tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14424088619763497342024-03-13T07:43:02.180-07:00Positive StepsAn optimist's view on life... one step at a time...Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-14114392038063914512014-02-18T17:21:00.000-08:002014-02-18T17:21:29.540-08:00My Rant on the Durham Region TransitI got off work today and went to catch the DRT Pulse bus home. Last year I would have caught the bus directly outside of the building where I work, but the Durham Region improved the bus service so now I have to walk a block west to catch the bus.<br />
<br />
I started walking down the sidewalk only to realize a snowplow was heading towards me. It blocked the entire sidewalk and, thanks to the last couple of snow storms, there was no way past it. Just to make things better, my bus was at the next set of lights. If the sidewalk was open, I could have made it to the stop without any problem but I can't leapfrog a snowplow. So I used my only option, I walked to where the bus stop used to be and waited for the bus there. I knew it was a safe place for the bus to stop, buses had been stopping there for several decades.<br />
<br />
I know the driver saw me. I waved to him and he made eye contact with me. And I know he saw the snowplow because it caused a minor traffic jam at the entrance to the parking lot where I work and the bus had to wait for that to clear. Despite it being obvious that I had no real way to get to the bus stop, the driver drove right on by. Chances were he told anyone on the bus who asked him, "She can catch the next bus. It's not that long." I have heard this line before. This is not good customer service.<br />
<br />
Fifteen minutes on a street corner in February with drivers spraying slush on me was "that long". If it had been last year, I would have had a bus shelter to protect me from the slush. But that disappeared during the "improvement" along with the more convenient stop.<br />
<br />
My son has a youth group every Tuesday evening. On paper the buses sound ideal. We walk a block to the nearest bus shelter and catch the bus at 6:38pm to downtown. Our bus arrives at 6:50pm and our connecting bus gets there at 6:52pm. It drops him off right beside the Boys and Girls Club at exactly 7pm when his group meets. Perfect.<br />
<br />
Reality is we get to the stop at 6:35pm and the bus arrives ten minutes later. I tell the driver the bus we're connecting to and she shrugs then informs me that she's running late (as if the ten minute wait wasn't our first clue) and can't call the other bus to let him know there are passengers waiting. Tonight we could SEE our bus at the next set of lights, we'd just missed it.<br />
<br />
Missing that bus means standing downtown, in the dark, for another ten minutes. Then getting on the next eastbound bus and getting off as close to the Boys and Girls Club as possible. Then walking six blocks south. And, since I'm not staying with him, it means I miss the bus heading home and have a 20 minute wait on a dark street corner in south central Oshawa.<br />
<br />
I have a similar missed bus story on Sundays. This one involves catching the regional bus running along Taunton from Oshawa to Whitby. It's supposed to connect with the bus running north along Brock Street. I inform the driver and he shrugs and says he'll call them "soon". I remind him and get told "soon" again. Finally he calls them, the bus has gone by, and I need to turn around and go home. The buses only run once an hour. An hour later is an hour too late. <br />
<br />
Lately I've been hearing a lot of negative comments about the DRT. There's always been complaints about bus service but, these days I hear them regularly and unprompted. The Pulse buses are usually late and way too overcrowded, which they are. Seven and a half minute service often stretches into 15 minute service, with two buses coming at the same time. And those buses are crowded. It was rare to have an overcrowded GO bus or 306 bus. It's common to get on the Pulse and discover there isn't a single free seat. And I'm hearing a lot more negative comments about drivers as well.<br />
<br />
I take the bus almost every single day and I know there are a lot of good drivers out there, but the bad ones are the ones who tend to get noticed.<br />
<br />
Two of my coworkers have already bought cars just so they wouldn't have to deal with the DRT anymore and several more are organizing rides for the exact same reason. You can be sure they've told other people why they're not taking the bus. I know some of the complaints told to me were from people who have never taken the bus, they were sharing complaints they've heard repeatedly from friends.<br />
<br />
If Durham Region truly wants people to use and count on
this bus service, they need to make sure connecting buses actually
connect and their fast efficient Pulse line lives up to its name.The service has a lot of potential but that potential won't be realized if they lose their customers due to poor and overcrowded service.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-46129922459107640092013-11-30T15:10:00.001-08:002013-11-30T15:28:30.098-08:00Kinky boots on paradeTechnically I should be editing my novel Leaving Hope and working on my query letter for Second Chances. Instead I'm writing here. Hey, at least I'm writing.<br />
<br />
I was on Facebook earlier (yes, I know, such a huge shock... everyone who knows me can stop laughing hysterically now) and a friend of mine had posted a video from the US Thanksgiving Parade. I'm including a link here...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/11/29/kinky-boots-macys_n_4360035.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009" target="_blank">Kinky Boots at Macy's Parade</a></div>
<br />
I'm giving everyone a chance to watch it.<br />
<i>*taps foot and looks impatiently at computer clock*</i><br />
... okay, that should be long enough.<br />
<br />
Comments are posted in the article about how horrible it was for this song to be played at the parade. One even claimed to make the poster have a little less hope for humanity. Because, you know, people singing about love and being there for each other is such a message of despair. But my favourite comment (which was echoed in the resulting comments on Facebook) was the one that said "Let parents decide when to discuss certain topics with their kids instead of springing it on them in Macy's Parade."<br />
<br />
What parent <i>really</i> believes life waits for them to decide when to have these conversations? Really? C'mon, you'd think that ship would have sailed when your toddler wanted to know why Daddy has a penis. At the dinner table. With guests over.<br />
<br />
Or am I the only lucky one to have conversations like this?<br />
<br />
Let me tell you about how the topic of drag queens came up in my family.<br />
<br />
It all started on a lovely summer's trip to the park. I got the kids dressed, slathered them in sunscreen, collected a handful of toys, and set out for the local park. We were almost there when a man approached us. He was tall, at least 6ft, and he looked even taller in his stilettos. Despite it being barely after lunch, he was all dressed up for a night on the town. Make up, styled hair, evening gown... he was ready to go. And, just to make the experience even more interesting, he wanted directions to the local jail so he could visit his boyfriend. I've found that when life hands us an experience, it goes all out.<br />
<br />
I assured him that he was on the right road to get to the local jail and it probably wouldn't take him more than ten minutes to get there, then agreed that it must stink to have his boyfriend behind bars. Then we said goodbye and he headed off. The whole time both kids stared up at him wide eyed.<br />
<br />
The kids watched him walk away (a lot more gracefully than I would in heels) then daughter turned to me and said, "Mommy, why is that man wearing a dress?" And I looked at her and said, "Because he wants to." Then we went to the park.<br />
<br />
That was it. No huge explanation. No confusion. It's honestly not that hard a question.<br />
<br />
My son came home this evening right after I watched the video so I dragged him to the computer and made him watch it too, just to get his reaction (he's what's known as a captive audience).<br />
<br />
His first reaction was sheer bafflement that the song would be played at a parade. Because floats move a lot faster than that and no one would get the whole message, they'd just hear little bits and pieces. Obviously the Macy parade isn't a tradition in our house. I promptly explained this song was performed at the beginning and had been stationary. Everyone there heard the whole thing.<br />
<br />
Oh... well in that case he figured they should play it twice. Once at the beginning and again at the end, because that was something everyone should hear.<br />
<br />
Then, just to round out the conversation, I googled drag queens and we looked at faces of men with half their head made up. What else do you do on a Saturday evening? I guess we could play cards (if I knew where the deck was and remembered any games) but the pictures were more interesting.<br />
<br />
Now I'm going back to editing Leaving Hope. I'm not going to bother posting the first chapter of Second Chances (like I did with my other novels). All it does is end in a badly formatted wall of text. But I like the first chapter and hopefully some agent out there will too.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-8382339220922594622013-11-22T20:15:00.000-08:002013-11-23T08:58:15.131-08:00Words from my sonI love this kid. Every once in a while we'll have a conversation and he'll say something that gets me thinking. We just had an out of the blue conversation and it went like this...<br />
<br />
Mom, there are people out there that think being gay is unnatural. Running around naked is natural, *looks over at the cats* I don't see our cats wearing clothes, and being gay is natural too.<br />
<br />
I'd have a little bit of respect for those people, not much but a <i>little</i>, if they actually tried to live a natural life. You know, if they ran around naked in the woods, eating what they found and building a tent with their bare hands. Fending off bears with sticks. And if a tree fell on them, they just lay there because going to the hospital's unnatural.<br />
<br />
If they want to claim they're for what's natural, they shouldn't be online or driving cars or wearing glasses or watching TV. *looks at me seriously* You know what's unnatural? It's unnatural to hate gays.<br />
<br />
Obligatory kid photo...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-86td8cO8cy0/UpAnCli5RrI/AAAAAAAAAeM/PftRHrLhrho/s1600/Colin4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-86td8cO8cy0/UpAnCli5RrI/AAAAAAAAAeM/PftRHrLhrho/s400/Colin4.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
And he's right. How can someone sit in a climate controlled house that's wired with electricity, wearing clothes made with man-made fibers, heating their food in a microwave, while whining about what's "natural"? There are a lot of unnatural things in our lives, who someone loves isn't one of them.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-22137964619231222112013-09-05T13:05:00.000-07:002013-09-05T13:05:17.784-07:00FYI (if you're a human being) | Needing CPRSuddenly all my friends are posting and loving this blog entry titled <a href="http://givenbreath.com/2013/09/03/fyi-if-youre-a-teenage-girl/" target="_blank">FYI (if you're a teenage girl)</a>, from the blog Given Breath. I clicked on the link and hated it so much that I had to share it with my teenage son. We sat and howled with laughter while I read it aloud to him, then together we came up with several reasons why we both hated it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DmuHzCIIVAo/Uijh6YnPoOI/AAAAAAAAAc0/rxoomENKJCg/s1600/048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DmuHzCIIVAo/Uijh6YnPoOI/AAAAAAAAAc0/rxoomENKJCg/s320/048.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
What first set my hackles up was her sanctimonious attitude. I've got teenage children (a boy and a girl). I don't think any of their friends give a rat's ass that I've got a blog, or reads it for that matter. They certainly aren't waiting with bated breath for this post and their hopes and dreams aren't pinned on being friended or liked by my kids on any social media platforms. When it comes to her sons, Kim seems to feel otherwise.<br />
<br />
She gushes at the beginning of the post about how lovely her sons' female friends are and how cute their rooms are. Then she babbles about how lovely (again), interesting, smart, unique, insightful, and wise they are... but "-big bummer- we have to block your posts". You see, her precious boys lack the capacity to see their female friends as anything other than sex objects after seeing them posing in pyjamas or a towel. Which is apparently the girls' problem and not any parenting deficiency on her end. Then she assures them it's not too late and to RUN to their accounts to take down their "selfies"... ending with an assurance that she's glad they're friends.<br />
<br />
I don't get it. Does she really think there are hordes of girls racing to their computers to delete their photos? Thinking "phew, I got that one gone just in time... good thing considering Mrs. Hall has a zero tolerance policy". Personally, if I was a teenager and I read that blog post, I'd be deleting them off my friends lists anyway, simply because I wouldn't want Mrs. Hall and her smarmy attitude browsing through my photos.<br />
<br />
The second thing that caught my eye were the pictures. You see, she's scattered a couple of shots of her sons throughout the blog post and, despite the fact the post has nothing to do with swimming, she chose shots of them posing in their bathing suits. Yes, in the middle of telling her sons' female friends that if they pose in their pyjamas in their bedrooms, even once, she's blocking them... she posted a shot of her three boys (and her young daughter) flexing their muscles on the beach. This makes her chastising the girls even more ironic, telling them that "none of these positions is one (sic) I naturally assume before sleep, this I know". Well none of the positions that her boys were in are ones that I naturally assume while swimming. You know the saying "what's good for the goose is good for the gander". Is she going through all her sons' pictures to make sure they aren't posing in skimpy clothing? Obviously not.<br />
<br />
My son was disgusted by her attitude. First he admitted it really didn't matter what clothes a girl was wearing, he could readily picture her in a sexual way regardless. Second, just because he could, it didn't mean that was all he saw in the girls around him and he really resented the implication that boys just couldn't control themselves. And third, he strongly feels you can be a man of integrity AND look at pictures of scantily clad women. So far he's doing well so I'm willing to believe him on this one.<br />
<br />
I think by making clothing and a pose the important part of her
decision, Mrs. Hall is neglecting to teach her sons the true value of
friendship. I want my kids to accept their friends for who they are and not judge them by the clothes they wear or their hair styles. Or, for that matter, by any unfortunate shots that make them look far more like Donald, Daffy, or Daisy than a teenage girl.<br />
<br />
In the end, I find her entire post to be shallow and vapid. She has a whole raft of positive descriptions of her sons' friends but chooses to ignore them and, instead, bases her values solely on appearance. I find it terribly sad that so many people are willing to back her on this.<br />
<br />
And, if there are any teens reading my post, I hope you wear the clothes that you like and feel comfortable in. I don't care about your clothes, I care about what sort of person you are. Treat the people around you with respect. Be kind. Be fair. Help others. Be accepting. If you're all of those things, you're welcome in my home no matter what you're wearing.<br />
<br />
<br />Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-71406742760753459922013-08-18T12:26:00.000-07:002013-08-18T12:28:06.371-07:00Random Acts of KindnessThe sun was barely peeking over the nearby buildings when I got downtown to wait for my connecting bus. There were four of us at the stop. Myself, as usual, clutching a pen and jotting ideas and dialogue in a notebook; a man staring disinterestedly at the road; and two older woman leaning against a brick wall, smoking and chatting with each other.<br />
<br />
A young couple in their early twenties walked up to them. The man asked if they had a lighter he could borrow and the one of the ladies, wearing a uniform from a national doughnut store chain, reached into her purse and handed it to him. She commented on how glad she was he hadn't asked for a cigarette, she was getting asked all the time and couldn't afford to give them to everyone, she could barely afford them for herself.<br />
<br />
The four of them commiserated briefly about the price of smokes and how frequently people asked for them these days then the young couple turned to walk away. They took one step then the man turned back and asked, "Do you play the lottery?"<br />
<br />
The woman looked confused, then nodded and agreed that she played when she could. He smiled, told her today was her lucky day, and handed her a crisp new twenty dollar bill, before walking away. She stared after him in astonishment, barely managing to stammer thanks.<br />
<br />
I think, when random acts of kindness are mentioned, we end up thinking we can't do much. The little we can offer is just a pittance. After all, when you get right down to it, what could twenty dollars do?<br />
<br />
I got on the bus with that lady, who was quite overcome by the money. She was in the last week of her job, going on sick leave in a few days. She's suffering from severe pain caused by bone growths in her knee and just can't handle working eight hours on her feet anymore. All that helps is expensive pain medication. She'd just run out and didn't have enough money to buy her new prescription. That $20 covered the gap.<br />
<br />
I don't know how that young man felt when he handed her the money. Hopefully pride that he was able to help but he'll never know how much it meant to her. All he heard was her startled "thanks" before he walked away. It was the people on the bus who discovered how much this meant to her, not him.<br />
<br />
That's the thing about random acts of kindness. You don't know. You have no idea what it means to the person you reach out to. It might mean nothing but then again, it might mean the world. It's random. I think the most important part is to reach out and do the best you can with what you have. We're all a candle in the darkness and it's up to us to share our flame.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8CYpNDl03BA/UhEd5MQar3I/AAAAAAAAAcg/7gt04xiKOhU/s1600/165465_601484706529512_572883281_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8CYpNDl03BA/UhEd5MQar3I/AAAAAAAAAcg/7gt04xiKOhU/s320/165465_601484706529512_572883281_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-4149884125797662412013-08-10T08:07:00.000-07:002013-08-10T19:13:59.290-07:00Leaving HopeTwo blog posts in two days! Umm... that probably won't happen again in a while. I'm almost done the outline for Second Chances, the next book I'm working on, and I'll be busy writing again. But I did promise an update on the book I just wrote. It's now been submitted to an agent, by snail mail, so I won't have any sort of answer for another month at least. The last book I mentioned here was Piece of Mind and I've put that one on the back burner. Maybe I'll go back and work on it again sometime, maybe not.<br />
I started Second Chances and Leaving Hope at the same time, figuring I could switch between the two if I got stuck on a part. I wrote the first chapter in each book then wrote the outline for Leaving Hope and never went back to Second Chances. The books are completely different; Leaving Hope is a young adult fantasy while Second Chances is contemporary fiction. I don't have a synopsis for Second Chances, I haven't quite finished the outline yet, but it's about a middle aged woman named Karen who has her oldest grandson Owen dropped off at her home for "a little while". Karen's daughter disappears, with her other two grandchildren, two days later only to resurface after a decade. The novel is about family ties and forgiveness.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
As for Leaving Hope, it's easier to share the synopsis and the first chapter...<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Seventeen
year old Aren has a secret that's about to shatter her world. Aren
and her friends are half-elven; ostracized by a society that sees
them as less than human. Now the mayor of her province has just
declared himself king, despite having no royal blood. His goal is to
take over the country and claim Avenna's abandoned throne.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">His
first proclamation declares it treasonous to lie with one of the fae.
