freezer, followed by a wonderfully humorous Mynx showing off the "dribble" in her fridge and freezer, to now an anally retentive Average Girl (c'est moi) who is jumping on the bandwagon and exposing the inner workings of her little kitchen and ice box:

Clean now, but give me a week..

look whose waiting for me to open the fridge!

just in case you had any doubts, it's clean on this side too

TA DA!!!!! Full of fruits and veggies
only because we bought them last night... LOL
Give me two weeks and they will most likely being decaying!

Gawd love a self defrosting freezer!

And for the girl who lives in pain, LOTS AND LOTS OF ICE PACKS!

Now you know about me... So what's in your fridge?

Oh c'mon... I DARE YA, I DOUBLE DOG DARE YA!

DRATS!!!!!!!! I have been thwarted!

2011-07-06T13:25:00.000-07:00

With 45 pounds off my frame, and no unwanted sugar messing with my already haphazard lump that I affectionately call my body, I have to admit that I have been going thru the last 5 months rather swimmingly. With a decrease in inflammation and increase in energy and positivity, I have been almost a bit of joy to be around. I can even admit to the fact that I kind of like myself, of course not love myself, but like is a first good step in mending a rather precarious relationship between an active and independent mind with a crazily stubborn and unhappy body.

It's been amazing not being at odds with the mechanics of myself, and while I can't run a marathon (yet), I have been doing stuff and feeling more joyful than I have in years. And while there has been the odd setback here and there, for the most part, after a day of rest I feel exuberant again.

And just as I thought I was on the uphill battle reaching my goal of all encompassing happiness, or at the very least being painfree, "it" came crashing down... "It" being the operative word for this pain in my ass autoimmune disease. I suppose I am having some difficulties coming to terms with the ridiculous nature of the autoimmune disease. I never seem to have a prewarning and there is no precursor to when it will strike. Such was this past weekend.

I had driven an hour north to one of my favourite home decor stores in an effort to perhaps redecorate my place. I often do that every few years, it's the designer in me and I love change, well at least in my home. Putting a new spin on my digs makes me feel alive and adding new bursts of colour gets my mojo all revved up.

So in my heyday of grabbing this candle holder here, and that pillow there, followed by this vase and that vase, and running from aisle to aisle like a kid in a candy store, I neglected to pay attention to some swelling I was feeling in my ankle and knee. It seemed minor in nature and I wasn't concerned about it as to me it just represented a leftover from a breakage from three years ago.

But, as I was rounding the corner with my arms full of my new glorious finds, I experienced a sharp pain in the back of my knee that took my breath away, and without any warning, my knee locked and gave out, and down I went like the big bag of Russets potatoes that I am. *THUMP*. To my shock, and to everyone else's amazement, I realized that instead of saving myself, I saved my new found objects d'art. There I laid crumpled on the ground whilst still holding tightly to myself all the beautiful things I had hunted for over the last hour. With a big sigh of relief, I checked to make sure nothing was broken (not me people, the home accessories!), and smiled when I realized that everything was intact (except myself). Oh come on, it was all mercury glass from India, bowls from Spain and vases from Italy. Sheesh, a girl has to have her priorities in place!

As I stood up and dusted myself off, I wandered quickly over to the check out, paid for my purchases and bolted before the whispering of "did you see that girl take out aisle number 5. Yea I did, there's still a big butt print in the floor to prove it!"

Things haven't gotten much better over the last 5 days, as it locked again and I succumbed to a big *THUD* while watering my plants outside the other day (I am still apologizing to my poor plant that has my body print in it), not too mention the rather large *CRASH* as I fell into the linen closet last night whilst I was vacuuming, or the fact that while I sit here and type for a living, my whole leg has that dreaded pins and needles feeling. In any event, the fact remains that while my mind may be yelling "DRATS! I have been thwarted!", my body is saying "hold on, give me a break, I am just trying to catch up to you."

And you know what, it's okay, because my body is teaching me patience, but mostly, it's reminding and re-enforcing in me that old adage "good things come to those who wait.." So I am waiting for you body, you take your time to heal, you have already come a long way in 5 months, and I am so proud of you and I can't wait to see where you take me in the next year but for gawd sakes, next time you lock up and take me down, can we do it when my arms and hands are empty! Sheesh!

Until Next Time.

Cheers
Tracy

DANCING UNDER THE MOON (when the neighbours aren't watching!)

2011-07-04T13:02:00.000-07:00

I live in this wonderful little tucked away neighbourhood of friendly faces and kindly souls who all look out and care for each other. We tend to have many porch parties in our neighbourhood where one neighbour moseys out and sits on their stoop and other neighbours mosey over and sit with them, and then more neighbours come out and stand and we all just talk and giggle and vent and pet each other's pets. And the joy of it is, is that you can come out and join in if you want to or stay in and cuddle on your couch, no one cares, the open invitation is there all year long (weather permitting). Mostly tho, we are just a motley crew who consider each other as an extension of adopted family members and it really is a lovely way to live.

But when my neighbours go in at night and settle down by their TV's, that's when I emerge from the shadows and come outside and fulfill my yearly summer dreams of dancing in the moonlight. I strap on my Ipod, blast on the music, grab my watering hose to water the rockery plants and I shake my rather large booty all over the place only to be viewed by the moon and the stars. And depending on the music and my explosive imagination, I sometimes imagine that I an exotic belly dancer from the middle east and I shake my hips in an effort to entice my handsome Arabic better half, other times I am a pole dancer with a smoking hot body giving my better half the best strip tease of his life and then there are the times I am back in the eighties with lace tights, big hair and some of the worst dance moves ever to come out of a decade. No matter what the night brings, my imagination is lit on fire and I can be whomever I want to be. The reality of course is that my only audience is my plants who don't seem to mind my hip shaking, grinding and gyrating, just as long as they get their nightly drink. Once in a while, my better half will come out to check on me, and give me that usual look of "good grief" and shake his head and goes back in, but he knows I am a tad weird, and frankly that's what attracted him to me in the first place.

I love the freeness I feel when the music is pulsating thru my ears reaching deep down into my belly and I can't stop myself from wiggly and squiggly and downright jiggling. I have to do it, and for me, it is my moment of sheer, blissful freedom. Deep within the depths of my soul, I am a free spirit confined to the responsibilities of everyday living, and dancing under the night sky, just gives my soul the chance to be set free, if not for a mere moment.

Some nights, the music is from some velvety seductive voice and I imagine myself in some steamy love story with the wine flowing and the candles burning, my long hair cascading down my back and the waves lapping at my feet and I almost need to hose myself down! Other times, I am on a stage belting out a song to a crowd who is so in awe of my magnificent voice that they are brought to tears. Whatever is going thru my mind, one thing is for sure that under that moonlit evening sky, I am whomever I want to be, doing whatever I want to do and fulfilling dreams upon dreams upon dreams.

Of course, every once in a while, a car creeps into the subdivision and my back is turned and I only notice them after they have gone by, and I know what they think... Did you see that goofy woman dancing and singing again? But seriously, I just don't care, life is precious and short and you should be able to dance and sing wherever your soul yearns too.

Last night, I was some hot chick in a music video thrusting it here, there and everywhere, and while in reality, I may have taken out a few plants, bruised a hip and eventually had to take a muscle relaxer, the fact remains that while I was in that music video of my mind, I rocked it baby and I rocked it hard!