Any resulting baby is proof of this treason and both the mother and
child will die. The fae man Aren slept with hasn't returned in moon
turns and her Papa is dying, neither one can help her now.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She
turns to her friend Toby, who has his own secret to hide, and begs
him to claim her unborn baby as his, setting into motion a chain of
events foreseen and manipulated by the fae.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">While
the king places increasingly stronger restrictions on the half-elven,
a new church appears, painting anyone with fae blood as vermin to
exterminate.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now
Aren and her friends are tangled in the webs the fae have woven, and
trapped by the king's laws and the church. They hope to survive, but
can they make it out of Hope alive?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">LEAVING
HOPE is a 65,000-word young adult fantasy. This is my first novel.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.49in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Chapter One</span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Papa? What's treason?” I asked as soon as I closed our door.
That was the one word I didn't understand on the notice in the town
square and without it, nothing else made sense.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Treason? It's when you go against the king,” he replied then
coughed. “Of course you need to have a king for that.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He chuckled when I flinched. “It's okay Aren, I know what Bobby's
calling himself. Smallest province in Avenna and he claims he's king.
I could call myself king of this bed just as easily and it would mean
as much.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Papa,” I said warningly, glancing back at the door. Robert had
brought people in for less and with nearly as few witnesses.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Sorry,” he replied unapologetically then continued, “When King
Nicholas was alive, treason was one of the few crimes with a death
penalty. I assume that much hasn't changed.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
It felt like my heart dropped into my stomach. I stared at him in
horror.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“It's that bad Aren? What is he calling treason?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Half-elven babies,” I whispered.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“ All of us or just the babies?” Papa asked worriedly, shifting a
bit against his pillow.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“So far just the babies,” I replied, struggling not to touch my
stomach. Not that it would make much difference, Papa's gift was
seeing the truth. “Any woman who lies with one of the fae is
considered to have committed treason. The baby is the proof.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Then any woman who finds herself in that situation better find a
father for her baby quickly,” he noted.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I nodded then changed the subject. “How are you feeling today?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He shrugged slightly. “About the same as yesterday,” he lied.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I looked at him critically. He used to glow bright yellow but the
glow had dimmed over the last few months to a greyish mustard colour.
Now that colour was disappearing too, leaving him fading to white.
Mama's colours had faded similarly before she died. I didn't think
he'd see midwinter; he certainly wouldn't see spring.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Why don't you go out for a walk?” he suggested. “I could use a
bit of quiet.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I was about to protest that he wouldn't even hear me then realized he
wanted me to do something about my predicament. I kissed him gently
on the forehead and slipped outside.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
It was autumn now. The air held a mellow warmth but the golden leaves
said chill winds weren't too far behind. It had been spring the last
time I'd seen Ferrin.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I'd felt odd that day, like I was ready for the whole world to change
and take me with it. As if everything was waiting, paused on the edge
of anticipation. Ferrin had his wagon parked in a field just outside
the village. I'd shown him my carvings, he'd looked at them and
promised he had rich buyers who would love them. Once again he'd paid
me almost as much as Papa had made doing cabinetry when he was still
strong. Then he took my hand and told me he had something else for
me, a gift, and led me into the back of his wagon. There was nothing
there except a bed, but that was all we needed.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I knew what would come from that afternoon; I didn't know of any
woman who'd laid down with one of the fae and hadn't come up
expecting. At that point I hadn't cared.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I looked around in surprise and realized I was almost to Toby's
house. He was Papa's former apprentice and one of my few friends. He
was half-elven like Papa and I but he had a harder gift than both of
us combined. He could hear thoughts, which made other people almost
as uncomfortable around him as he was around them.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
Toby's home was in a patch of woods, just far enough away that he
could sleep without hearing everyone's dreams. His house was small
but in good repair, although that wasn't a surprise considering his
skills at woodworking. I knocked on the door and hoped he'd answer,
he wasn't always in the mood for company. Thankfully today he was.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He opened the door and smiled slightly when he saw me. His wheat
blond hair was pulled away from his face and the glow around him was
almost the same bright blue as his eyes. I eyed the glow critically,
it was cleaner and brighter than the last time I'd seen him.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Nate was over, wasn't he,” I commented. It wasn't a question.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
Toby nodded but didn't open the door further or offer to invite me
in.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“I'm in trouble, Toby,” I whispered. “I need help.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He looked down at my stomach then opened the door and gestured
inside. Without waiting he turned and stalked to the kitchen, I
followed.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“I pumped some water earlier,” he said as he picked up a jug and
poured himself a glass. Then he poured me one too.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Who's the father?” he asked abruptly then blanched. “Ferrin?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I nodded then took the glass. “I hadn't been worried before.
There's never been any danger in raising a half-elven baby.” I
sighed, “At least not until now.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Aren. There's no way that baby's going to be half-elven,” Toby
pointed out gently. “I'm half-elven and Nate's half-elven. You're
about as close to fae as any human could manage.” He gestured to my
stomach then added, “And that baby will be even closer still.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I watched him hopefully, knowing he'd pick up my thoughts despite the
fact I couldn't articulate them.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Your Papa stood up for you and I'll stand up for your baby,” he
said finally then added, “but I won't marry you and I want you to
promise I will be your baby's father no matter what.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“I promise,” I said firmly, looking into his eyes.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He stared at me for a moment then nodded. “ Then I swear,” he
began and everything seemed to pause. Even the birds stopped singing.
“I am the true father of your baby. I will not be your husband but
I will help raise this baby and will love and care for him.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Him?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
Toby's smile was almost wistful. He touched my stomach gently then
quickly pulled his hand back. “I can hear his thoughts.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“You should go,” he added. “It's getting late and your Papa's
going to need you soon.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Thanks Toby,” I said then headed out.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I was halfway through the woods when the sound of pipes led me off
the trail. I followed the music to a small clearing surrounded by
scarlet bushes. Nate perched on a fallen tree, a rabbit curled up
against one foot. The breeze tousled his curly brown hair and, as he
glanced at me over his pipes, the sunlight danced in his green eyes.
Toby was right when he said I looked fae but between the two of us I
felt Nate looked wilder, like some sort of tree spirit.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“What brings you out here?” he asked curiously.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Toby,” I replied as I leaned against him. The rabbit looked up
at me then proceeded to groom itself. “We're going to have a baby.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“A baby will be nice,” he replied. “So who's the baby's real
father?” I hadn't expected him to think the baby was Toby's.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Ferrin,” I whispered. He winced and gave me a quick hug.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Your story might work and some might even believe it,” he mused.
“But I don't think Robert will and he's the one who matters the
most.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I shifted to look at him. “Toby was the only one I could ask,” I
explained earnestly.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“You could have asked me,” he pointed out.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Not with Robert as a brother,” I retorted. “He ignores you now
but I don't think he would if you had a successor; then he'd see you
as a rival. Who else would I ask?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He shrugged. “What about Dirk? He's quiet and single.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Dirk?” I blurted. “There's no way I'd ask him.” The colours
around him were less a glow and more a stain. They brought to mind
vomit in a mud puddle. Plus he'd know the baby wasn't his. He'd be
more likely to turn me in to Robert than stand up for me.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Does Mari still visit you?” I asked worriedly.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He nodded. “She's been with me for a moon turn now.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I didn't bother to ask if her mother knew. Chances were she hadn't
noticed Mari was gone in the first place.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Make sure she stays away from Dirk,” I warned. “I know he
spends a lot of time with Mari's mother.” Along with most of the
males in the village, I thought to myself. “And I've seen the way
he looks at her.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Where is she now?” I asked, looking around. I couldn't see her
anywhere and considering her hair was the same wheat colour as mine
and Toby's, it should stand out.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“She's over there,” he gestured vaguely, “Taking a bit of a
nap. We were up late last night with a sick foal.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He stared into the distance, his eyes unfocused. His expression was
thoughtful and a bit melancholic.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“How's the foal?” I asked curiously.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He shrugged. “She was doing a bit better this morning, up and
nursing from her mother. All I can do is wait and see. I think she
ate something she shouldn't have but Robert refused to call in the
animal healer.” He picked up a pine cone and threw it at a tree
trunk. It hit with a thunk and fell to the ground.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I stared at him in confusion. Robert's horses were the best in the
area and worth a fair bit of gold. It didn't make sense for him to
ignore her.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Why won't he call the healer?” I asked curiously.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“He claims that if she's stupid enough to eat something she
shouldn't then she probably won't be trainable anyway,” he said
then added quietly. “I think he's trying to hurt me.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
A squirrel jumped from a nearby bush to his shoulder. He reached up
and petted it absentmindedly. “He doesn't really ignore me,” Nate
continued sadly. “He's willing to hurt anyone I care about. But I
can't stop caring.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
The squirrel chattered for a second then jumped onto another branch
and ran off.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Is it safe to have Mari stay with you?” I asked worriedly.
Robert placed a lot more value on his horses than he would the
half-elven daughter of the town whore. “Maybe she could stay with
Evelyn?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“I tried that,” he admitted. “Evelyn feels children belong with
their parents and promptly brought her home. Mari almost beat me back
to the barn.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He smiled slightly. “I'm keeping her as hidden as I can,” he
assured me.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I looked back to where he'd gestured and still saw nothing.
Apparently he was doing a good job. Then I remembered something I'd
overheard earlier.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Did you know there's a bear with cubs in the area?” I asked.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
Nate grinned mischievously. “Who do you think is watching her?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I stared at him and he grinned even wider.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“You have to admit no one could keep her more safe than a bear.
She's sleeping with the cubs,” he explained. “They stuffed
themselves with blackberries earlier.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
A blue jay swooped by screaming and Nate stood up. “She's awake
now,” he said then walked into the woods. I followed.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
We walked for several minutes then Nate touched my hand. “Wait
here,” he cautioned then stepped into the meadow on his own. A
brown bear sat up and watched him.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
I looked at the bear and froze. She was huge, at least compared to
me. Nate stood in front of her then reached forward and scratched her
behind the ear like I'd scratch a dog; she leaned into his hand with
evident enjoyment and chuffed.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Come on Mari,” he said cheerfully and her head popped up from
the middle of the pile of sleeping cubs. She scampered across them
then climbed Nate like a tree until she was on his back. Her hair was
a tangle of knots and her face streaked with blackberry juice, but
she was smiling which was a step up from when she'd been at home.
Besides, it wasn't like her mother brushed her hair either.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Did you have a good nap?” he asked her. She nodded then looked
over at me and waved.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“She's still not speaking yet?” It was more of an observation
than a question. I couldn't remember how old she was, three, maybe
four years old; definitely old enough to be speaking though.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
Mari tilted her head and watched me curiously. “I've never heard
her speak but she talks to Toby,” Nate replied. He pushed back a
branch then held it so I could pass too.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“She hears thoughts like him?” I asked. I hoped otherwise, that
was a hard gift.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
Nate shook his head. His curls brushed against Mari's cheeks and she
giggled. “He said her gift is close enough for him to talk to her
but it's not the same,” he explained.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
We stepped onto the road. The sun was already behind the trees and
shadows gathered. It was later than I thought.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Do you want to come over for dinner?” I asked. “It's going to
be very simple, just eggs and toast. Papa's not eating much these
days.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Thanks for offering but I can't,” Nate said then smiled. “You
have no idea how much birds gossip. If one saw me eating eggs it
would be spread across the province within the hour. I'd horrify them
all.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
He stepped off the road and into a nearby field. “I've got beans
soaking at home and I need to get back to milk one of the goats. Nala
insists Mari has her milk. I get the impression she feels Mari isn't
growing fast enough, which she probably isn't compared to a kid.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
“Okay,” I replied. “I'll see you soon.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -0.01in;">
They headed across the field and I hurried home.</div>
Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-56930236035385192902013-08-09T13:51:00.001-07:002013-08-09T16:25:28.157-07:00Failing at humanityI read an article yesterday that made me cry. Not a dainty, dab my eyes with a kleenex cry, instead I sobbed on my son's shoulder while he looked down at me in confusion.<br />
<br />
It was an <a href="http://www.gaystarnews.com/article/gay-teen-dies-after-being-kidnapped-tortured-russia060813" target="_blank">article</a> a friend of mine shared on Facebook. I clicked the link and was horrified by the juxtaposition -- a group of friends, all in their late teens, posing for the camera; one with a huge grin. The picture could have been taken anywhere. At the beach, playing soccer, just plain hanging out. Instead they were in a well lit room, surrounding a fellow teenage boy. They're grinning, mugging for the camera. He's crouched on the ground in his underwear, splattered with paint, and clutching a sex toy. Soon they're going to torture him to death, simply because he's gay.<br />
<br />
How does this happen? How could they look into the eyes of a fellow human being and see nothing but an object to vent their frustrations? He'd done nothing to them, nothing except merely exist. They're the ones who hunted him down, searched him out on a social network site, and coaxed him into meeting them. I look into their eyes and see no sign of shame or remorse; nothing that says they feel they're doing anything wrong.<br />
<br />
Since this happened in Russia, they aren't going to learn what they did is wrong. Putin has ruled that anything positive said about gays is against family values, so even someone saying this teen had done nothing to them, that it was okay for him to simply be himself, could get that person arrested. I'm not nearly naive enough to think this is a random occurrence, or even just in Russia. I know it happens world wide. And this is where we've failed as human kind.<br />
<br />
People talk about defending family values. Family? It's been said often enough before, it's us straight people having the majority of kids. These are our children, our siblings, our cousins. This <i>is</i> our family. If people truly want to protect families, they should include all the members. I've got two teenagers. When I gave birth, I vowed to them that I'd always love and protect them. There wasn't a clause in there that said "as long as you grow up to marry someone of the opposite sex and give me grandbabies". That was my choice to marry their father and have kids; they will make their own choices. And the gender(s) you're attracted to isn't a choice at all.<br />
<br />
I wish we lived in a world where everyone was brought up with love, kindness, and compassion. I wish we lived in a world with true family values, the ones where you love every member of your family, not just the people who are the same as you. I wish we lived in a world where those teenagers never even bothered to search that boy up on social media because, hey, who cares if he's gay. And I really wish I had some answers, because I'm heartsick of reading about atrocities.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-83293598892623653382013-07-24T15:08:00.000-07:002013-07-24T15:08:32.176-07:00Safety is an illusionI know I haven't been writing here. I have been writing though, copious amounts of writing. I've written a whole novel since I last posted here and have started on a sequel while writing the query letter and synopsis. At some point I'll update, book wise, but that's not why I'm writing here today.<br />
<br />
I saw this link on Facebook today: <a href="http://www.beyondmoi.com/267/" target="_blank">Hurting people hurt people</a> and it made me think. Not only do we need to teach our children empathy, we need to teach them how to trust. They can't learn empathy if they don't know how to trust the people around them. And trust is a hard lesson to learn.<br />
<br />
When my children were young, I sent them off to join Brownies and Beavers. I had all sorts of worries. My daughter was extremely shy and had only just started talking to people outside of family. My son, who was later diagnosed with autism, was still very hard to understand and didn't interact well with others. But I trusted the adults in the group to care for them in my absence. A friend of mine was shocked I could send my children off like that. What if one of the leaders was a sexual predator? What if they were abused?<br />
<br />
I can't live my life that way. I can't live my life looking at everyone around me with suspicion, assuming they're out to harm my children. And I refused to raise my children that way. I refused to teach them that everyone was a potential threat.<br />
<br />
Instead I taught them to trust themselves and to trust their instincts. I taught them the proper names for all the parts of their bodies and that their bodies are their own. I taught them about good secrets and bad secrets. Good secrets are surprises, like a birthday present. The person you're keeping the secret from will find out about it soon and will be happy about the secret. Those are the secrets you keep. Bad secrets are sad and can make you uncomfortable. No matter what anyone tells you, you have to share those secrets right away.<br />
<br />
The thing is, safety is an illusion. Setting rules and boundaries help, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying to let your three year old roam around at midnight because, hey, safety is an illusion. I understand the need to try and keep our children safe; I feel it
every time my children step outside and they're teenagers now. I simply disagree with the idea of wrapping children into such a tight cocoon they can barely breathe, while claiming it's for their safety. They can't grow in a cocoon and they can't trust if they're taught everyone around them is untrustworthy.<br />
<br />
I've joked before about my lackadaisical parenting. To be honest, it's more of a tightrope walk than laziness, and I'm always aware of who's at risk if I wobble in either direction. Overprotective... underprotective...it's my kids who suffer in the end. And most days I feel like I'm walking that tightrope blindfolded.<br />
<br />
I used to belong to a community group in my former apartment building. There were not many people in the group, especially for the size of the community. Two men joined shortly after I did. Both had names that started with J and both used scooters, although I seem to recall one only part time. I believe they said one was the uncle of the other, although maybe they were cousins. Obviously I didn't know them well.<br />
<br />
It was late summer and the local exhibition was due to arrive. One of the J's ran into me outside the neighbouring plaza and commented they were going to the exhibition the next day and would love to take son with them, they'd pay for his tickets and his train fare. I still don't know if I made the right decision. Chances were it was an innocent request. Chances were my son would have loved the trip. But the offer ran all sorts of alarm bells in the back of my mind and I refused politely, claiming that I didn't think son would be able to handle the crowds. I never told my son about that offer.<br />
<br />
I got a call from a friend of mine that same week, offering to take son out for the afternoon. Maybe this would have raised alarm bells for some; the friend in question is male, childless, and not straight. But I'd known him for over a decade and trusted him. My alarm bells didn't ring. Son had a great afternoon and talked about it for months afterwards.<br />
<br />
Of course, life isn't easy. Sometimes you trust the wrong person. I sent my daughter off for sleepovers at a friend's apartment after stopping by and meeting the child's mother. Several visits later I discovered the mother was on probation for fighting AND was dealing drugs. The sleepovers stopped then and thankfully they moved across the province a short while later.<br />
<br />
I think the most important thing we need to remember is we're raising our children to let them go. That's our ultimate goal, to raise them to be good, kind, and decent adults. Like the video in the link I posted, it's up to us to show them and teach them. They look up to us. They model us. We need to teach them how to take care of themselves, we need to teach them to be trustworthy, and we need to teach them how to trust.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-89197948746549798032013-02-27T10:24:00.000-08:002013-02-27T10:25:32.945-08:00I want to be a writerI want to be a writer. I am determined to be a writer. I sit at my computer and edit and tweak my latest novel, Piece of Mind, every single day. I revise conversations, tweak descriptions, and edit transitions. I carry a notebook in my purse so I can jot down ideas when I'm out. I have a two hour commute every work day (an hour each way) so have lots of time to think. My cellphone is handy too, I was walking on the treadmill yesterday, writing conversations into my notes.<br />
<br />
I want to be a writer. These days I don't just read novels for pure enjoyment, I look at how sentences are formed. I notice how the author sets a scene. How the author explains who's speaking. How often they have characters speak versus describing what the character's experiencing.<br />
<br />
I want to be a writer. I think regularly about my novel and try to sort out what to write in my current chapter. I talk to my children about my novel and use them as guinea pigs.<br />
<br />
Writing is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I love to write. I love when I get a sentence phrased exactly right. I love when I read aloud to my kids and they laugh themselves silly at a part that's supposed to be funny. I love that point when my kids start talking about my characters like they're real people who just stepped out of the room for a minute. I hate when I'm sitting at the computer and my latest attempt at conversation sounds like bored actors reading a weak script. I hate when I have a thought in my mind and the words just won't go down the way I want them to. And, conversely, I love when I move to another paragraph then come back and tweak and, suddenly, changing a word opens up new ideas and the thought just pours onto the page.<br />
<br />
I imagine writing is like building a house. I start with the foundation and throw it up. There's a basic shape but not much else. Then I go back and add the essentials. Soon I can see what the house will look like but it's rough, unfinished. Then I go back a third time and add all the little details. The descriptions, more conversations, little things that I was thinking that somehow missed getting written down. After that I drag someone else through so they can see if there's anything I missed. And that's as far as I've gotten.<br />
<br />
Right now I'm about three quarters of the way through Piece of Mind and have a couple of chapters to tweak in Small Dreams and then I'm onto my next writing adventure, writing query letters.<br />
<br />
I wrote the first chapter of my novel <a href="http://mypositivesteps.blogspot.ca/2011/09/beginning-of-small-dreams.html" target="_blank">Small Dreams</a> into my blog back in 2011. Now I'll share the first chapter of Piece of Mind. I hope you like it:<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“And I woke myself up by screaming.” A rivulet of sweat trickled
down my back as I described my latest nightmare.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
Nicole looked up from chopping veggies for our morning omelette and
grinned. “Maybe Santa will bring you a boyfriend for Christmas,”
she remarked. She brushed her straight brown hair behind her ears and
turned up the radio.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“This is my favourite carol,” she added as Eartha Kitt brazenly
asked Santa for a fur coat and a car.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I stared at her blankly, unable to grasp the connection between my
nightmares and needing a boyfriend. Then again, talking with Nicole
always left me feeling like I was following half a conversation. “Why
a boyfriend?” I asked nervously, the thought filled me with dread.
When I was a bit younger and my parents were still alive, the thought
of having a boyfriend was interesting but after a month of rape
dreams, that interest had waned. I figured I was only a nightmare or
two away from showing up at a mental hospital and asking to be
admitted.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Maybe you’re lonely,” she replied. “The dreams could be
your mind’s way of telling you that you want some male attention.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
Chills ran icy fingers down my spine. “Seriously, I’d rather be
single for the rest of my life than be with someone like that!”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
She shrugged and went back to her vegetables. I carefully measured
out the coffee then added it to the machine; coffee was the only
thing Nicole would allow me to make. She took pleasure in her assumed
role of big sister, cooking breakfast every morning before she went
to bed and dinner every night before she left for work. She tried
packing lunches but stopped when I insisted I could manage that; I'd
made my own sandwiches when I was still small enough to need a
footstool to reach the counter.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“It could be worse,” she said, obviously trying to cheer me up.
“Your nightmares are here in private, unlike mine.” She sighed
then added, “I'll never be able to see a movie again.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I had to chuckle. She'd just broken up with her boyfriend at the
premiere of the latest chick-flick. From what I heard, he thought
they were going to be watching a movie with lots of guns and cars,
not one where the male lead cried tenderly. Apparently the fireworks
were so spectacular people were buying popcorn then heading back
outside for the show.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
Nicole munched a piece of pepper then said thoughtfully, “I wonder
if you're having nightmares because you know you’re home alone. If
you’d get a job where I work, then we’d be on the same shift and
you wouldn’t have to worry about being home alone at night.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“I’m not old enough to work where you do,” I reminded her yet
again. I’d met Nicole at hair dressing school but she’d dropped
out and got a job at the local casino instead. She was just barely
old enough to work there, which made me five years too young;
something she managed to forget at least once a week. Nicole’s
thoughts centred completely around her. It wasn’t that she was mean
or totally selfish, she simply forgot anything that didn’t directly
have to do with her and assumed that everyone wanted to be just like
her.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
She swirled the eggs around the pan then poured the veggies on top.
“Is the coffee almost done yet?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“It's pretty much done,” I replied, glancing at the pot.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Good,” she said while reaching into the cupboard. “I'll just
get the sugar and... oh...” She grabbed something and pulled it
out.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Tamara?” she asked curiously. “Why are you keeping pregnancy
tests in the cupboard?”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I looked at the box in shock while Ella Fitzgerald crooned about how
she wanted to go on a sleigh ride.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“I didn't put that there,” I stammered.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
The top of the box was open and Nicole tipped the contents into her
hand.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Eww,” she said as she dropped the tests on the counter then
wiped her hands on her jeans. “One of these has been used.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I picked up the used one and looked at it.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Nicole,” I said, confused. “This test is positive.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“That is seriously creepy,” she said. She didn’t sound creeped
out at all though. She sounded excited, like it was some mystery to
solve and Scooby and the gang were going to show up to help her
explore for clues. I, however, wasn’t nearly as thrilled.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I started to shake. “How could this get in there?”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Maybe...” she started to say then stopped. “Could you have
left the door unlocked?” she asked hesitantly.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I shook my head. “I never leave it unlocked, ever. You know that!”
I replied. “You’re the one who nicknamed me little Miss Paranoid.
I <i>always</i> use the door lock, the dead bolt and a chain. And
we’re on the frigging sixth floor so it's not like someone just
climbed in a window.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Those were locked too by the way.” I added. “And I had to
unlock the door so you could come in this morning.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
Last night I’d checked and triple checked the locks before heading
to bed. I’d looked every conceivable place someone could hide and
even some inconceivable ones. When I caught myself peeking behind the
toilet I knew I’d moved from cautious into the realm of paranoia.
That still didn’t stop me from checking in the bathtub and the
overstuffed cabinets under the sink.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down with a thud. “One
of the weird things about the dream last night is I heard a voice,”
I said, struggling to remember. “I opened my eyes and saw these
green eyes and heard a voice.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
I fell silent. I could see those cold green eyes in my mind. Felt the
weight of his body above me. During the dreams I could feel the heat
from his body but looking back, all I felt was ice.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“What did the voice say?” Nicole prompted, staring at me
intently.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
The coffee finished dripping but we ignored it.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“Nothing that made any sense at the time. He talked about farming
and how he’d planted the field but still wanted to plough it.” I
replied. My mind flashed to early childhood and my Mom explaining how
Daddy makes a baby by planting a seed in Mommy. Seeds… fertile
ground. An image of an old-fashioned plough digging into the ground
the way he pushed himself into me. I picked up the unopened test. “I
think I'm going to take this,” I said while heading to the
bathroom.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
Less than a minute later I had a second positive test. I leaned
against the counter, my legs too unsteady to hold me, and stared at
myself in the mirror above the sink. My reflection gazed back in
shock. I always looked a bit young for my age but terror made me look
about twelve. I wondered about the man who apparently thought that
was enticing. My stomach twisted and I spent the next minute trying
desperately not to vomit.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
Nicole knocked on the bathroom door. “Tamara? Open up.”</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
Shaking, I opened the door. We stood there in silence staring at the
plus sign on the second test. I felt as calm as the eye of a
hurricane, eerily still and quiet with devastation looming in all
directions. I was single. Completely, utterly, single. There was no
way I could be pregnant… except if the dreams were real.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“What are you going to do?” Nicole asked looking about as shocked
as I felt.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.39in;">
“I’m getting out of here,” I said grimly, trying my hardest not
to cry. “I have no idea how he got in here and there's nothing
stopping him from coming back.”