Until Next Time.

Cheers

Tracy

OOOOOOHHHHHHHHH CANADA!!!!!!

2011-07-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hello darlins

Today my lovely country turns 144 years young! And think, I have have been in it for 43 of those 144 years! Yikes!

I know we get pegged for saying "eh" which of course I do, but hey, we make good beer, great hockey, awesome actors, amazing singers and we are the inventor of many fabulous things in your household. So in honour of Canada Day, I have compiled a list of my top 18 favourite Canadian inventions. Now now, don't roll your eyes, I know that you are curious about what these wonderful Canucks create in their spare time, so without further ado, and in no particular order, here they are:

Basketball (oh yes we did, and here you thought that was American!)
The first cardiac intensive care unit along with the first heart valve (won't you be thanking us after sucking back pounds of that good ole Canadian Bacon!)
The electric wheelchair for those moments when a scooter is not enough!
Garbage bags (and thank gawd, or you still be stuffing those dinner leftovers in your yard somewhere.. Yikes)
Gingerale... Oh c'mon, you know you love it when you are sick!
IMAX... yup give us a big building with a high ceiling and we will stick a 50 foot screen in there just for your viewing pleasure!
Insulin... Yup, we are all about saving lives!
Pictionary... oh giggle all you want, but you know that at some point in your adult life you had a pictionary party!
Rollerskates, what would the boardwalks and beaches of California have done, if we did not come up with a way for gorgeous girls to skate on by in their bikinis! Yes I will take that thank you from you boys out there!
The lightbulb... Yessiree bob, we brought you light, no more striking of the flint! In fact, it's a well known fact that we Canadians light up your life!
The measure of footwear... That's right, if it wasn't for us, you would be trying on every shoe in the store until one fit! Or when the salesperson asked you what your foot size was, you be standing there scratching your head going "uuuummmm, I think they are big?"
Walkie Talkies... It's okay, you know you had them when you were kids, and you can admit you had a blast playing with them, seriously, I won't hold it against you!
The snowblower, snowmobile and the snowplow... I bet those people in Minnesota were really blessing us this last winter!
The Stanley Cup - need I say more?
The Stove - yup your days of cooking on a fire pit came to an end all because of some ingenious Canadian
The Washing Machine - It's okay, you can admit you love me even more now, don't ya!
The Zipper - now boys aren't you happy you have flies in your jeans, makes everything for you so much easier.
And my most favourite item - THE RETRACTABLE BEER CARTON HANDLE. Yup, every time you go and buy a case of good old Canadian Beer, you can thank us with that little slot you can put your hand into to carry the beer!

As for Pam Anderson, Celine Dion and Justin Bieber... well I apologize, well kind of, they live in the States anyway, so unfortunately for them, that's their problem now! Tee Hee

As for the rest of Canada, well all I have to say is this:

OH CANADA... YOU ROCK MY WORLD!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Droopy eyes, muscle relaxers and Bloggers who can help you!

2011-06-29T17:53:00.000-07:00

You know I have been doing pretty good with the pain management of my body since February. Without all that crap in my body, i.e. yummy hamburgers, oozing chocolate, sloppy pasta.... (Oh gawd, would someone pass me a kleenex, I am drooling all over my desk), I have seen a significant drop in inflammation in my body which makes my fibromyalgia happy and my autoimmune disease happy which of course makes me happy which makes all those who tolerate me extremely happy. Of course the downside is that I am starting to resemble a piece of cauliflower with broccoli hair, but it's all worth it. Although, there are days I would kill for pickle!

With that said though, I have spent the last three weeks working like a trooper in my garden and needless to say, I have gained like 8 pounds of inflammation in my body within the last 3 days. Nope I am not joking, my body is crazy like that. My fingers look like fat italian sausages, and I am walking around like the hunchback of Notre Dame! Needless to say I am none to pleased with this little setback I am experiencing.

When it gets this bad, I usually finally allow myself to succumb to my prescription muscle relaxers. I hate taking them though because they make me ridiculously hungry (like jump over the table and suck the crumbs right off my better half's face hungry), I feel flat and unamused in my personality, I'm stupidly tired and slur my words like a drunk. And if that isn't bad enough and like I don't do this enough already, but I end up passing gas like a trucker. In general, I am Chet from Weird Science... Remember that dude, well I am his female counter part! Ugh!

But today was the day of all days, literally I popped the muscle relaxer and instead of it working on my back and assisting there, the lovely muscle relaxer hit my eye balls. They were so wonky that I could not for the life of me control them. I spent an inordinate amount of time today at work trying to get my one eye to stop swirling around and around and focus on the screen. I eventually succumbed to closing my left eye and typing with only my right eye open. Then when the bloody little yellow pill hit my right eye, I just typed with both eyes closed. Oh yes, I am that mulit-talented my friends.

By the end of the day, my boss asked what was wrong with my eyeballs, and when I looked in the mirror, this is what I saw staring back at me:

Reminds me of how I looked for most of my 20's!

(except that I had more fun back then!)

Let's hope that the effect wears off soon
before other body parts start drooping!

In the meantime,

If you have get a chance, you should check out
two blogs:

1. Canadian Blogger Girl
as she is doing her own version of a Blog of Note
except she is Canucking you instead!
So go and nominate a blog you like or
nominate yourself. Don't be shy
self promotion is good!

2. Simple Dude in a Complex World
He is selling for the low low low price
of a $1.99 an ebook he has published
on how to get your blog noticed and
to find new followers. If that is your thing,
you should check it out because he is the King
when it comes to self promoting his blog
and a bit of my hero that way (but ssshhh,
don't tell him that).

As for me, well I think I am going to lie down until I gain
full use of my body and personality again!

Cheers for now my lovely friends.

Tracy

Story Telling: Bubble Baths and Fantasies

2011-06-29T09:09:00.000-07:00

This is a far from the norm type of post for me (in fact I took it down last night after I posted because I felt shy about it), but then thought what the heck, I will try a different style of writing.... may not be for everyone and will be back to my average self tomorrow... Cheers

It had been a hard day yesterday at work. I was working on a project that was so time consuming and complicated that I actually felt my eyes crossing before me.

I couldn’t wait to get home. My home. I knew that I needed time, just me time, selfish time, away from everything time. But guilt was holding me back. Guilt stood there in the colour black, weighing all 17 pounds on his four little paws so ecstatically happy to see me, his butt wiggling with joy and his eyes sparkling with that “oh mommy I have been waiting for you all day” look.

I wanted to play with him and I wanted to runaway from him. I was exhausted.

My head hurt, my back hurt and my mind was tired and both my pooch and my better half wanted their own special pieces of me. I couldn’t deliver what they yearned for. I needed to recharge myself and so with a kiss to both of them, I walked into my sanctuary.

With a warm woosh, I had turned the water on into my soaker tub, filling it to the brim with my decadent and favourite bubble bath from France. With the room dripping in the soft scented perfume of sweetpeas, I dimmed the lights, undressed and dipped my toes into the deliciously warm scented water. Easing my aching body, I reached for my ipod and plugged my head phones in and I laid back watching as the gentle bubbles caressed by breasts. With a flick of my finger, my carefully chosen music started to fill my senses. Slowly my eyes started to close and quickly my fantasies started to take shape.