</div>
Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-60580909399198705772013-02-19T13:44:00.000-08:002013-02-19T13:44:58.079-08:00The most embarrassing storyKids can say and do the most embarrassing things. Luckily for me, my most embarrassing kid story happened to my ex-husband. It all started with my daughter, her overactive imagination, and a bullying neighbour.<br />
<br />
Back when daughter was preschool aged we had a neighbour with a daughter who was a year older. The girl didn't treat daughter well, she teased her and was often sent back home. But it was a small building and the two ended up playing together regularly. When the girl finally moved T* and I were ready to throw a party to celebrate. We celebrated too soon. Suddenly daughter had an imaginary friend named "Bad Katie".<br />
<br />
Lots of kids have imaginary friends who are "bad" and get blamed for mischief. This friend was different. Instead she bullied and picked on daughter, pretty much the same way her previous friend teased her. This left T and I at a loss, trying to convince daughter to stand up for herself to an imaginary playmate.<br />
<br />
Weeks went on and nothing seemed to work until one bitterly cold winter's night when T finally snapped. Nothing we said made a difference. Daughter couldn't ignore Bad Katie and telling her to stop and go away made the teasing worse. I sent Bad Katie upstairs for a timeout but she snuck back down. T stomped to the door and opened it. A blast of cold air rushed in.<br />
<br />
"Outside now!" he snapped then looked at daughter and asked, "Is she out there?"<br />
Daughter nodded and he slammed the door shut then locked it.<br />
"There," he said with some satisfaction. "She's having a timeout on the patio."<br />
"In the snow?" whispered daughter.<br />
"In the snow," he agreed. "And she's not allowed back in ever again."<br />
<br />
Weeks went by without a single mention of Bad Katie and we slowly relaxed. Then T headed out on the bus one afternoon with daughter and came home looking rather pale.<br />
<br />
"I'm lucky I wasn't lynched," he said once daughter had headed upstairs. "The bus was packed to the point where we had to stand. There wasn't a single seat available. Then daughter started talking in a rather loud voice..."<br />
<br />
"Remember that time Bad Katie was sooo bad that you made her have a timeout on our patio in the dark all alone. And it was really cold and you made her stand outside in bare feet in the snow and told her she wasn't allowed to come back inside ever again."<br />
<br />
Complete and utter silence. T looked around and everyone was staring at him. No one looked happy.<br />
<br />
I'll grant her good timing at least, she finished the story right before our stop so he was able to make a quick getaway.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*not my ex's real initial, just a letter I picked at random in SeptemberSunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-60198540895811876102013-02-09T09:21:00.000-08:002013-02-09T09:28:40.062-08:00Disposable petsWe have three cats, all adopted. One was surrendered, one abandoned, and the last was disposed.<br />
<br />
Angel was surrendered to a no-kill animal rescue agency,
along with her brother, when their owner fell on hard times and couldn't
afford to take care of them. It stinks but I understand that. And if
anyone surrendered their black and white kitten Angelica to a shelter
just east of Toronto, one that services Paws and Claws, she's a happy,
healthy almost seven year old cat now (we picked Valentine's Day for her
birthday) and is currently curled up snoozing on the couch.<br />
<br />
I feel anger when I think of Blackie. Her previous owners left her behind in a shed when they moved. She was just a kitten when we adopted her at eleven months old and she'd obviously been malnourished. Her leg bones are bowed and she's got the oddest walk (which is not helped by her current pot belly). I can't understand and don't want to understand the mentality of someone who would lock a kitten up and abandon her to possibly starve to death.<br />
<br />
It's Oreo that has me baffled. We had neighbours who lived across the hallway from us when my children were smaller. They moved in with two older cats and, shortly after we adopted Blackie, they picked Oreo out of a box of "free kittens".<br />
<br />
A few months later they decided to move in with a family member who did not want three cats in his home. The Mom was deciding which cat to take to the shelter when I volunteered to take one. This came at the perfect time for us because my children's father (and his girlfriend) had promised the kids a kitten from the litter their cat was going to have. That litter never arrived and the kids were heartbroken they weren't going to get their kitten. Oreo, still a kitten at the time, was just what they were looking for.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later the neighbours had a dog, given to them through the family grapevine. Someone's grandmother died, leaving behind an elderly dog. Daughter was disappointed, positive that if we'd waited a few weeks, we would have been given the dog instead of Oreo. I reminded her repeatedly that a) we'd never been offered the dog and b) we had Oreo and why would she trade him for any animal. Daughter was ticked to discover they gave the dog away to someone else shortly after moving due to bathroom issues.<br />
<br />
A few years went by then there was a flurry of excitement on Facebook because they were getting a puppy. They'd been looking for ages and found the perfect puppy for their family. Then came the adorable puppy and child pictures. I asked how the cats were getting along with the puppy and got the response of "we got rid of the cats several months ago". Got rid of the cats who were around eight years old at the time.<br />
<br />
A short while later she was posting saying she was going to look for a new home for her puppy soon if he didn't stop barking at the vacuum cleaner then wetting in terror. I suggested puppy training classes and provided links to local ones. She responded saying that despite months of looking for the "perfect puppy", she had not once looked into the breed. Apparently anxiety and wetting issues were common. She also refused to look into puppy training classes because hopefully the puppy would outgrow these issues.<br />
<br />
I got blocked when I replied the shelters are already full of dogs who didn't outgrow anxiety issues and poor bathroom habits then reposted the training class links. This was at least half a year ago so I'm sure little Coco has been passed along to another family and they've moved on to yet another "perfect pet". We adopted Oreo five years ago this April. In those five years they have gotten rid of three cats and two dogs that I know of. I haven't spoken to them since last summer so who knows if they've gone through another perfect pet since then.<br />
<br />
I woke up this morning to find Oreo snuggled against me again, his head nestled on my arm, his legs sprawled, his eyes watching mine... eager for me to wake and rub his tummy. He rolled around on the bed when he realized I was awake, licking my nose and wriggling so I could reach every part of his tummy. Son came into my room before bed last night so I could read him part of my novel. When he left to brush his teeth, he patted his leg and said "Come Oreo, it's tooth brushing time" and Oreo jumped off the bed and trotted along behind. My daughter insists he's a dog disguised as a cat.<br />
<br />
I don't think of that family often but every once in a while Oreo will do something completely adorable and completely him and I wonder if they know what they're missing. How do you pick out a pet, promise to care for it, then give it away? How can you love and care for an animal for months or years and then pass it along and forget about it? One child used to ask my daughter and I about Oreo. "He's my Oreo" she'd insist to my daughter. Her mother never asked. Do her other children ever wonder about the pets they no longer own? Will they grow up to care for their own pets or will they grow up to see pets as nothing more than toys? Something to enjoy for a time and pass on once they're "boring".<br />
<br />
Sure, I'm the one who gets to deal with the not fun stuff. Oreo very likely has FIV. I know it's not as easily transmitted as I was told when we first adopted him but I can't help but wonder if my other two cats have it as well. And Oreo has allergies, which means they get expensive cat food. We're eating lentils, rice, and pasta while the cats dine on smoked salmon and trout.<br />
<br />
But then he walks up beside me, demanding attention, and closes his eyes in ecstasy as I scratch his forehead right above the eyes. His purr deepens, he grabs my hand with both paws and maneuvers it for a chest rub. He stares at me and my heart melts and I wonder once again if they ever know what they threw away.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qkSGSqyKfCQ/URaC0dgR7hI/AAAAAAAAAbs/JG_YMeqBo0M/s1600/015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qkSGSqyKfCQ/URaC0dgR7hI/AAAAAAAAAbs/JG_YMeqBo0M/s320/015.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-42399696913580275932013-02-06T07:53:00.000-08:002013-02-06T08:15:24.716-08:00Sleepy ramblingsI have been looking forward to today. A weekday off work with no one in the apartment except for me and my pets. A day to devote to my novel.<br />
<br />
My alarm went off at 7am, just over two hours later than my alarm went off yesterday. You'd think it was two hours earlier by the way I felt. I crawled out of bed and finally managed to get son off to school. He left grumbling that he wished he had a day to sleep in. Meanwhile he slept til the crack of noon on Sunday. My heart bleeds for you kid.<br />
<br />
My cat Oreo started yowling almost immediately. You see, he's starving to death; literally wasting away to a mere shadow of his former self. I didn't empty his bowl of the leftovers from last night and replenish it from the tin of goodness, so he was left with stale food. He cried and wailed, circling the bowls like a vulture and likely dreaming of growing opposable thumbs. Then he flopped on the floor beside me, all four paws in the air, dead of starvation, belly flab drooping to the floor. I still didn't feed him so he huffed away to take a nap.<br />
<br />
I cracked open chapter two and began revising. I realized last night that I was missing some crucial information. This morning, as I began losing track of sentences and couldn't figure out where to place apostrophes, I realized I was missing some crucial sleep. Evidently a nap was in order for me too.<br />
<br />
Every time I decide to take a nap, I forget one important fact. A futon will not comfortably hold three cats and a human. Something has to give and I'm the weak link. I set my timer for an hour, which would leave me with four hours of writing time, pulled my softest pillow off the wicker chair, and settled myself into a comfy position. Seconds later I had a cat butt in my face and a paw under my cheek. Angel decided the pillow was hers too.<br />
<br />
Eventually I ended up with a cat back in my face, complete with fur up my nose, and my head positioned in a way rarely seen outside of "whiplash during a car accident" photos. Plus one cat draped over my feet, putting one to sleep a lot faster than I was going, and my 'dying of starvation' kitty sprawled across my hip. All twenty-two pounds of him.<br />
<br />
I gave up barely a quarter into the nap. Now I'm hoping peppermint tea will work just as well. And, as I switch back to my novel, I'll leave you with my daughter's current favourite line from the book (one that won't give away any plot):<br />
<br />
"I felt like I was in one of those horror movies, the ones where everything seemed perfectly normal until a monster popped up and ate someone's face."<br />
<br />
Edited to add: This is what cat sarcasm looks like...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TzP6GEuA5IA/URKBeryGw9I/AAAAAAAAAbc/kPf9TTGbags/s1600/cats+on+the+couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TzP6GEuA5IA/URKBeryGw9I/AAAAAAAAAbc/kPf9TTGbags/s320/cats+on+the+couch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-75700461070062561702013-01-10T17:03:00.002-08:002013-01-10T17:03:50.135-08:00On friend-zoning, nice guys, and the rape culture<i> "Friendzoning" is bullshit because "Girls are not machines that you put Kindness Coins into until sex falls out." - Aeryn Walker</i><br />
<br />
My son made a comment using the term "friend-zoned" today and I told him it doesn't exist; there is no such thing. Friend zoning assumes that the person (usually female) would have been romantically interested in another person (usually male) except somehow she got sidelined into thinking of him as just a friend and can't pull him out of that category anymore. He could have had a chance if it wasn't for her silliness.<br />
<br />
I told my son that people who think that they've been "friend-zoned" need to grow up and face reality. There is no law that says just because you love someone romantically, they have to like you back. Even if they like you enough enough to be friends, they don't have to love you. That's called a crush, it happens and that's okay. No one dies from a crush.<br />
<br />
Friend zoning often seems to happen to the self-proclaimed "nice guys". The ones who insist they treat women well but never get what they deserve. That makes them creeps, not nice guys. If you're treating a woman well just so you can have sex, you're not treating her well at all. You're seeing her as nothing more than an object, a means to your own personal gratification.<br />
<br />
Which leads to the whole rape culture. We live in a society where women are taught how to protect themselves from rape. Don't wear overly tight clothes, or clothes that are too low cut or too short. Don't go outside at night, especially on your own. Don't go places alone like trails or laundry rooms or parking garages. And if a woman's assaulted, the first reaction is to wonder what she did wrong. Did she follow the rules?<br />
<br />
What we need to do is teach the boys. We need to teach them they are better than this. We need to teach them to respect themselves and others. We need to teach them they are responsible for themselves. We need to teach them that no means no <b>all the time</b>. It doesn't matter if he's two seconds away from penetration. The words "no, stop" mean exactly that. We need to teach them that no one is "asking for it". No one. It doesn't matter if she's walking around naked, she's not asking to be raped. As soon as someone's drunk, the ability to consent is gone. I don't care if she's saying "I want you, lets have sex now". If she really means it, she'll mean it tomorrow and it'll be that much more special if she remembers it or doesn't throw up on you. And if she's so passed out she's non-responsive, you take her to the hospital, not your bed.<br />
<br />
And we need to teach the girls they are worth more. They can say "no" without being frigid. They can say "yes" without being a slut. Their worth as a human should not be defined by who's been between their legs and they should give that same worth and respect to others. And we need to teach them that boys can say "no" too. No means no, no matter what gender is speaking and if he's drunk he can't consent either.<br />
<br />
We need to treat our children equally when it comes to where they go and how late they stay out. We need to treat them equally when it comes to teaching them about sex and sexuality.<br />
<br />
I am leaving a link with a video here. It's worth reading and it's definitely worth sitting down and viewing with your teens. The video shocked me, there are boys my son's age joking about raping a drunk and unconscious teenage girl while laughingly wondering if she's dead. But the video covers, in plain language, exactly why this is wrong and how boys should act instead.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.upworthy.com/a-horrifying-thing-happened-in-ohio-not-being-creepy-could-prevent-it-from-happe?g=2&c=ufb1" target="_blank">A Horrifying Thing Happened In Ohio. Not Being Creepy Could Prevent It From Happening Again.</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-1684980953721967212013-01-07T07:53:00.000-08:002013-01-07T07:56:47.471-08:00(Attempts at) exercise...I've got the day off today and my son went back to school, leaving me seven whole hours to myself. Talk about bliss! Or it would have been if I didn't immediately tackle his room in search of dishes and laundry. Now I know why he has nothing to wear the day after I do the laundry and where on earth all my bowls and spoons went. I'm *this* close to slapping a condemned sign on his door and writing it off.<br />
<br />
After I carried a few loads of dishes into the kitchen and heaped my laundry basket with all the clothes son didn't see, I decided to head downstairs to the gym. I bought a new exercise bra this weekend and an arm band for my MP3 player and wanted to try them out.<br />
<br />
Also, I'd dearly love to know if I'm the only one who's ever accidentally hog-tied themselves with an exercise bra and if it gets easier to put on. I'm a bit scared of that thing now.<br />
<br />
I walked into the gym and there was a lady on the treadmill. Kiss of death, she had the TV on; that's when I know someone's there for the long haul. The treadmill's the best piece of equipment in the room, especially now that the elliptical died. The elliptical's usable but there's no resistance option now that the battery's dead.<br />
<br />
And, of course, she turned the TV up shortly after I arrived. Maybe she was concerned I wouldn't hear the TV through my headphones. I already keep the music low enough I can hold conversations with my headphones on, when the TV's turned up, I can't hear the music at all. Thanks lady but I'm not interested in the beautiful doctors or Jamie Lee Curtis.<br />
<br />
I exercised for fifteen minutes (missing my 20 minutes on the treadmill) then headed over to the pool area and discovered it's closed for a pump issue. Thankfully it should be open by this evening. When I left the room, the lady was still on the treadmill.<br />
<br />
I walked into the elevator in gym clothes and runners, a towel draped over one arm, water bottle in the other hand, headphones over my ears, and an MP3 player strapped onto my upper arm. There's a woman in the elevator. She looks over and asks, "Are you doing laundry?" I wonder if she'll ask if I'm going to the gym when I drag my waist high laundry basket downstairs.<br />