With each new song, I was more than just Tracy. In fact Tracy was gone. What lingered was a singer in a bar enticing the patrons with my melodic vocals. Other moments, I imagined that I was a belly dancer at a gentlemen’s club where my hips moved so rhythmically to the pulse of the music that I had each and every man under a controllable trance. With a click of the next song, I was transported away to where I was poll dancing for my better half at his bachelor party, making him hungry with each seductive move of my body. Another song sent me soaring to my 20's in a smoking bar where I awaited for the perfect stranger to walk thru the door. My fantasy self felt strong and sexually charged.

And, I felt alert and awake and more myself at that moment then I had in weeks. I felt like a strong overtly seductive woman that could take on the world with just one glance from under my eyelashes. It was the me time that I desperately needed.

And with the water getting cold, and the bubbles long since dissipated, it was time to get out and see the ones I loved who patiently were waiting for me. But with Prince’s Little Red Corvette playing in the background, I knew I had time for just one more amazing fantasy.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Thank you to those who recently clicked my follow button, you made my day, and I am just trying something new with the story telling today, so I hope you will bear with me.

There is just something wonderful about Mynx!

2011-06-27T19:14:00.000-07:00

You know I have said it before and I will say it again, I have been a pretty fortunate blogger as I have met the most amazing people and some of the most supportive that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Lovely Mynx at DRIBBLE is definitely one of them, from following all of my three blogs with no questions asked, to becoming my friend on facebook, to being one of the first people to sign up on my 500 Days of Happiness, to talking me off a ledge when I was ready to throw all my blogging away. She is pretty amazing, and in fact that word doesn't quite cover who she is. And today she is doing me the favour of guest posting for which I am thrilled and honoured, so without further ado.... Meet my fabulous and extraordinary friend, the lovely Mynx!

It had been a long tough night.

Freezing cold and uncomfortable.

Our campsite had been invaded twice by local hoons smashing bottles and yelling loudly, and this was after the music from the local pub had kept us awake until after 1am.

It was a cold clear dawn as bleary eyed adults crawled out of tents, followed by sleepy children.

Sunday morning of the Joey scout camp. Joey scouts are for boys and girls between 6 & 8 and I was camping with my youngest "big C"

General chatter between the adults was all, "did you hear this" and "what happened then?"
Exhausted parents, sipping hot coffee clasped between cold hands.

The camp fire was still glowing from the night before and was coaxed back to life and became a magnet for both children and grownups.

The barbecue was in demand, eggs and bacon, plenty of toast and hot chocolate for the children.

Many of the children had slept through the ruckus. As children often do and the mums and dads were thankful that they didn't have to settle frightened children in the early hours.

The mood was somber, as you would expect, the gloss of the camp stolen by a few drunken yobbos.

I took my coffee to the edge of the fire and was gazing into the mesmerising flames, when a small boy, probably around 6 yrs old, wandered up with his plate full of breakfast.
Balancing his cup on a tree stump, he sat down, picked up his egg and bacon sandwich and with a huge grin declared "This is the BEST, great food, fire, lovely morning"

And I looked up from my coffee, breathed in the fresh morning air mixed with the smell of eucalyptus, wood smoke and bacon, heard for the first time the warbling of magpies in the towering gum trees and smiled.

He was so right.

Didn't matter what came before, what was happening right then was the best. After all, how could you possibly beat a campfire breakfast on a beautiful winter morning.

So why am I telling this story?

Well Tracy has told you all about her fabulous Facebook goal to find 500 days of happiness, and the key in my opinion to that, is to find happiness in the little things.

Yes it had been a crappy night, but the joy on a small boy's face, took all that away and gave me a share of his happiness.

It doesn't take much for me to get a dose of happy.
I have a sense of the absurd.
A dry leaf, blowing across the road has me laughing as my imagination turns it into a manic crab dance.

The young girl at my local McDonald's going the extra step and making sure the butter with my raisin toast was soft makes me happy.

The quick hug I receive before my 14 year old son dashes from the car to go to his karate class make me smile and I am happy just to not get my lunch down my shirt.

I won't kid anybody into thinking I am a sunshiny person 24/7. I can be a right moody bitch and if you piss me off, you better be prepared to duck.

But even in my worst moods, my darkest times, I instinctively look for things that make me happy.
Bright colours, sunshine, birdsong, happy goofy music I can turn up and sing loud.

And if all else fails, hot coffee and a bacon and egg sanga.

Thankyou so much Miss Tracy for having me visit your lovely blog again. Your turn to visit me next :)

No my friend, Thank you Mynx.

By the way, thank you for the latest and greatest followers to click the follow button. I will be over soon to check out your lovely blogs as well!

Cheers for now

Tracy

APPARENTLY I AM OLD!!!

2011-06-24T16:41:00.000-07:00

I was giving a friend of mine the gears on fb for being old. As I was trying to be witty, it suddenly dawned on me after a quick mental calculation in my brain, that perhaps I am old too or at the very least middle aged! Could I be freaking middle aged? Instantly I looked down my shirt to see where my girls were hanging. I have always seen my breasts as a clear indication of my own personal age calculator. Besides the fact that they have been chopped up and reduced and are perhaps a bit perkier then they would have been had I left them to their own devices, I have however noticed that they may have dropped a bit in the last few years, not a significant amount, but enough to look like paint that has run down the side of the building. Luckily for me, they are still pointing in the right direction.

You know what’s funny? I just don’t feel old. I certainly don’t act old and I have often been accused of being about 7 to 8 years younger in my appearance, which of course I conceitedly revel in. For the most part, people are shocked when I say I am in my 40's. I chalk this up to the fact that I don’t have the almighty blessing of children to stress me out. My better half and my dog do enough of that for me without kidlets being thrown into the equation.

I know that I am a little wiser, quite a bit more patient but still I admittedly have the persona and mental capacity of a 23 year old. Not a party mentality, but a “let’s not take life to serious” mentality. Perhaps that is just my nature. Let’s face it, I enjoy fart wars, water fights and wedgie battles with my better half. I like walking behind my 60 something year old mom and snapping her bra when she least expects it, giving that fiancee of mine a wet willy when he is deeply engrossed in something on tv, and wrestling my dog until we are both laying there in a heap on the floor panting like fools.

Some may say that I am immature, I just say that I have a youthful heart. I don’t know how long I have been given to live on this planet. I do know that we are predestined for some outcome that ends our time here, but whatever mine is, I want to know that I was goofy and that I laughed a lot and that I found joy in the art of being ridiculous.

But until that time or when the directional arrow on my girls starting pointing due south, well then perhaps you can call me old. Until that moment however, I think I am happy being a 23 year old encased in my 43 year old body.

Have a great weekend.

Cheers
Tracy

On tiny wings...

2011-06-22T17:39:00.000-07:00

I was thinking to myself that perhaps I have reached a dry spell, and not just in blogging unfortunately. I have been searching my brain for something to write about for my monthly newspaper article and there is nothing in this head of mine except a few rocks rattling around. And it doesn't stop there... I have been reading your posts for weeks and I cannot think of anything to put in the comment sections, mostly because others have already said what I was thinking. I'm a bit frustrated.