<br />
And now, while it's quiet, I'm going back to edit Small Dreams a bit more.<br />
<br />
--------> off to sharpen my hatchetSunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-18891680176138211942012-12-30T11:33:00.000-08:002012-12-30T11:34:32.172-08:00Contemplating 2013Today I found myself pondering the irony of planning a healthy 2013 while eating Lindor chocolate balls for breakfast. Maybe there are people out there who eat perfectly all the time, exercise every single day, and always get eight hours of sleep a night but I'm not one of them. Also, I got an absolute flood of chocolate for Christmas. Lindor balls, After Eights, Quality Street mixed chocolates, cookies filled with chocolate hazelnut, and a double handful of hot chocolate packets. The good news is I'll be starting the new year off with clean cupboards. Let's not talk about the bad news <i>*glares at stomach*</i>.<br />
<br />
The chocolates are almost gone, just the After Eights are left unless son's been raiding the cupboard again. Nope, just checked and they're still there. Which is fine because two sticks are 50 calories so they'll make a nice treat on my lunch break at work. And onwards to my goals for next year...<br />
<br />
1. <b>See my friends more often</b><br />
<br />
I'm starting off well with this one. I've made plans to visit friends on New Year's Day and am in the midst of making plans to hang out with two other friends. Hopefully this will continue throughout the year. The reality is I'm an introvert and I hate the phone. As my kids well know, I refer to it as that damn ringing thing and have been known to yell at it. I also approach it with the caution some people reserve for handling poisonous snakes, which makes it tricky to make plans. But I'm quite easy to entertain. I've had friends call up and say "Hey, we're washing the car and buying groceries. Do you want to come?" And I'm all "sure, I'll be right over". So if you're getting your oil changed and need someone to chat with, give me a call.<br />
<br />
2. <b>Write more</b><br />
<br />
Now this one might not transfer to here seeing as I have been writing more and editing more. But it's been in my novel and not here. For years I have worked on my novel, Small Dreams for a few weeks or month then given up in defeat, declaring the novel utter garbage and walking away for several months until trying again. This time it's been different. I still read for pleasure but I'm also reading and picking apart novels. How do I get the characters to show emotion? How do I describe tone of voice? What transitions work better? I don't want to copy my favourite authors, I just want to get a general idea on how to make sections of the novel flow. And I'm cautiously optimistic it's been working. I've been using my teenage son as a guinea pig. Son has language based learning disabilities as part of his autism and has never enjoyed reading. I have bought all sorts of books over the years for him to read and for me to read to him, with minimal luck. Most of the books end up abandoned a few chapters in, with my son saying "Can't we just read tomorrow instead of today?" ad nauseam until I give up. Small Dreams isn't aimed at teenage boys, it's a novel about two young adults, in their early twenties. Jessica (the main character, it's a first person book) and Chris. The book starts the day they find out she's pregnant and ends the day she gives birth. It follows them as they struggle to make a better life for themselves despite Jessica's abusive family and a couple of false friends. Son loves the book and asks me daily if I've got another chapter to read to him. And he has favourite lines he'll remember and quote back a month or so later. I read a section to daughter yesterday and she laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch. Thankfully it was supposed to be funny.<br />
<br />
I submitted Piece of Mind back in October and, quite frankly, don't expect it to be accepted. I tried my best but I wrote 75% of the novel in three weeks and barely managed to scrape across the minimum amount of words for acceptance. I looked over the first few chapters a few weeks ago and realized it needs a lot of work, especially fleshing out Tamara (the main character). I have a great back story to explain why 17 year old Tamara is living on her own and working full time as a hairdresser instead of being in school. The only problem is <u>I didn't add it to the novel</u>. My daughter commented that she kept forgetting Tamara was a teenager as she seemed so much older. I need to add the farking back story. Also, Tamara's an orphan but for half of the book she might as well have hatched. She never once mentions her parents or older sister until she's giving birth, chapters into the book. She loved her parents, I need to have her think of them from time to time.<br />
<br />
So my plans for this year are to finish editing Small Dreams and get that book submitted somewhere, hopefully by mid-January, then move on to Piece of Mind, flesh it out and get it submitted. Then resubmit Small Dreams and start fleshing out sequels to both books then resubmit Piece of Mind... and so on until one of them gets accepted. Then I'll run around like a chicken with it's head cut off and start revising.<br />
<br />
In between all that I'll write in here.<br />
<br />
3. <b>Eat healthier and simpler</b><br />
<br />
Simpler is the key part to this goal. I don't have the time to cook for hours each evening, not while working full time and writing. But I do have fifteen minutes to half an hour to cook pasta, rice, lentils, spinach, etc. And I need to make sure I've got handy things to pack in my lunch like muffins, yogourt, and rolls so I'm not buying extras at work. There is nothing at work (other than the tea and coffee) that fits into my real food diet. Nothing. Even the eggs have well over ten ingredients and the hot powdered beverages are scary. Pomegranate seeds and pistachios are a great snack... a lot better than a chocolate chip muffin with dubious ingredients.<br />
<br />
4. <b>Exercise</b><br />
<br />
I have a gym and pool 30 seconds away by elevator. There is no good reason not to use them. Regularly.<br />
<br />
5. <b>Honesty</b><br />
<br />
I need to stop using the monster under the bed approach to solving life's problems. You know, hiding my head under the covers and hoping it disappears. This only works for imaginary monsters, not the real ones. When I'm feeling bad, hiding and just saying nothing won't make things better. But sharing will bring support. Same goes for writing in my diary and doing a photo a day. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be real.<br />
<br />
And on that, I'm heading out to buy groceries so I've got healthy food for the new year.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-19820022926097607182012-12-20T08:52:00.000-08:002012-12-20T08:52:19.055-08:00Mid winter ramblingsI haven't been writing here in a while. Not that I haven't been writing, it's just that my writing time has been reserved for brief updates on Facebook and mostly working on my novel, Small Dreams.<br />
<br />
Today, however, is different. Today I'm home with a cold and my thoughts are skittering around madly like cockroaches when the light's turned on. I'm not really focusing well enough to edit my novel so I'm inflicting my thoughts here where they're being read for free. Not that I'm actually getting paid for my novels yet but I'm hoping that will change some day. I've got no financial hopes pinned here.<br />
<br />
I confess, I stink at editing. Small Dreams is continually bouncing around between 452 and 460 pages, kind of like a yo-yo dieter. I hack out some pages, mostly days where the main characters do nothing but go to work, come home, chat over dinner, and wash the dishes (what on earth was I thinking when I wrote those days?) then the pages creep back up in the form of dialogue and observations.<br />
<br />
I've been observing my kids more and more for dialogue, especially now that they're teenagers and come up with interesting statements. My son, while hilarious, ends up saying things that don't really suit the characters so it's more my daughter I use. Son, I will share with you.<br />
<br />
My son showed signs of his offbeat sense of humour years ago. Picture it. We're standing in a busy line at the movie theatre, waiting to buy tickets. He's the picture of innocence. Bright blue eyes, gleaming dark blond hair, and a smile curving his lips. He clasps both hands together, tilts his head and announces in the sweetest voice ever, "I'm a disturbing little boy." Right out of the blue.<br />
<br />
Last week we were grocery shopping and I needed salad fixings (I pretty much always need salad fixings). I went to grab my usual mixed greens and son blurted, "No, you need to buy this one" then pointed at one of those packages of lettuce alive. It was fresh and green so I picked it up. That was when son noticed the root ball underneath.<br />
<br />
His eyes widened. "Mom! We have to plant that as soon as we get home.We can plant it in the tree in the living room." Yeah, the ficus tree I have growing behind the futon. Because, a, it would grow so well behind the futon and, b, I want to do flips over the back every time I make a salad. So I reminded him that lettuce needs light and it was not the right time of year to grow anything on our balcony. He looked so disappointed I assured him we could grow lettuce in the summer then wanted to know why he wanted to grow it in the first place seeing as he treats lettuce like it's poison.<br />
<br />
"Ben and Bean [our guinea pigs] eat lettuce and they're my friends. I want lettuce for them." He paused and we kept walking then he continued. "They're friends... friends I keep in a cage and never allow free."<br />
<br />
Okay then creepy child.<br />
<br />
Later on we were walking home and son informed me that his class is learning about people and who to trust. His teacher had a page with pictures of various people and asked the kids who they would pick off the page to trust. Every child but one picked the shot of an innocent looking child. My son picked the 6ft tall man with a mohawk. Curious, I asked him why. Not that I have anything against 6ft tall men with mohawks, it just seemed like an interesting choice.<br />
<br />
Son rolled his eyes. "Doesn't <i>anyone</i> watch movies? You never trust kids that age, they're the ones who know where all the bodies are hidden."<br />
<br />
The plus side is, if I ever decide to write a horror, I just need to follow my son around with a pad of paper and a pen.<br />
<br />
Now my throat has convinced me that an ice cream sundae is a splendid choice for lunch. The chocolate ice cream has calcium and the marshmallow fluff is full of egg whites and protein. And the salted caramel sauce has... well it has... it doesn't matter I'm sure it has vital nutritional requirements my body needs.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-30088419793079419892012-10-14T15:35:00.005-07:002012-10-14T15:39:58.536-07:00My life? What life?That title pretty much sums up my last four weeks.<br />
<br />
Last month I went onto some forums I frequent and discovered a post saying Harper Voyager was starting a new line of ebooks and looking for new authors. You can imagine my excitement. Then reality came crashing down on me. The books were fantasy/sci-fi and could only be submitted from October 1-14th.<br />
<br />
I have two books. One is a completed novel called "Small Dreams" that I was in the process of proof-reading, the second was not even named and maybe a quarter completed. The second was young urban fantasy. Small Dreams isn't.<br />
<br />
I'd started the second novel after a weird dream. The dream was so bizarre I just had to write it down. Once those couple of paragraphs were written, I expanded on it. What could have happened? Why did it happen? Who did it happen to? How did those characters meet? Soon I had the makings of a novel.<br />
<br />
I'd set the main character, named Tamara, as a 35 year old woman and created a love interest for her by the way of 37 year old Thomson. However, the remaining characters were all in their teens. By close to halfway through the book, Tamara and Thomson were relegated to the role of babysitters. I tucked the book away and ignored it.<br />
<br />
A year later I opened it again and decided to change Tamara from a 35 year old to a 17 year old. Thomson followed suit, turning into an 18 year old. They were still older than the other characters but close enough in age to be friends instead of babysitters. And frankly, Tamara's relatively immature personality suited being 17 instead of 35. As a teenager she comes off as smart and mature for her age, as a 35 year old she ended up being immature and a bit whiny.<br />
<br />
Faced with rewriting this novel or brushing up on Small Dreams, I chose the latter. It was a lot closer to being ready to submit and it made more sense to focus on it. Then came this opportunity. My first thought was despair, there was no way I could finish this book in time. I work full-time and have my autistic teenager living with me. There's only so many hours in one day.<br />
<br />
That was when it dawned on me. If I never tried then I was right, there really was no way I could finish this book. The only way I'd know for sure was if I tried. When I opened the novel, it was at just under 30,000 words with at least 10,000 words needing to be deleted. I needed to bring it up to a minimum of 70,000 words.<br />
<br />
My life for the past month has consisted of me waking up, getting ready for work, and racing out to the bus. On the bus I sit with a notepad and pen and jot down novel ideas in point form. I work for 8 to 8.5 hours then take the bus home again, re-reading my notes. Then I sit at the computer and write, squeezing out a brief time for eating dinner with my son.<br />
<br />
Slowly the framework for the novel built up, I hacked out everything that spoke of "babysitter" and chucked in a new murder to keep it a bit more face paced. Everything in my life revolved around my novel. My son came home from school one afternoon and asked me how my day went. My response? It went fine. Tamara and Dre are on the bus now and she's in labour.<br />
<br />
Another evening he asked me what I was making for dinner. I turned around wild eyed and said "I can't make dinner right now. Tamara's giving birth and having rape flashbacks". Son shrugged then said "okay, I'll get out the leftovers". My life? My life was the book.<br />
<br />
October first came and went. I was halfway through my novel word-count wise and rapidly running out of plot. Co-workers would ask me if I'd have the novel ready on time and I'd smile and say "of course" and "I'm giving it my best shot". In reality I felt only the second was true. I was trying my hardest but still had 30,000 words to write in two weeks, while adding a lot more plot. I didn't think I could make it but still, the only option was to try. I'd never make it if I gave up. Thanksgiving flew by. I cooked ravioli and begrudged the time it took for the water to boil. We ate and I went right back to my room.<br />
<br />
Yesterday morning I sat down at the computer with 60,000 words written... 10,000 words to go. Then I did nothing but write. Our fire alarm went off in the afternoon. I picked up my netbook and wrote downstairs outside our building. By evening I was averaging 1,000 per hour. I was going to do it.<br />
<br />
Just before midnight I was at 69,200 words. I decided to save my novel in Word format and finish it up there, just so I knew I had the right word count for submission. My heart sank. Open Office counts every word written for their word count. Word ignores small words like "a", "and", and "the". Within seconds I'd gone from being 800 words away from minimum to being 3,500 words away. I'd hoped I'd have the novel finished by midnight. By 1am I was up to 68,000. By 1:30am I decided I'd open the submission form and get that finished so I could just attach the novel when I was done. I had the form bookmarked but, when I scrolled down it wasn't there. Instead was a bunch of letters wanting to know why the page had closed so soon. I closed the page and went to bed.<br />
<br />
I woke six restless hours later and decided I was going to just keep on trying. I'd find a submission email on the page and email my novel instead. It wasn't the best option but it was better than sitting in my bedroom and crying. I sat back down and wrote the last 1,500 words then edited what I'd written the previous night, adding a few badly missing transitions (note Kathleen... your characters are telepaths, they can't teleport). It was done. At least as done as I could make it today.<br />
<br />
I went on the website and found a message saying there'd been a technical error and the submission form was going back up soon. I felt like singing. I felt like dancing. Well not really, that was when I realized it was 1pm, I'd been up for five hours and I hadn't eaten anything. I was also so exhausted my eyes were crossing and I desperately needed a shower. By the time I woke back up and had a shower the submission form was up. I ate before my nap, I think I had soup, I wasn't that awake.<br />
<br />
Of course there were a few glitches after that. The biggest, most heart attack inducing was when I made a new word document so I could make sure I had 1,000 words for the submission. I saved it as "first thousand words" then closed it and opened my novel. Piece of Mind opened up as 1 of 3 pages, 1,005 words. I usually save my novel every single night but, last night I'd just gone to sleep. My last saved version was Open Office and I'd written almost 5,000 words since then. I was able to retrieve the novel and restart my heart.<br />
<br />
And I am so grateful for my friends who really came through for me, answering questions on Facebook like "what colour is the umbilical cord during birth?" "if someone got shot, where would the best place be?" "are chest tubes removed through surgery and would a minor need someone to sign paperwork?" "what would people grow and raise on a small farm?" and my all time favourite:<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">Also, lets say someone's killed by a mental
attack, described as a thought that pushes into the mind like a knife.
In an autopsy, what would make more sense to find, a stroke or an
aneurysm? I'm waffling between the two and frankly don't know enough
about either to make a decision.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">A friend of mine emailed her mother multiple times before we decided it was six of one half dozen of the other, both were similar and an aneurysm could cause a stroke.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">And my friends pulled through for naming the novel as well. I tossed out a synopsis and asked for name suggestions. My friend, Robert, came up with Piece of Mind. Which doesn't even get him a cup of coffee but will net a mention in the credits if this ever gets published.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">If my friends didn't know I was insane before I started this writing blitz, I'm sure they've guessed by now. A friend of mine posted this on my Facebook page and I felt it summed things up nicely:</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/525_392098360863846_150469066_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/525_392098360863846_150469066_n.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
<br />
<span class="userContent">And now I need to restart my life. I haven't set foot in our pool in a month. It's in the basement, a 30 second elevator ride away. I haven't read a book other than briefly on the bus. I haven't gone for a walk. And you don't want to see my kitchen or living room. I don't want to see them either. It might be easier to burn them and start fresh. I haven't blogged here either.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">I don't know what will happen now. I won't stop writing, that's for sure. I've got Small Dreams to whittle down and polish and I left enough open ends for sequels to Piece of Mind. This opportunity was just that, one opportunity. But first I'm going to go grocery shopping and shovel out my kitchen and then I'm going for a swim.</span>Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-17845085831578749632012-09-15T14:06:00.000-07:002012-09-19T14:39:00.776-07:00Parenting, prejudice, and tough love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b>Update:</b> When I first posted this entry, the photo was fairly new. I searched Facebook and discovered the person's name was there and had the same profile picture as the photo. She was friends with the person who replied and that profile picture also matched. I couldn't find the matching status but her profile wasn't set to public and, if I had a status making the rounds on Facebook (in not a positive manner) I'd have deleted it too. Then I found a non-grainy photo of the status, it looked real. I searched Google for final confirmation and found about 3 or 4 entries under her name. An Etsy, Twitter, and a MyLife account. I think there might have been one more. I couldn't find the age of her son but did confirm she was a mother. I didn't tag her in this blog as I was writing more to discuss my feelings on what was written and not the author of the status, but I didn't see the point in removing names and photos from the picture.<br />
<br />
Several days ago I posted a link to this entry on a forum I frequent. That day the woman who set up the forum posted the picture on her own blog, Regretsy. Yesterday someone came onto the forum to claim the person was her niece and had been framed; she also posted a reply on my blog. I sent her a message asking her for more information but heard nothing. Thankfully Helen, the pseudonym of the woman running Regresty, was able to talk to the person who supposedly wrote this status. Her son is three years old, no where near old enough to walk home on his own with anyone. She hadn't written it.<br />
<br />
Now comes the scary part. Within a half-hour of my blog entry, someone had already created a Facebook page, "[name]: Homophobe and Child Abuser?" with people sending her messages and threatening violence. And, remember I said I found three or four entries under her name? Google now brings up 17,500 results. Many of which show up as "<span class="st">Let's draw some more attention to [name] and her friend, [name]. <b>...</b> How absolutely disgusting and disgraceful, thank you, [name] and [friend's name] <b>..." </b>Page after page of identical listings. I got up to the 16th page before I found an entry that didn't have anything to do with her (one of those "Did you go to school with anyone named [first name] or [last name]? Find your friend here" entries). Note that wasn't where the entries against her ended, it was just where it stopped being all her. There are many pages beyond that.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">I removed the reply to this post as it mentioned her by name. I have also removed her name from the picture and from my blog. I'm keeping my blog entry up but please keep in mind the photo is fictional. And, if you have written a blog about this photo and the women involved in it, please un-tag them and remove their names. They've had enough negative attention and would like to fade out of the public eye.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="st"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="st">***************************************************************</span></div>
<span class="st"><em></em><em></em><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qBtlC9TBmEw/UFoyhtiD2zI/AAAAAAAAAaw/xlFPBF2JNAs/s1600/hb-edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qBtlC9TBmEw/UFoyhtiD2zI/AAAAAAAAAaw/xlFPBF2JNAs/s320/hb-edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I have seen this picture on Facebook several times since last night and each time it makes my heart heavy. Here's a mother determined to stamp out what should be nurtured in her child; kindness, open-mindedness, and empathy. It makes me want to give both those kids hugs. Both deserve to be able to walk home with their neighbour without threats of violence.<br />
<br />
Her friend's comment about tough love baffles me. Obviously this person has no idea what tough love is. Tough love is allowing your teenager to deal with the consequences of their actions. They do something wrong and you do not step in to fix things for them, hoping that the results will show them in a way lectures won't. Tough love involves stepping back, you are not the consequences and you don't deal the consequences. It is not an excuse to violently pass your prejudices onto your children.<br />
<br />
The other part that confuses me is their ages. How old are they? If they're prepubescent children then how does she know this boy is gay? Is she assuming because of interests or personality? My son was uniformly described as "sweet" when he was a child. He used to bring his baby doll to school and loved the colour pink. He's 15 years old now and hanging out with his girlfriend as I type. You can't judge kids (anyone for that matter) based on stereotypes. And, if they're old enough for this kid to have actually come out, then why on earth is she spanking her son? If she is putting her hand on her teenage son's backside, I hope someone from child protective services is investigating this family.<br />
<br />
One proud moment in my life came one afternoon when my daughter got home from school. This was back when she was in grade eight and, for some unknown reason, the school decided it would be fun to invite all the boys and girls in the senior classes to stay at school for a sleepover. It was going to be heavily supervised and my daughter was eager to attend. All the kids were talking about it. That afternoon, however, my daughter was angry. Sarah*, a classmate of hers, had confided in one of her friends that she was bisexual. On the bus ride that morning, the friend had spread that information around. Her excuse was that she felt everyone should know before the sleepover. And, of course, that information spread within minutes of the buses arrival. Daughter got to school in time to hear a group of her classmates loudly proclaim that there was no way they'd sleep anywhere near Sarah. That was when my daughter walked up to her and told Sarah that she could put her sleeping bag beside daughter's bag. She wasn't going to spend the sleepover alone.<br />
<br />
Anyone who's had a preteen/young teen girl knows what these years are like. Sleepover central. Two days later my daughter got an invitation to go for a sleepover at Sarah's house. What does a parent do? In my home, I request to go and visit the parents. I spoke to the Mom and got a general idea of what their home was like. Squalid and disorganized but I didn't see anything that would actively harm daughter and hoped maybe the rampant messiness would be an eye opener to prod her into cleaning her own room (it wasn't). They slept over at each other's homes a few times before Sarah moved.<br />
<br />
I allowed daughter to deal with the consequences of her actions, with support and praise from me. If you stand up for someone in front of bullies you paint a target on your shirt. Daughter learned this as vandalism of school property (namely graffiti against Sarah) quickly occurred and was blamed on daughter by the same girls who had refused to sleep near Sarah in the first place. What did daughter learn from her actions? She has about three friends now who are "out" (I'm sure she will tell me the exact number once she reads my blog) so I figure one thing was standing up for friends and supporting them.<br />
<br />
This woman too has learned one thing from her actions, her page is no longer totally public since her status went viral (her friend, on the other hand, seems to have missed this lesson). I can only hope she's learned something as well that her son already knew, kindness and empathy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
* yes, I just picked a name at randomSunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-76762405878983332562012-09-01T18:09:00.000-07:002012-09-01T18:09:23.302-07:00The weirdest guests everIt was almost twenty years ago and my now ex-husband T* and I were engaged. He was chatting on the phone with a friend of his when the friend got a call from another high school classmate and drew her into the conversation on 3-way. T was not impressed as he remembered the classmate as someone who thrived on drama and created it wherever she went. By the end of the call he'd decided the classmate had changed and exchanged phone numbers with her. Over the course of several months they chatted back and forth and eventually we decided to get together for a visit. Her kids were living one town over from us with her parents and she and her boyfriend visited them every weekend. They could come over for lunch... tomorrow.<br />
<br />
This was back in the early 90's when internet was dial-up and rare and cellphones were as big as cordless phones and equally as rare. They didn't know where we lived and Google Maps and GPS devices weren't options. We settled on having them call us once they reached her parents' house to get further directions and to give us a head's up they were on their way.<br />
<br />
T rolled out of bed the following morning, walked to the window and announced "they're here". I laughed and told him to quit joking. He ran to the closet and pulled on the first pair of pants he found (thankfully his) then said "I'm not kidding. They're walking across the street right now. I'll try to stall them so you have time to get dressed." And off he ran, pulling on his shirt as he barrelled across the living room and down the stairs.<br />
<br />
I jumped out of bed and looked around in a panic. I was in my pjs with messy hair and unbrushed teeth, the bed was unmade, I had nothing ready, food-wise, at all. Of course it was only 8:30am and they were supposed to be coming for lunch. I pulled up the sheets and got myself presentable as quickly as possible. Finished brushing my teeth as they were walking up the stairs.<br />
<br />
T's friend announced she was tired and needed coffee then made a beeline for the kitchen. The little girl raced right to the bookcase and started throwing books around the living room. The little boy ran for the furniture, where he alternated between trying to poke holes in the fabric so he could rip the stuffing out and jumping off the back of a chair, narrowly missing the coffee table. The boyfriend glanced around then scoffed, "This is it? Where's the rest of your apartment?" then started detailing how much bigger and better their place was.<br />
<br />
T's friend wandered into the living room. She was wearing spandex pants and a ratty t-shirt with a huge hole over the nipple... and no bra. I spent our whole conversation alternating between staring at her feet and the wall behind her. She was heartbroken she hadn't gotten us a wedding present but was great at doing nails and had all sorts of colours and rhinestones that she could use. Wouldn't it be so cool? We'd have matching nails.<br />
<br />
Before I could answer, the little boy announced that his sister had peed on one of our cushions... that she'd placed on a stack of my books. I raced to grab the books and asked the parents to deal with their little angels. The Mom immediately remembered that her coffee wasn't finished yet and scuttled off to the kitchen. Her boyfriend informed me it was his meditation time, then proceeded to sit cross legged in the corner with his fingers beside his head and hum loudly. Both kids were screaming by this time and jumping off any furniture they could find onto yet more of my books.<br />
<br />
I grabbed every book and shoved them into my room then announced I was making lunch. It was 9am. I'd had some ideas for lunch but those plans had revolved around me getting up and cooking for a few hours before our guests arrived. And, by this time, I didn't want them in our house any longer than necessary. I hauled two cans of soup out of the cupboard and chucked them in a pot then tossed together a salad. It didn't seem like much of a meal so I pulled out one of those microwavable powdered sauce and cake mixes. Then I called Mr Meditation and kids into the kitchen to eat.<br />
<br />
While I was childless at the time, I wasn't an idiot, and I'd placed the kids half full bowls of soup in the freezer to cool. The boyfriend walked in and immediately started complaining. He never bought canned foods, he made everything from scratch. He had at least twice as many spices as us and couldn't imagine cooking with that few. And our storage space, or lack thereof, he had no idea how we could function with so little space.<br />
<br />
As I placed the bowls on the table, the boyfriend started telling us about how he'd been badly abused as a child and this had left him super macho and totally impervious to pain. Just then I put the girl's tepid bowl of soup in front of him, he knocked it onto his lap and immediately started screaming about the pain and how badly it was burning him. Thankfully he shut up when I told him the bowl had been in the freezer for the past five minutes and the soup was almost cold. T was obviously trying to stifle laughter by this point.<br />
<br />
The soup was finished fairly quickly and I started making dessert. Once again the boyfriend complained. His desserts were all (of course) from scratch and he hated packaged desserts. He hated it so much he inhaled his helping then took seconds before T and I had a chance to get our first serving, finishing the bowl.<br />
<br />
T saved the day. He hated to be rude but we'd been invited to a (nonspecific) family function and we needed to leave now. It was great seeing them and, oops, don't forget your purse or your son. We'd finished lunch and had them out the door before 10am.<br />
<br />
That was the last time we ever spoke to them. Heartbreaking, I know. I'm sure she would have decorated my nails up really fancy for my big day too. Pink and purple leopard spots with rhinestones or something equally tasteful. It would have been a memory to remember.<br />
<br />
<br />
*T has nothing to do with my ex-husband's name. It's just the key I jabbed while picking an initial.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-68898653755985257112012-08-25T10:14:00.003-07:002013-01-09T12:34:04.089-08:00Chocolate cake with salted caramel sauce<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNr6nt0KOGg/UDj_aGcb4JI/AAAAAAAAAaI/D7Ii_GzZhjM/s1600/chocolate+salted+caramel+cake1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNr6nt0KOGg/UDj_aGcb4JI/AAAAAAAAAaI/D7Ii_GzZhjM/s400/chocolate+salted+caramel+cake1.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I came home from work yesterday afternoon absolutely craving chocolate. My daughter was coming over a half hour after I got home and I decided to splurge and make cake for when she arrived. I was making the frosting when she walked in the door. Got the butter softened, went to measure the icing sugar then cursed under my breath, I only had half the amount needed. With half the frosting I wouldn't have enough to cover the whole cake. Then I had the brilliant idea of making a caramel sauce to drizzle on the cake as well. As you can see from the picture above, it worked really well and the kids and I have pretty much demolished it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The recipes come from a variety of sources. The cake itself came from a member of an online forum I frequent. I don't think she's been on the forum in a year, but I got the recipe a year ago and have used it frequently since then. Here it is... Pixie Holly's cake recipe in her own words:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Version>14.00</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:TargetScreenSize>800x600</o:TargetScreenSize>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-CA</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/>
<w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/>
<w:OverrideTableStyleHps/>
</w:Compatibility>
<w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";}