And the other day I thought to myself, what if this is it for my Average Life? Perhaps I have said and done all I can do with my Average Life. Maybe there is only so much you can write about living an Average Life. I mean how many things do you want to read about my life anyways?

And then last night after sitting their aimlessly for a very long hour staring at my blank computer screen, I decided to get up and go and sit outside on my grass and close my eyes and just relax in the sun with Fred, my pooch.

It was a lovely warm evening and the neighbourhood was quiet. You know those days where you can be just still and appreciate your surroundings with no interruptions? Well I was having one of them.

Above me was my hummingbird feeder that was lifeless with activity at that moment. And as I sat there with my face to the sun and the sweet smell of honeysuckle floating on the warm breeze, I heard the low tone of the wings of a hummingbird, a female hummingbird. I opened my eyes just in time to witness something truly extraordinary: Fred standing on his hind legs, standing up as straight as he could, with his little head stretched as far to the sky as possible and the little hummingbird gently, in a circular pattern, floating down to him. With no more than six inches a part, he stood still and she hummed above him and there they stood staring at each other calmly for several minutes. I could barely breathe at how beautiful the sight was and then she went back up to the feeder and once more floated down to Fred and flew off, but not before she came over and checked me out first. I was face to face with something so delicate and fierce at the same time. She was this amazing contradiction. And then she was gone, leaving Fred and I to stare up into the sky and contemplate this wonderful moment. And I did.

I guess I should thank her too because who would have thought that her tiny wings would give me something to write about.

Until Next Time.

Cheers

Tracy

My Blog is only worth what? Well good lord, I won't be able to retire on that!

2011-06-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

I get a kick out of my feedjit widget, not because it shows me the different countries people come from to view my blog, (although I have to admit, that the first time someone viewed my blog from other than North America, I was giggly and goofy and plain stupid for days) but more because it shows search words others use to land here on my little piece of the internet.

Popular search phrases have been:

Little girls and lavender fields (this one is the most popular and I get a crazy strange amount of people from Romania and the Ukraine landing on this particular post of mine)
knot in my ass
can't find my passion
dancing in the rain
trying to find happiness
blogs having parties
backroading
bella cosa far niente (that one is used a lot)
dog knot girl ass (hmmm, I have received that one a couple of times and I can rest assure you that I have NEVER blogged about a "dog knot girl ass".... good lord there are some freaky people in this world!)

Anyhow, the other day someone stopped by my blog by searching for my URL. I am always amazed when people find my site by using the goodgirlgoneaverage. Bit of a mouthful I am afraid and most times I can't even remember it. So being the sleuth I am, okay I was just bored, I did some back linking and found out that there were 5 full pages dedicated to comments I made on others' blogs (I seem to use the word "love" alot, like I loved that post, I love your blog, I love you! Just so free and easy with that "L" word, aren't I?) But as I stumbled thru the pages, I came across a Dutch company that was rating what my blog was financially worth! Really, my blog is worth something, other than of course my stripped down raw, told you way too much about my gassy ass, deep to the core, every bloody feeling that pops in my mind, simple little, exposed to the world, emotional babble?

Yup apparently it is. It even has a ranking in the world. Sadly that ranking is way too many numbers to repeat and dismally sad.

As I scanned down further, I was kind of getting the creeps to see that my blog had been analyzed and put into numbers and then strewn out for all to see. Strange that I have no problem telling you about saggy boobs and droopy butts, but I was horrified that my blog was analyzed by some unknown Dutch company evaluating my worth in cyber space.

The upswing is, well I am worth approximately $3.46 Canadian, per day, or a whopping $1,262.90 a year!

And you know what that means, don't ya?

Yup....

I guess I won't be quitting my day job anytime soon!

Until Next Time

Cheers

Tracy

What makes you happy?

2011-06-19T22:02:00.000-07:00

It's almost bedtime and my mind is whizzing around on hyperactive overdrive. I have no control over her, my brain that is. She has a mind of her own, no pun intended, and loves to over analyze every little situation. So I go with it, not fighting her and letting her think until she is exhausted.

I, being in the second to last time zone on this planet, realize that no doubt this post is floating out into the ether while you all are hopefully in a peaceful slumber. Just a moment for me to babble in an weak attempt to assist my brain in wearing out.

She and I, were pondering over the concept of happiness today. I use to run at full speed in search of it. Constantly feeling that I was missing the boat, just ever so slightly. Always reaching for it. Long, outstretched arms, waiting breathless for that moment where it would embrace me.

I frantically searched for happiness when I should have just stopped.

And as I stood in my yard today with my camera wrapped around my neck, and the wind dancing it's softness about me, the sweet honey soaked scent of the flowers in my garden enveloping my senses and my silly, entertaining little pooch running like a maniac around the yard trying to catch leaves, I realized that I am starting to feel a wonderful contentment. I felt wonderfully at ease today. Strangely, I felt connected with my surroundings. And I believe that it was a rather large delectable first taste of peaceful happiness and I have no words to describe it.

I think that it was finally about me, finding my long lost passion that went trotting off last year, a true love for something, a reason to be more, a reason for my passion to come back. It was about me and a camera, just the two of us, searching for colour and beauty. And while I am not that good, it doesn't really matter because it ignites my soul. It allows me to see things, I might have passed up on before and it allows me to see beauty thru my lense....

So now I wonder, what makes you happy my friend?

Until Next Time

Tracy

Blogger of the Week - GEORGE!

2011-06-15T21:17:00.000-07:00

Back in the fall, I use to promote 3 to 5 blogs every monday for several months. It was called the Pay it Forward Series. I had stupidly asked if anyone wanted to be pimped out on my blog, and forgot to put a limit on it. You know like saying the first 15 people who respond will be featured. No not me, I said go for it and for several months the list grew and grew and grew until my head wanted to explode. I spent so much time reading blogs, writing up a miniature biography on each blog and posting their pics, that I was becoming to pooped to blog my own stuff. Although, in all honesty I don't regret it because I got to meet some amazing people and broaden my horizons in blogland.

Anywhoo, after I featured everyone, I found that the routine of it kind of got to me. I don't know about you, but I am not one for structure. I like to blog as it comes to my brain or blog as how I feel that day.

With that said, I wanted to start this new thing called BLOG BLOG BLOGGER OF THE WEE WEE WEEK (hear the echo in the background, pretty cool huh?) I don't know when in the week I will post it or if I post it at all, but it will be based on which post I read that I really enjoyed that week.

Anywhooo, this week I was a tad shocked and completely in a fit of giggles by this particular blogger, who is a fav of mine. And this week without a doubt, the person that cracked me up was none other than GEORGE at IT'S TIME I SAID SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! And you know what I love about George, is he is funny without trying. Anyway, if you want to read a blog about a guy who is not to shy to ask the questions, George is the blogger to check out!

I love ya George, you make me smile weekly my friend!

Cheers for now.

Tracy

THE MEET AND GREET PAGE!!!!!

2011-06-13T19:13:00.000-07:00

Hello darlins

I have introduced a new page to my blog aptly entitled The Meet and Greet Page!!!! (So after you read this, go up to the top under my header and click the MEET AND GREET PAGE)

For those of you who have been with me for awhile, you will recall the party post I had in January where I handed over my blog for 48 hours and you had the opportunity to meet and learn about new bloggers and share your blog with others as well.

Well this is the same premise my friends, except that it will be ongoing indefinitely.

This page is designed specifically for your use only, come and go as you please, introduce your blog, leave a link or your web address and come back whenever you feel like it to meet new and interesting people. Hopefully, you will make new friends, follow new blogs and garner new followers in the process.

Why am I doing this? Well quite frankly, I just cannot believe how amazingly loyal you have all been to me during my "I am finished with blogging, I am back to blogging" phase. I have heard others say that their followers were the best, but I have to tell you something, I have the best people in the blogging world right here on my blog! So I just wanted to say thanks to all of you.

Feel free to tell your followers about it too, and they are more than welcome to put a blurb about themselves up there too! You do not have to follow me to be part of this. It's open for anyone. The more the merrier I say! So enjoy my lovely friends.

Now, don't be shy my friends, promote yourselves, people deserve to know about you, so jump on that page and write something about yourself and your blog and let others know how crazily fantastic you are!!!!

Cheers

Tracy

CHA CHA CHANGE.........

2011-06-12T08:51:00.000-07:00

Morning Peeps!

I have been changing it up a bit in blog land.

New look and new design....

When I first started blogging, I use to change it once a month just to keep my creative or quasi-creative juices flowing.

I thought the last look was way too melancholy and felt I needed to be uplifted slightly.

And I am kind of digging it. Although I am not sure about the brightness! Kind of neonish!

As I say that, I wouldn't want you to be confused the next time you came around wondering who the heck this was, as it is still me. Or is it? *pause to make sure nothing invaded my body last night*

Anywhooooo, what do you think?

All positive comments are welcomed. Negative ones are welcomed too although they might make me cry (only slightly that is).

Cheers

Tracy

500 Days of Happiness

2011-06-11T14:39:00.000-07:00

About 52 days ago, I started this project entitled 500 DAYS OF HAPPINESS on Facebook. I have always been a thankful person, a grateful person and an appreciative person, at least I like to think I am. And even though I wake up in some state of pain, I often remind myself of two things:

a. that the pain reminds me that I can feel; and
b. that I woke up.

Those alone should be reasons to jump for joy.

With that said though, I cannot remember for the life of me when I last experienced unabashed joy. Utter happiness that did not come from the heady experience of purchasing a designer purse, or latest piece of jewelry, or found the latest art acquisition or didn't involve any monetary purchase whatsoever. Actually, if I really stop to think about it, I have not felt joy for 16 years. The last time, I believe I felt joy, was when I was holding my first new born niece in my arms. She was three weeks old and I was babysitting her for a couple of hours. She was crying and an Eagles song came on and I started to sing the song to her, she went very quiet and stared at me with complete clarity and put her little hand on my chin. It was at that exact moment I felt like the Grinch who stole Christmas, because my heart was growing right out of my chest and the joy I felt at that moment superceded everything in my life. It was the first time in my entire existence where I actually fell in unconditional love. It goes without saying that I love all the rest of my family, but in those cases, I was born into the love. In this case, my niece had done nothing but look at me and I was head over heels for her. I still am when it comes to her and her sister.

But that is the last time I remember my entire being, my person and my heart being full.

This past year has been a reflective one for me. It's been a year of searching. Sometimes, it has been about yearning for something intangible. Sometimes its about finding and losing and finding again my passion that I had in spades in my 20's. Sometimes it's just about trying to have meaning. Other times it's about stopping, looking around and taking in small moments. And if I were to be honest, I have to wonder if I am just having a midlife crisis. Who knows. What I do know is that I have reshaped my life in the last 4 months. I have lost 40 pounds and worked hard to change my food habits all in an effort to relieve some of my pain and it has worked. It’s not easy eating no sugar, no flour, no processed foods especially when you go holidays. I had initially thought to myself that a change in my pain level would increase the serotonin in my brain and bring me joy. It didn’t.

It is a bit of cultural shock when you realize that the thing that you blamed for years for your lack of happiness, in my case pain, is not the reason you are not as happy as you should be.

Then I realized that it wasn’t about the pain, although it does play a part when your life is curtailed. What it was about inactuality was allowing or retraining my heart to soar and live and breathe and enjoy. For some reason, I put it into a strong box and threw away the key to the lock for a very long time.

I was watching Rita one day from the Adventures of Cinderita, we are friends on facebook. She is constantly doing what she needs to do to be happy and joyful. There is something to be said about hugging people every day, it does raise that elusive serotonin in the brain.

So I created this page on facebook as a way for me to remember the small things that make me happy. Simple things like waking up to sunshine, a good breakfast, a walk with my better half, snuggling with my little pooch, watching birds in my garden, finding a ladybug on my arm. Just simple things.

And as I write this, I wonder what brings you joy. What makes you ecstatically happy. Does your happiness runneth over to the next person. Does their happiness runneth over to you?

I guess this is a bit of corny post, but here it is: I invite you to join me on 500 Days of Happiness to share with me the things that get your mojo going. The things that make your smile broadly. The things that make your heart soar. The things that just make you grateful to be alive. And those things that make you smile, may just make someone else smile and then perhaps all of our days would be slightly better.

Mostly, I hope you will share with me, if even just in the comments section of this post, the things that light up your life. Who knows what your happiness is but imagine if you shared one thing that made you happy and 50 other people read it and it made them smile too, wouldn’t the day just be better?

Here’s hoping that you really do have a very happy weekend.

Until Next Time.
Tracy

The Best of San Francisco and it's outlying areas

2011-06-09T13:14:00.000-07:00

Just a few pics of some of my favourite spots

Random Streets that were so steep

that I should have lost a couple of pounds.

Perhaps, the fact that I kept stopping to take

pictures nullified my actual exercise

I use to have boobs this big

before I opted for the more compact perkier version

Ghirardelli square.... mmmmm chocolate

and yes I broke my no sugar rule

Yountville

(hated the name, but loved loved loved the place)

Carmel (where I wish to retire, right after I win the Lotto)

And finally,

Alcatraz (oh yes it is)

Crazy beautiful how nature takes over

and makes something so horrible into

something so beautiful

Hope you are all well...

I will be posting more pics in the upcoming days

and you will be able to find them at my other blog

As I Dream It

should you be interested.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

She said "You are one in one thousand", I said "Oh lucky me!"

2011-06-07T19:23:00.000-07:00

I'm back. Yup, did my stint at San Francisco. Toured my face off and my feet apparently! Been and saw every attraction possible, zoomed down to Napa and Sonoma Valley, saw Yountville. Did a 12 hour stint down the California Coast with pit stops at Davenport, Monterey, Pebble Beach and Carmel and I lived to tell you all about it. Over the next few posts I will share some pics and some of my adventures.

And you can find a few of my photos HERE from one of the vineyards I toured in the Sonoma Valley.

In the meantime, you know an adventure is just not an adventure without it going slightly haywire.

It started off simple enough, well at least you would think so. We left at 3:30 a.m. from our home and drove the hour and half to the airport. I was excited or at least I thought I was, in fact I think I was just so crazily tired that I was drunk with fatigue.

I jauntily sailed through the airport looking for the Horizon air ticket agent, okay I walked like a zombie with big baggie eyes up to the ticket agent, who swiped my passport where the handy dandy ticket machine spit out my ticket with a resounding "blech". I looked up with my two peas in a snow hill, tired blue eyes and smiled and said my polite Canadian 'thank you so much' for which the ticket agent gave my a sympathetic smile and said 'I'm so sorry'.