</style>
<![endif]-->
</div>
<span lang="EN-US">Pixie Holly’s Cake Recipe</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">My go-to is the old family recipe... it's more of a method
than a recipe, really, since it's so scalable. Equal amounts of butter, sugar and self-raising flour, and
an egg for every 2oz of the other ingredients. So for a small batch of cupcakes it would be 6oz of flour,
6oz sugar, 6oz butter, 3 eggs. For a double layered cake I'd do 8oz and 4 eggs.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">The equal parts + eggs thing is BASICALLY just a pound cake
(the name of which comes from using a pound of each ingredient) but that would
make a FUCKOFF GIANT CAKE so I tend to go a bit smaller. ;)</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">You cream together the butter and sugar, then add the flour
and eggs alternately a little at a time until all of the eggs are in and
there's a little flour left. Fold in the remaining flour and then stick it in
the oven @350 until it passes the toothpick test. If you have milk or cream,
adding a splash of that is even better.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">You can alter it up by replacing some of the flour with
cocoa or putting in lemon or coconut or chocolate chips or WHATEVER YOUR GREEDY
LITTLE HEART DESIRES.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I love this recipe because it has 4 basic
ingredients as opposed to the 50 fucking things they put in a box mix and
they're ingredients you can have on hand whenever you need them. Also, you get
to say "I baked it from scratch" and look all smug even though it
isn't ANY more difficult than making one out of a box. ;) </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*************************************************</div>
<br />
My only advice if you add chocolate chips, toss them in some flour first before adding them to the mix. I made my daughter a vanilla cake with chocolate chips for her 16th birthday and all the chips fell to the bottom of the pan while baking. I also find the cake makes very small layers. When I make the cake as a double layer cake I use 8 inch instead of 9 inch pans. Yesterday I poured the whole double layer version into one 9 inch pan and it worked well.<br />
<br />
Next comes my Nana's Butter Frosting recipe, again in her words:<br />
<br />
Butter Frosting<br />
<br />
1/4 cup butter<br />
2 cups icing sugar<br />
1 tsp vanilla<br />
3 tbsp cream or milk<br />
<br />
Cream butter till fluffy. Add half the sugar gradually and beat. Add flavouring and cream and beat. Add remaining sugar and beat.<br />
<br />
1) Butter can read margarine.<br />
2) Beat with a spoon or an electric beater. Make sure your bowl is not too big.<br />
3) Cream/milk - I sometimes use hot water<br />
4) If it's too runny, add more sugar<br />
5) If it's too stiff, add more liquid - carefully, a little goes a long way.<br />
6) Half this recipe will frost an 8 inch single layer cake<br />
<br />
Variations for butter icing<br />
<br />
Chocolate - add 2 or 3 tbsp dark cocoa or 2 squares melted<br />
<br />
Orange or lemon - use 1 1/2 tbsp grated rind and 3 tbsp orange or lemon juice in place of vanilla and cream<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
********************************************</div>
<br />
As for the salted caramel recipe, I found it on a website called <a href="http://nomnomblingbling.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank"></a><a href="http://www.alli-n-son.com/" target="_blank">Alli 'n Sons</a> while looking for a chocolate and salted caramel ice cream recipe. I didn't need the ice cream part for this recipe but the caramel sauce came in quite nicely:<br />
<br />
<br />
Sea Salt Caramel Sauce
<br />
<ul id="zlrecipe-ingredients-list">
<li class="ingredient" id="zlrecipe-ingredient-10" itemprop="ingredients">4 tablespoons unsalted butter (1/4 cup)</li>
<li class="ingredient" id="zlrecipe-ingredient-11" itemprop="ingredients">1 cup brown sugar, packed
</li>
<li class="ingredient" id="zlrecipe-ingredient-12" itemprop="ingredients">1/2 cup half-and-half
</li>
<li class="ingredient" id="zlrecipe-ingredient-13" itemprop="ingredients">1 teaspoon sea salt
</li>
<li class="ingredient" id="zlrecipe-ingredient-14" itemprop="ingredients">1 tablespoon vanilla extract
</li>
</ul>
In a medium saucepan over medium-low heat, mix together the butter,
brown sugar, half and half, and sea salt. Cook while whisking gently for
5 to 7 minutes, until thicker. Add the vanilla extract and cook another
minute to thicken further. Turn off heat and pour sauce into a jar.
Refrigerate until cold. Caramel will continue to thicken as it cools.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
************************************************</div>
<br />
I didn't have any unsalted butter so I skipped the teaspoon of sea salt, sprinkling a little over the top of the sauce to taste.<br />
<br />
So there you have it, a symphony for your mouth. Enjoy!Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-68641297810855843982012-08-15T17:37:00.000-07:002012-08-15T17:37:32.188-07:00It can happen to youA couple of year ago my, then 14 year old daughter argued for her right to go forth and chat with other teenagers online. I didn't like it but, after multiple conversations regarding online safety, finally let her sign up for an account on a site called TeenSpot. I can't remember how long daughter went on the site, a half year maybe. She'd gone there to chat with kids her own age and grew tired of being propositioned instead. She left the site with two friends. Erik, a teenager near her age in a town an hour from us and Brad, a 17 year old from Ohio.<br />
<br />
At the beginning daughter primarily chatted with Erik and he was the one who made my shit-meter skyrocket. The kid had enough drama in his life to fuel a dozen soap operas. His girlfriend was pregnant and abusive. She tied him down and burned him with a lit cigarette when he tried to break up with her. Then had a miscarriage. Then raped him and became pregnant again. He'd been living with his Dad and step-mother, who was pregnant with twin girls. His sister was also pregnant with a girl and due at the same time. Suddenly his Dad and step Mom couldn't deal with all the kids and the new babies so him and his sibling were off to his Mom's house to live. At least he got along with his step Dad. But wait. Mom's having an affair with her abusive ex-boyfriend who moved in at the same time as the kids.<br />
<br />
The story continued through planted drugs, two beatings by the boyfriend (requiring hospitalization), going to juvenile detention (where he could apparently borrow phones and text for hours at a time)... and culminated with his Mom being beaten to death by her boyfriend, first giving birth at 18 weeks to a healthy baby girl while in a coma. Apparently the baby was taken home by the boyfriend since no one could prove the Mom hadn't fallen down the stairs a few times and accidentally killed herself. And his girlfriend gave birth to twins, also born months premature and fine. All babies went home after a few days. And, of course none of this ended up in the paper.<br />
<br />
That was only some of the drama. I knew Erik was a liar. I knew most of the stories were false. I also knew daughter was no where near ready to hear that her wonderful online boyfriend was fake. Through it all she quietly chatted with Brad and slowly decided that he was the one she wanted to date. My first reaction was a sigh of relief. He lived in another country, unlike Erik who could hop on a Greyhound to visit, and I never heard any drama from him.<br />
<br />
Brad had talked to daughter about how he wanted to come up to Canada to go to college, which didn't faze me at all. I didn't think either of them had thought of the logistics of him applying for school in another country. What concerned me more was his talk of coming down to visit for her birthday. These talks went on for months and I grew more concerned as summer grew closer. I flat out insisted on being there for the initial meeting and bringing a friend with me as my middle-aged 5ft 3in self isn't that intimidating. I assured daughter that I was not going to embarrass her, we'd sit on the other side of whatever restaurant they picked. But I had to be there. My parents meanwhile offered free use of their trailer to Brad. Said trailer is parked in their driveway under their bedroom window.<br />
<br />
This is when my shit-meter started rising with Brad. He disappeared for two weeks and didn't resurface until my daughter changed her status to "single" on Facebook. He immediately reappeared with a tale of a horrific car accident that left him with two broken legs, a concussion, second and third degree burn, and a bunch of other injuries. A very convenient accident and an even more convenient reappearance. And, once again, I couldn't find a single mention of this horrific accident online in his local paper.<br />
<br />
Thankfully daughter began to have some concerns of her own. Brad had been stocking shelves in a grocery store one day and working at a plastic factory the next. Then she looked at his Yahoo ID and realized he had a different last name on there. I promised to search up with I could and ask a friend to help me. I had daughter on one Facebook chat and friend on another. She's messaging me to see if we'd found anything and my friend's messages popped up. Thirty-six years old (as of last year)... 275lbs... married father... new baby. I'm relaying messages to daughter and consoling her at the same time.<br />
<br />
Since then we've gone to the police, who aren't sure if there's anything they can do. She's over the legal age and talking, even if you're pretending to be a teenager, isn't illegal. The big concern is his interest in coming for a visit.<br />
<br />
There's not much I can say to parents. You're totally hampered by what your kids want to hear. All you can do is be there and be ready to listen when they want to talk. As for the kids. Please, please trust your instincts. Don't assume nothing could ever happen to you. Don't assume that just because you've been talking to someone for ages, everything's obviously fine. This guy talked like a teenager. He acted like a teenager. Daughter had been texting him for year. He had a cellphone and she'd been talking to him. Never, ever meet someone for the first time alone. Thankfully my daughter could see no reason why he couldn't meet her with someone else there. Please don't be the one who does meet him because it would be fine to show up on your own. It can happen to you.<br />
<br />
And here are my daughter's words: <a href="http://shouldveknownbetter.webnode.com/" target="_blank">Daughter's blog</a>Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-4721944619582874792012-08-05T15:58:00.001-07:002013-08-09T16:46:35.732-07:00Ethics, rights, empathy, and fried chickenA couple of weeks ago my son came up to me. He was furious with Tide for discriminating against men. I haven't seen their ad as I don't watch TV, but my son explained they showed women doing a variety of household chores while thanking them for using their products. It wasn't fair that they didn't share clips of men doing household chores while thanking them.<br />
<br />
I tried to explain to him that women, overwhelmingly are stuck with the day to day chores. Chores which no one seems to notice, let alone offers thanks for a job well done. Even in families where both the man and the woman work, the woman still has the majority of the chores land on her shoulders. Son found this hard to grasp. He lives in a house run by me, his single Mom, and he doesn't see his father often. To him, life is pretty much run by women and he's the one scrubbing dishes while I call him on the way home from work saying, "I'm on the last bus, please make sure they're done before I get there."<br />
<br />
The discussion ended with frustration on both sides. Frustration for son because I didn't understand how he felt and frustration on my side because he wouldn't listen to what I was saying and understand the facts. Neither of us got anywhere.<br />
<br />
Around the same time as our discussion, I began seeing discussions about Chick-fil-a on Facebook, in the online news, and on a forum I frequent. Before this I'd never heard of the restaurant. We don't have it in Canada. The basic issues of unfairness and discrimination reminded me of the discussion I'd had with son; along with the feelings of frustration on both sides.<br />
<br />
I've done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks, helped along by copious amounts of Facebook pictures, comments, online articles, and discussions, and have finally organized my thoughts enough to share.<br />
<br />
My first thought is on rights. We talk a lot about our rights as a society in general. When you get right down to it though, none of us have rights. We have privileges based on where we live. Just ask an Iranian woman who was a university student in the 1960's if she still has<a href="http://pavanmickey.blogspot.ca/2012/07/beautiful-iran-in-1960s.html" target="_blank"> the same rights</a> she had back then. Human rights only exist when the majority of people are willing to treat everyone relatively equally and fairly and create and follow laws to uphold those values.<br />
<br />
That being said, I am strongly for equality and fairness. I think a society should be judged on how well the weakest members are treated, not the strongest. I feel that all people should have the right to live their lives fairly and peacefully and that children should be protected. Rights are not something that happens automatically. They are something to strive and work for. And they are worth working for.<br />
<br />
Tightly tied to rights comes the concept of discrimination. Discrimination is being treated less than equally compared to others around you. The key words there are "less than equally". I had an interview at a fast food restaurant that ended when the owner of the store realized I was a single mother. She seemed interested in hiring me right until then. I was a great prospective employee right up until "So what does your husband think about you working?" "You don't have a husband? But you have kids. Oh. Thanks for coming in. We don't have a position for you." That's discrimination. Granted, I did nothing about it but I couldn't see the point in trying to fight to work at minimum wage for a busy body who was<i> that</i> interested in my personal life.<br />
<br />
Less than equally also means in similar situations. It's discrimination if you're getting less hours at work because of your religion or skin colour. It's not discrimination if you're getting less hours at work because you show up 10 minutes late every day and call in "sick" two Fridays a month.<br />
<br />
I am also tired of hearing about discrimination where it's being defined as "I used to get special privileges above everyone else. Now I'm expected to be treated equal to others, that's discrimination". Some handy tips to distinguish between discrimination and wanting special privileges. Discrimination is being told that you cannot pray silently to yourself in a public place or that you cannot marry another consenting adult due to gender. Wanting special privileges is when you're fighting to keep other consenting adults from getting married because it's against your beliefs or insisting that a court house is the perfect place to showcase the 10 commandments because you feel everyone else should live by your beliefs. Discrimination is a lack of acceptance for your beliefs while wanting special privileges is a lack of acceptance for other's beliefs.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.panix.com/~mshaw/images/scarletLetter0419.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://www.panix.com/%7Emshaw/images/scarletLetter0419.png" width="200" /></a>And, while I'm on the topic, a lack of religious displays is not discrimination or pandering to atheism (a complaint I've heard before). A public place with no religious displays is simply a public space. Last time I checked, the library and local park were not hotbeds of atheist activity due to lack of religious symbols. If you ever see a public building with a giant scarlet <i>A</i> prominently displayed and the <a href="http://www.americanhumanist.org/humanism/Humanist_Manifesto_III" target="_blank">third Humanist manifesto</a> carved in the wall, you can talk to me then about discrimination.<br />
<br />
Also, the reason of "it's always been done this way" isn't a reason either because nothing has "always been done this way". Even if you've had every single person in the room pray before a public meeting for the past 20 years... twenty is not the same as always. And in 20 more years people will be equally convinced that meetings have "always" started without a prayer. Don't think I'm right? Listen to the people in the States who claim there's "always" been the words "In God we trust" on their money then do your own research.<br />
<br />
The twin excuses of "it's always been done this way" and "these are my religious beliefs and you can't discriminate against them" are playing out almost daily in the States lately to the detriment of both gays and women. Like I said above, discrimination is when <i>you</i> are personally being affected by someone else. Wanting special privileges is when you want to be treated above others because, in your mind, your beliefs are more important than others' rights. If you personally are against birth control, the answer is simple. Don't use freaking birth control. But you have no right or reason to ban others from using it because you don't like it. Your religion keeps you from even prescribing birth control. Don't get a job where you'll need to prescribe it. If you want to be a doctor, specialize. I'm willing to bet that ophthalmologists and gerontologists are never asked to prescribe birth control.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned above, around the same time my son was upset with Tide, there came a tidal wave of discussions regarding Chick-fil-a... a company I hadn't even heard of before. From what I understand it's a religious fast food place that sells chicken and has the weirdest slogan ever. When I first saw the slogan I thought one of my friends was mocking them. It wasn't until yesterday that I realized it's supposed to be on signs held by cows.<br />