What? sorry for what? But before she could answer, the line behind me moved me up and out of the way so that they could greedily get their tickets. I tried to elbow my way back in but was met with a strong opposition of impatient, tired, and none to happy fellow Canadian travelers. Believe you me, Canadians are not a polite as you think we are especially at 5:00 a.m. in the morning!

Puzzled, I walked over to security where I was stopped by a friendly and slightly thinner version of Santa Claus, who looked at my ticket, sympathetically smiled and took a pink highlighter and swooped it across my ticket and sent me through the scanner who loudly blared a triumph "BUUUUUZZZZZZZZZ". I was immediately rushed by several security officers and one in particular, mumbled at me with his thick Asian accent and pointed his finger to a quarantined area. I couldn't understand a bloody word he said nor the instructions he was trying to impose upon me. I kept insisting that I had metal in my leg, it was just metal in my leg. Hello, anyone listening to me, it's metal in my leg!!!! A friendly, but firm looking RCMP officer than escorted me to a secluded area for which I sat for the remainder of the time prior to boarding my plane whilst I continuously, nervously and feverishly glanced over at my better half with pleading eyes.

Finally, boarding for our plane was about to begin and while I watched all those start to board, a female security officer approached me and told me stand with my legs and arms spread apart while she frisked me and then I had the joy of having my hands swabbed and tested for illegal substances.

For some reason, I broke out into complete laughter, whether it was because I was past the point of fatigue, or whether the situation just seem absurdly crazy, neither the police nor the security officer seemed amused by my early morning cackle. Apparently my fellow Canadians lose their senses of humour at certain times of the day! My stealthy escort, Mr. RCMP cocked his head and said "what's so funny miss". Well, says me, see my fiancee that is waiting over there for me, he is an Arab, and I am the one standing here being swabbed! So much for having a round apple pie face! By the way, my better half was not too amused that I was trying to get him nabbed! lol

Finally I passed the Canadian Security Test and as I exhaled a big sigh of relief, Ms. Security Officer looked at me sympathetically and said "Don't be too happy hun, you are going to have to go through this again in Seattle..." WHAT? "Yes, we have a system that randomly picks people to test for security breaches, and you are it. Look at it this way, you are one in in one thousand!"

And she was right, I got to Seattle, spent time in a glassed in security box, yelled at because I was standing too close to some guy who was in there too, apparently we could cross contaminate each other, and then I had the not so happy pleasure of being aggressively felt up by some female American Security Officer who apparently took her job very seriously. And you know what, I still have the wedgie to prove it!

Oh lucky me!!!!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

PS, A special thank you to Paul, Mynx, Ruth and Beliza for the recent awards... I will be addressing your utter kindness and generosity in a future post. Thank you for thinking of me!!! Love you guys!

By the way, I hope y'all being doing good! Can't wait to catch up on your blogs! Cheers!

Happily on Hiatus

2011-05-25T21:11:00.000-07:00

Whilst I skip over to my neighbours to the south to have fun in their country for a bit.

Have a lovely week and half and I will be back on my birthday!

See you in a few.

Keep safe.

And be happy.

Cheers

Tracy

I’m sneezing like a banshee and passing gas like a trucker, but at least your lunch looks good!

2011-05-25T12:56:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time in a far away place lived a beautiful, vibrantly young, blonde, blue-eyed girl. Okay, she didn’t live too far away, her blonde hair was from a bottle, her blue eyes were bloodshot, beautiful was in the eye of the beholder or a drunk man in a pub and the youthful girl comment was more debatable. What? You are not allowed to fantasize about your appearance? Sheesh, everyone’s a critic....

Anywhooo, this lovely ahem ahem many-years-before-becoming-a-middle-age woman (even though her boobs would argue that point) was gearing up for a lovely holiday away with her better half.

She was doing everything possible to ensure that she was calm and collected and was proud of her accomplishment. Until.......

.......She woke up on a dreaded Wednesday morning. Fraught with running eyes, sneezy nose, and itchy throat which caused her to make the horrific “CCCCAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” noise in attempt to relieve her itchy throat and ears. She thought that perhaps in her kleenex induced delusion that she had a very minor case of hayfever.

Ever the trooper that she was, she popped an antihistamine, got dressed, headed to work and hoped for the best.

However, later that morning, she realized that perhaps it was not hayfever afterall as now her bowels were playing heavy metal music out loud for all to enjoy, or not to enjoy depending on the company.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, she broke out into a rampant case of the hiccups followed by a not so lady like belch.

By the time lunch time rolled around, she was reduced to a stinky equivalent of a one man band. With sounds and smells emanating from ever orifice of her body, she hung her head in shame and proceeded to slink down to the shared/office bathroom where her array of musical accouterments continued on until she heard someone giggling outside the washroom door.

As she tried to muster up all the courage she had (which wasn’t much) to leave the bathroom, she opened the washroom door and proceeded to walk past the lunchroom of the downstairs doctors office. Just as she thought she was in the clear, a burst of laughter came forth from the lunchroom.

With all her dignity, she turned around with a smile and said as sweet as she could: “Yes, I’m sneezing like a banshee and passing gas like a trucker, but at least your lunch looks good. I ate that just before all this happened to me....”

And then she walked up the stairs with a smug smile.

The end.

CALM DOWN....

2011-05-24T12:56:00.000-07:00

Well it won’t be long now, 4.5 days and I will be on my way to San Francisco.

I am definitely looking forward to it, but I am taking a much different approach to leaving on a holiday than I have ever before.

If you are like me, you become a crazy woman (or man) and rush around like a maniac in your quest to have your house spotless, have your yard in a manicured state and get every piece of paper cleared off your desk at work. And then if you are even more like me, you are ridiculously exhausted the first 3 to 4 days into your holidays or worse yet, you come down with some moronic cold because your immune system was shot to hell due to the frantic pace of the previous two weeks prior to leaving.

This time, I decided to have a “screw it” kind of attitude which is no easy feat for this anal retentive chickalet. But instead of short circuiting out, I just realized the following:

a.   The heat pump will continue to load every piece of furniture in my place with every particle of dust it can find whether I am there or not

b.   The grass will continue to grow and the weeds will continue to sprout. And most likely, if I was at home anyways, I would just be watching it all blow in the wind wishing for a sexy, ripped, Spanish dude named Roberto to mow it in nothing but his tight jeans and oiled up chest. I’d like to tell you that I fantasize about my better half mowing the lawn, but he curses a great deal during the process. Perhaps due to the fact that I keep digging holes in our yard and plopping in new plants which ultimately has created an unpleasant obstacle course for my him. And I have to tell you that somehow blue air blowing from his lips and his stink eye directed at me kind of takes the sexiness away, if you know what I mean.

c.   And finally work. There isn’t a day I remember working at this particular job that I was ahead of the game. The likelihood is that it will all be there some ten days later exactly where I left it waiting for my return, with my lovely kind friend and temp, apologizing because she wasn’t sure what to do.

So I ask myself this, why not be mellow this week and go into my holidays already relaxed. I am not even letting my “Wound Up Type A” counter part get the best of me.

Now, keep your fingers, toes and eyes crossed that no urgents happen within the next 4.5 days!

In the meantime, I will just keep sucking back my herbal “relaxing” tea that is dosed up with copious amounts of honey because I am nothing but at peace with the universe and calm my friends. I said, I am calm my friends. What do you mean I am not! OH YES I AM! DAMN CALM I SAY... DAMN CALM!!! Now where the freak is my vacuum cleaner!

Until Next Time.
Tracy

It's all about the Dribble!

2011-05-23T09:38:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have been with me a long time, you might recall my party post in January. One of my most successful posts of all time. 97 comments in total.

It was just a simple post of handing over the keys to my digs and you in return got to leave a little blurb about yourself, a link to your blog and the opportunity to meet new bloggers.

From my perspective, it was a blast watching everyone have so much fun!

Well my lovely friend, Mynx, over at DRIBBLE hit her 300th post mark yesterday and wanted to give back to her blogging friends and decided to do a similar post, which I think just rocks!

Can you imagine if everyone held a blogging party? How many new bloggers and friends they would meet. The thought of it is endless! If you want to see how I set my Party Post up, just check out my link HERE!!! Perhaps, you will decide to have a party of your own!!!

Anywhoo, if you are interested in meeting some new bloggers and getting to know that fantastically wonderful Mynx, skip on over to DRIBBLE and tell her and her loyal readers a little about yourself! And don't forget to check out Mynx's blog as well as her amazing peeps!

Happy Monday my blogging friends and thank you to the latest and greatest to click my follow button!

Cheers

Tracy

The Tale of the Hoighty Toighty Doctor and the Roll of Toilet Paper!

2011-05-17T15:38:00.000-07:00

I have had a pretty bad day. It happens. Not every day can be a rainbow of sunshine unless you are one of those bloody perky care bears where rainbows spew out of every orifice of your body. I wonder if they eat rainbow skittles and that’s their secret. (*pause for reflection*).

Okay that's a few brain cells I won’t ever get back.

Anywhooo, as I was saying, this day has kind of sucked and my face has been in a perpetual state of bright lollipop red from how upset I am, which will disperse in a few hours once I relax a bit. But you know, nothing irks this girl more than a certain hoighty toighty doctor who works down below me.

A gynaecologist who thinks her *ahem ahem* does not stink, she spends a ridiculous amount of time standing in the one bathroom we share primming herself daily. She neither smiles or has the courtesy of acknowledging me when our paths sometimes cross. Being neither a fashionista of her caliber (or wealth) or a woman with a med degree, I am deemed insignificant in her eyes and she makes no bones about it. Fortunately for me, this rarely bothers me because I am well versed in the ability to give little Miss Hoighty Toighty Snug Panties a significant snub back, when I deem those moments necessary. However, today she irked me to a level that saw my already fluorescent face seeing red.

As you know, using the bathroom is an absolute ordeal for me as I have to transfer my lines to my sister office, put a sign on the door and lock it, run down a long hallway, and down a flight of stairs that eventually leads to the bathroom we share. After sitting on the bottom of the stairs, crossing my legs and praying that the Pee Fairy would hold off and bother some non toilet trained 2 year old, I found that I was waiting an inordinate amount of time for her Royal Hine-ass to finish her beauty regimen in the bathroom. When she finally emerged, she gave me a disgusted look and proceeded to walk past me with that bit of limp she has from that unfortunate stick infliction that seems to be permanently inserted up her scrawny, boney bottom. As I ran, okay sprinted into the bathroom, I realized that the Mz. Queen Bee used the last of the toilet paper and did not bother to replace it. Apparently, performing a hysterectomy is a significantly easier task than actually putting a role of toilet paper in the toilet paper dispenser.

Two things crossed my mind at that moment: first I visualized tackling her and cramming that toilet paper where the sun won’t shine, except that it would be fighting for space due to that already pre-existing stick condition she has, and secondly, I fantasized about beating her over her head with a role of the generic, take the skin off your bottom, single ply toilet paper that our landlord has the courtesy of providing to us, rendering her quaffed hair into a big pile of toilet paper lint.

Since my bladder did not seem to have the time to wait for either of those options, I decided to say at the top of my lungs: “Really, they didn’t teach you at medical school how to put toilet paper on the toilet holder. Boy I think I would have asked for a refund!” Followed by “you freaking lazy woman!” And as I went to close the bathroom door, I caught the look on her face. And guess what, apparently I wasn’t the only one sporting a red face today! HA!

Until Next Time.
Tracy

Deep breath into a free fall....

2011-05-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

I was really touched by all the comments that was left on my "Stuck" post last week. Unfortunately, Blogger, that bugger, in it's efforts to restore whatever happened, wiped out all my comments on three posts on three of my blogs. But I did hear you all and appreciated what you had to offer.

I had already set the wheels in motion the week before to start getting serious about the photography aspect of my persona. By contacting a childhood friend of mine who is a photographer, she has invited me to attend, and possibly join, the camera club in my local town. I am going to try to check out this club this Wednesday night, and while most likely I will be incredibly shy, reserved and in awe of those with big lenses, I really believe in that saying that "knowledge is power" and I hope to garner some knowledge from those with more experience.

In the meantime, I created my first photography book and posted it up on my facebook to get some feedback. If you have friends like mine, they are a pretty encouraging lot and I often wonder if I took a picture of my better half's big hairy toe, if they would still awe and ooh over it because they are just that kind to me. However, with that said, one of my friends has an online store and suggested that I create calendars and that she may be interested in purchasing them for her website. And I have to admit, that that got me a tad excited.

Anywhooo, I thought I would show you what I have been up too, note the colouring is off and I am currently trying to find another company that creates a better quality book for half the price. I know, I ask for a lot. So, here it is in all its glory:

Cover and back of book:

Some of the other pages:

The nice thing was that when I went to pick up the book, the clerk asked me if I was a new photographer in town and where was my studio. Yes, of course, my head swelled for a minute or two, then I chalked it up to her just trying to get future business... ha ha ha! Yes, I always try to put compliments into perspective or I would never get thru my doorway with an inflated head.

Anyhow, thanks for all the encouragement my friends. Your words were fabulous. Now, I just have to remember to take a deep breath and free fall!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Hmmmmmm.........

2011-05-13T10:58:00.000-07:00

*pause to scratch head*....

So with this updating on blogger, I seem to have lost my last post and of course any changes I made recently to the appearance of my blog...

Anyone else suffering from this same problem?

Stuck

2011-05-11T15:01:00.000-07:00

I try not to blog about my work. It has taken me years to master the art of “not taking work home with you”. I only vent once and that’s on the five minute ride home, and the moment I shut my front door of my house behind me, is the moment I close off work until 9:00 a.m. the next day.

But today is one of those days in my life where I am wondering what the hell I am doing with my life. I am skilled in my job, and I am not saying that as a boast, but more as a fact. Twenty-four years of this job, not in this office, but in this particular field, and I suppose I should be skilled, or at least know enough that it looks like I actually know what I am doing.

But I have come to a point where I realize that I may have steered my career down the wrong path. In fact, I am pretty sure I have been riding this roller coaster far too long and I am starting to get just a tad motion sick from all the ups and down, and I think the last five years, I have been constantly look for the proverbial barf bag.

I feel stuck.