<br />
I was already pretty much the last person on their list of potential customers. As a Canadian I live nowhere near their restaurants. As an atheist I have no interest in going into a restaurant where the food wrappers have religious slogans and praise music blares through the speakers. And as a vegetarian I don't think they've got anything other than fries for me to eat. So my boycott of Chick-fil-a was pretty much symbolic.<br />
<br />
What I want for all my friends is for them to be able to marry the person they fall in love with (or live common law if they so choose). I want them to be able to have kids if they want. I want them to be able to share dental benefits, go broke on a mortgage together, and in the worst case scenario be there in the ICU signing papers and speaking to doctors.<br />
<br />
If your religious beliefs don't allow for same sex marriage, the answer is pretty simple. Don't get married to someone of the same sex. Same sex marriage has been legal in Canada for about a decade now and our country is chugging along just as usual. God did not smite us. Marriage between straight couples still occurs. Children are still being born. There are still Christians. There are still churches. There are still Christian churches who won't perform same sex marriages. And there are Christian churches who willingly do.<br />
<br />
The thing about prejudice is it's an "us versus them" situation. Once you lump people into a group, you lose sight of individuals and see nothing more than a formless mass of "them".<br />
<br />
My great-grandmother was born in Northern Ireland in a small town near Belfast. She moved to Canada when she was a little girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old. In Ireland, she used to drive her own little pony and cart to and from school. My parents still have her little wooden riding crop. Every morning her mother would warn her to "watch out for those Catholics... if they catch you they'll drag you off your cart and throw you over the cliffs". Nanaimo Nana lived to be 83 years old and to the day she died she believed there were Catholics and then there were good Catholics, the ones she knew personally who were different from the rest.<br />
<br />
That's prejudice; the scary, faceless them. An amorphous mass of other, identified by nothing more than a name. How many of you who are against gay rights are thinking of people when you hear the word "gay"? Are you thinking of the red-headed teenager ringing in your order? Are you thinking of the women ziplining at a nearby park? Or the two men sitting quietly at an outdoor concert? Are you thinking of your child's music teacher? Someone in a military uniform.You probably aren't thinking of any people at all. And if you are, are they the "exceptions"? Because there are no exceptions when you're talking about a group of people. If you know one person out of a group, you know one person. An exception assumes that everyone else in the group is pretty much the same.<br />
<br />
I tend to rant about prejudice in general. I don't want to hear about "them". You start talking about Hindus and I think of my boss who gave me a bunch of peppers out of her garden. Muslims and I think of my young co-worker who shyly explained the bracelet on his wrist, symbolizing the love between him and his sisters. Blacks... I think about my coworker who shares her lunch with me (I share too) and the friend I used to go camping with when the kids were small. The list goes on. I'm a white, middle aged Canadian female. That doesn't make me the same as every other white, middle aged Canadian female. As soon as you start referring to a group of people like they're all exactly the same, I know you're prejudiced.<br />
<br />
All I'm asking is that when you start thinking of people as a group, stop and think. Get to know people, listen and learn. Don't just go with feelings in an argument. Your religious beliefs are just that. Yours. Use them as a guide in your life, live by them, but please remember they are yours. You have no right to tell others how to live based on your own beliefs. Let them have their own lives and their own beliefs.<br />
<br />
Above all be kind and be fair.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-7554821005870941652012-07-31T17:28:00.000-07:002012-07-31T17:28:39.629-07:00Dear Canada Post, a break up letterDear Canada Post,<br />
<br />
I loved you when I was a teenager. I could write a letter to my friend, pay you thirty cents, and you would send my letter to her. Even when the envelope groaned under the length we made our addresses. Canada, North America, Earth, Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy... you still got it there within two days.<br />
<br />
When I was an adult, I lost a lot of respect for you over one word. Insurance. To my way of thinking, when you pay for a service you should get that service. I pay you my money to send a parcel from my local post office to a friend or family member. That parcel is in your possession until it's picked up at the other end. Until my friend or family member picks up the parcel, it is your responsibility. That is what I paid you for, to deliver my parcel safely and efficiently. So why do you refuse to promise this unless I pay you extra?<br />
<br />
When I go to the grocery store, I don't have to pay extra
to ensure the cashier rings my products in correctly. In fact, if they
screw up I get the product for free. When I go to a restaurant, I don't
have to pay extra to make sure the waiter brings me what I order and
remembers to serve me. And when I order a product from a store with shipping, I don't pay extra to ensure it gets delivered. If I don't receive the product, they ship it again. Your insurance reminds me more of the mafia or,
at the very least, the mafia as seen in fiction books and on TV. You
know, the old, "You never know when someone might just come in and rob your
store and break your kneecaps. If you give us insurance, we'll make sure
this doesn't happen."<br />
<br />
I've been slowly breaking up with you over the years. My friends and I email each other now instead of sending letters for example. About the only things that go through the mail now are cards. To me it's just not Christmas or a birthday without a real card you can pick up and hold. An ecard just doesn't have the same feel.<br />
<br />
I picked up a birthday card for my sister. Nothing huge or glittery; just a nice, simple, standard sized birthday card. And, since it's my sister and I wanted to send her something (while avoiding "sell a kidney" shipping fees plus urging to buy insurance) I added a gift card.<br />
<br />
I went to your counter at our local Shoppers Drug Mart to pick up a local stamp. The cashier informed me it was 69 cents. I fished out all my change but only had 61 cents. A total irony as when I went online later to double check stamp prices for 1982, I discovered the set price is 61 cents. However, you allow kiosks with your name and products, staffed by people in Canada Post uniforms to set their own prices. In order to get the real Canada Post price, you have to go to an actual outlet. I don't know where that is. The one building I knew is for sale. It was moot anyways as the cashier plunked my card down on a scale and informed me my standard birthday card was "oversize" by 0.04g and therefore twice the price. Apparently gift cards are too heavy for letter mail and glitter can tip the scale too.<br />
<br />
I paid my extra money and, as I was walking away, the cashier chucked the card into a sliding drawer and cheerfully informed me that since I hadn't paid for any form of expedited parcel delivery, my card would be delivered in six days. Six? What happened to 2 - 3 day service? Heck, I walked past a mailbox on my way home and it claimed four days for national service. Still a day more than I remember but two less than I was told.<br />
<br />
And now I'm pondering Christmas. If a simple plastic gift card doubles my price, what are a picture and a letter going to do? Heck, according to you, even if I skip the letter and picture, some glitter on the card might bump me over the weight limit. You might have me by the short and curlies there. I can't think of another organization that will deliver Christmas cards for any decent price. But today was my last gift card. From now on presents will be bought and shipped through companies offering free delivery.<br />
<br />
So Canada Post, it was fun while it lasted. And while I'd love to leave you with the face saving "it's me, not you" speech, this time it really is you. You might see me over the Christmas holidays, but if you don't you'll know why.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-11660336534473656452012-07-29T10:39:00.000-07:002012-07-29T10:39:10.293-07:00You obviously don't have a sense of humourHow many of you have heard that phrase before? How many of you have said it? I think that phrase exemplifies one of the problems in our society, a serious lack of empathy.<br />
<br />
I started thinking about it last week when a certain comedian* fervently defended his rape "jokes" and his subsequent "joke" of asking members of his audience to gang rape an inadvertent heckler. I say inadvertent as she admits she hadn't gone to the show to disrupt it, something I think most hecklers set out to do.<br />
<br />
I thought about it some more this week when someone* on a craft website made a t-shirt regarding the shootings at the movie theatre in Colorado. A shirt with a print of the murderer's* face on the front and "It's WAY too soon to wear this shirt" typed in bloody font.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't have known about either except through social media. In the first case it was through friends on Facebook who were horrified by the so-called jokes. In the second it was through a forum I belong to and, in that case, the responses generally circled around freedom of speech.<br />
<br />
Freedom of speech. I get that's a big thing, especially in the United States where it seems to be brought up as frequently as the right to bear arms. But whatever happened to tact and decency? Do the people who claim this as a right for anyone to say whatever they want, whenever they want, think this was what their ancestors had in mind? Hint, your ancestors were wanting you to be free from oppressive governments, not allowed to trash talk your neighbours and insult bereaved family members with impunity.<br />
<br />
When my children were small I spent a lot of time teaching them tact and empathy. "Yes honey, I know the man we just passed was very fat. He knows that too and it hurt his feelings when you yelled it. You don't need to say everything you think, you can keep some things in your head."<br />
<br />
To me, that was just part of being a human being. Think about what others are feeling. Be respectful. Don't say something if you know it's going to hurt someone else needlessly. Try to be kind. Something my parents and grandparents would simply sum up as "good manners".<br />
<br />
There seems to be a growing number of people who either missed those lessons or flat out ignored them. They seem to think of tact as a form of weakness, a fear of sharing your thoughts. They see themselves as strong, blunt, or brutally honest. Sharing truths everyone else is too weak-willed to share. People who disagree are too stupid to see the truth. The people they hurt are dismissed as weak and too sensitive.<br />
<br />
In one forum I go on, people who disagree and think some things simply shouldn't be said are regularly referred to as "drama llamas"; a name that was once saved for people who constantly lead and share overly dramatic lives. The sort of person who posts "OMG FML!!! Nothing good ever happens to me!" when all that happened was they ran out of milk after the store closed and they'll need to make eggs for breakfast instead of cereal. Now, however, if you post that making a t-shirt about a recent mass murder is disgusting, you're dismissed as a "drama llama".<br />
<br />
I see this as part of a bigger issue. A lack of empathy means dismissing whole groups of people as being different from you and not worthy of the same rights and benefits as you. Welfare "bums"... of course they should be tested for drugs and alcohol then turfed off assistance if they test positive. I don't want "my money" being used for this. Ignoring that alcohol isn't illegal. Ignoring that people who abuse drugs are in the minority. Ignoring that it will cost more money to test everyone on assistance than it will save so we'll lose money. Ignoring the question of where will these people go? Someone who's addicted to drugs and already unemployed isn't going to suddenly find a job once they're penniless and on the street. Ironically the same people who want this to happen are also frustrated and fed up with beggars on the streets. So they're advocating for more people to be on the streets while demanding that someone do something and get these people out of their sight. And anyone who disagrees with them is a leftist dreamer with "pie in the sky" ideals.<br />
<br />
Or, in the States, the whole gay marriage issue. Herds of people stampeding to polls to vote that their State never allow same-sex marriages<i> ever</i>. Or, in the case of North Carolina, stripping the rights of people in common law marriages too just to ensure no same-sex marriages occur. Under the misguided idea that, just because they personally don't want same-sex marriage, no one else should be allowed to. Refusing the right for millions of people to marry the person they love because it's "icky" and they don't want to have to think about it.<br />
<br />
And, in Canada, there's Omar Khadr, a 15 year old boy convicted of war crimes and sent to Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp. He's been there for a decade now, despite an initial agreement of an 8 year sentence with a chance to come back to Canada after one year. No matter what he's like now after a decade of imprisonment and torture, no matter what his family beliefs are regarding western society, he is a Canadian citizen. I can't see how ignoring our Charter of Rights and Freedoms is a good thing. If we ignore one young man because of his family beliefs, his religion, who he visited at 10 years old, or the colour of his skin... where do we stop? Personally, I think he should have been hustled back as a 15 year old child. We're Canadian and we should take care of our own.<br />
<br />
Do I have any solutions? No. But one thing I refuse to do now is sit back and shut up in the face of intolerance and just plain meanness. You think I don't have a sense of humour? Fine. But you'll have to listen to me tell you that I think you're the one lacking in humour if you think gang rape and mass murder is funny. If you don't like it, don't share your so-called jokes with me. They're not funny.<br />
<br />
* I'm not adding names because I refuse to give these people any more time in the spotlight.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1442408861976349734.post-19234581700016771082012-07-09T15:56:00.000-07:002012-07-09T15:56:51.437-07:00My time to shineI wrote this blog in January and it's so true: <a href="http://mypositivesteps.blogspot.ca/2012/01/i-wish-i-were-bear.html" target="_blank">I wish I were a bear</a>. Every winter I'm so tired, slow, and cold. I don't want to go outside. I live in front of our electric fireplace and wear slippers to bed. I'd wear slippers to work too if I could fit them in my shoes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IoikNnuTu5I/T_tfwYsdn5I/AAAAAAAAAWY/vSZgaOdCPiw/s1600/Steep+hill+watermark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IoikNnuTu5I/T_tfwYsdn5I/AAAAAAAAAWY/vSZgaOdCPiw/s200/Steep+hill+watermark.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
But now it's July and I'm at the opposite end of the energy chart. I got up this morning and used the Wii My Fitness Coach. Then I dragged my son out for a hike. Drag was almost completely literal. He did not want to go at all. Of course, when we got to the conservation area he was thrilled and loved the walk.<br />
<br />
The walk was great. We walked up and down steep hills, as seen in the photo, and climbed on rocks across little creeks. We joked around about the signs. One trail sign showed a white bear with an arrow pointed from the mouth down toward the backside. We immediately had to go on the "eaten by a polar bear" trail... where we saw nothing more than mosquitoes.<br />
<br />
After lunch we went to our outdoor pool and splashed around for a good hour. Racing each other back and forth across the pool. Diving to the bottom just to see what was there (a white ball). Then racing each other some more.<br />
<br />
Now that we've had dinner, I'm all set to go out again. Another walk? A half-hour on the treadmill? How about a bike ride? A bike ride sounds wonderful and I know son loves to ride his bike.<br />
<br />
Son's already had a bath and is tuckered out from all the exercise we've done today. He's too tired to go on a bike ride. So now I'm heading out on my own while he tries to recuperate. I hope he rests up because I've got plans of heading out for a bike ride first thing tomorrow morning.<br />
<br />
And this winter I'm hoping our indoor pool and gym (with a sauna) will be enough to lure me out on dark chilly nights, when all I want to do is sit in front of the fireplace and doze.Sunshine Dayzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08881426032930679847noreply@blogger.com1