With our economy not as hard hit as the States, jobs are still scarce, well at least those ones that pay above the substandard par or above the poverty level.

To top that off, I have never looked at my job as a career. I have always just looked at it as means to subsidize my real life outside these four bland walls five days a week.

But today I was wondering what I was doing with myself. My boss, a mild manner man, in all respects is pretty good to work with. However, in the past two years or so, he’s become a bit verbally aggressive in his emails and some of them even borderline on meanness. And today, after an onslaught of these emails, I yelled some choice profanities into the empty airspace around me, got up from my desk, went to the bathroom and hid in there where I proceeded to have a good cry.

As I stood there in the disgusting, shared public washroom, I started thinking to myself, when do you make the decision to change. Do you change your career to something else that you would thoroughly enjoy but would ultimately put you at the bottom of the seniority heap with the lack of experience and a lessor pay which would no longer fund the things you enjoy outside of your work life? Or do you just suck it up, put in your time, pray for retirement to come quickly in the next 25 years and stay in something that is sucking your soul dry in order to retain the monetary happiness of enjoying your few blissful days of freedom per week. It's not an easy choice especially when you value the freedom to do whatever you wish on your days off, but you also value being happy every day and not just the days unrelated to work. In all honesty, I don't hate my job, but it's moments like today that I find myself not very fond of it either.

In my dreams, I work for myself on a creative basis as a contributor for a women’s specific magazine with a monthly column on trying to maintain your sanity as you grow older, or I spend hours of my day just taking photographs of foliage and fauna and publishing it in nature inspired magazines, or better yet, I write a humorous bestseller on existing in an Average Life. But as I get excited, my lack of confidence squishes my dreams and that niggling little voice says: “who would be interested in you Tracy”. And then I get up in the morning and repeat each day as I have for the last 24 years.

Oh how I long to be unstuck, but I am careful what I wish for, because perhaps, once I am unstuck, I will wish I was stuck again.

Until Next Time.

Tracy

Fatal Errors, Introductions and a Picture of Me....

2011-05-09T12:53:00.000-07:00

Whether you noticed or not, I had deleted my blog almost a month ago. Weirdly, it didn’t bother me in the slightest, or at least that is what I thought.

I had felt that I had kind of made several fatal errors in my blogging style or whatever you wish to call it.

I won’t go into specifics on all of my stupidity, but I just felt as if I shared too much of myself. I told you about every moronic thing that I did and do and continue to do, every embarrassing aspect of my life and shared every emotion that I felt at that moment. What’s worse is that I even told you about my love of flatulence. I mean who tells the world that they love to fart. Good lord!

In doing so, I have really set myself up for failure you know. I exposed myself and expected every one to be on my cheering squad. Wow, that’s even irrational when I sit down to think about it. Huh... *pauses to scratch head*.

So I decided that was enough of me and off I went to do my little thing on one blog, which is to post photos. I am a photo whore. Seriously, if I could surgically attach my camera to my face so that my eye lid could be my shutter, I would! And then I had my other blog which is just a way for me to continue to find things that are beautiful. So much crap these days on the news and in our jobs, I just wanted a place to go and see semi-shallow but ultimately pretty things. Okay, I wanted to dig a hole and place my head in the sand. I like doing that when I don’t have the control over something.

And finally because I needed more than one outlet for expression, and since I am sore and a tad crabby all the time, I started a facebook page that forces me too find something happy for the next 500 days in a row. This is no easy feat, since today was day 20, and I had to dig deep to come up with “learning how to make a photo book of my fav pics”. Sad huh?

I just wanted any creative outlet without using up too much energy.

Then last week, I had to reopen up Average Life because well, I had a deadline looming for the newspaper I write for and I had complete writer’s block so I wanted to scoop something that I had previously written.

And then I started reading all my old posts from last year and I kind of got all misty eyed. Nah, I didn’t at all... but I missed writing.

So anyways, here it is: Old Average Life and Average Girl are gone. New Average Life and Tracy are here and I want to reintroduce myself properly:

Hi, I am Tracy, 42 years old, been told I look significantly younger, or perhaps, they were just being nice. I love to write about inconsequential things and I love to take pictures. Am not the best at photos, but am improving daily. I am a lover of art and design and of animals. I dig my better half and his crazy ways and am madly in love with my little pooch. My best friend is actually my mother. She is phenomenally amazing with the most wicked sense of humour you will ever meet and you can hear us laughing all over the place. I love driving and almost every weekend, you can find me driving my jeep down the backroads with all the windows opened and the music blasting. We don’t have any kids, and have no desire too either, what’s the point since my brother and sister in law brought my two spectacular nieces into the world. Nothing can beat them.

I am blessed to have some of the most amazing friends in the world and fantastic in laws too boot.

My better half and I have been engaged for 5 years with no actual wedding in site. I love him, he loves me, enough said. Oh alright, I am just too bloody lazy to actually arrange some type of pseudo wedding.

I am addicted to jewelry, purses and art. But my passion is and always will be, the love of nature.

And this is me:

Oh come on, you didn’t think I was going to post a full pic of me, did ya?

Enough said.

Cheers

Tracy

A Simple Contrast

2011-05-07T20:55:00.000-07:00

For my lovely mother....

On Mother's Day I have written a poem for you. In the interest of poetic economy and truth, I have succeeded in concentrating my deepest feelings and beliefs into two perfectly crafted lines: You're my mother, I would have no other! ~Forest Houtenschil

Gone Shopping

2011-04-15T12:23:00.000-07:00

Have a great weekend!

Where do you get creative?

2011-04-13T21:48:00.000-07:00

When you read the pages of your fellow bloggers, don't you wonder where they are typing their posts from? Are they curled up on the couch or snug in their bed with their lap tops balancing precariously on their thighs. Are they winging it from work and hoping the boss doesn't catch them. Or are they sitting out on their deck pounding away on their ipad while enjoying the fresh air. The possibilities of writing on your blog from when and where to why are endless.

Lots of my facebook friends are my blogging buddies and I love it. I see glimpses into their lives, and if only briefly, I feel like I really know them. They are just not a series of words on a page, but a person with a family, with a life, with enjoyment and downfalls, happiness and heartaches. They are more than just these words, this creativity that we witness glimpses of. They are the unbelievably soulful hearts behind creativity.

My creative moments happen in the middle of the night or in the shower, but most frequently, and unfortunately, on the toilet. Gasp! I must run up to my den and jot my thoughts down or they disappear within a blink of an eye.

I thought I would throw out a challenge to my blogging buddies to post a picture of where they sit and type and spew out the words that make them so unique and interesting that we are all clamoring to read their next set of words.

So, I thought I would start with myself, not that you are clamoring to read my next set of words, but the fact that perhaps you would like to know a little more about me than just what you read on this page in the blogosphere.

So here is where I dig deep:

My Desk, where I type and read your blogs...

And just a few of the books I read

mostly on Italy, mostly on dreams I have....

I surround myself in art as I just can't get enough

of the talents of others....

Sometimes I sit on the other side and pay bills....

And I try to surround myself in the things I love

but mostly, I try to remind myself that actually Living Life

is important

And sometimes I need the beauty of the talents of others

to remind myself that creativity

comes from our souls

much like these beautiful wall vases

But mostly, I just need place that inspires me.

So now you know where I get creative

I wonder, where do you?