Â§hria's Spot

So I'm nearly me. Really.

And I promised a little blurb on Beauty and the Beast. The play was pretty good. Excellent company. It was very nice to spend a little time with Gus again. He's easy to hang with -- on the rare occasions that we can actually find matching time blocks in our busy schedules!

Bill Webb and Lauren Kinney were absolutely delightful in the lead roles. Adam Proulx, Bill Murphy, Richard Vallee, John Vincent and Laura Widgett also gave stellar performances. Jeannine Jefferson has the most powerful voice I've ever heard. However, the dancing seriously sucked. You'd think that six months of rehearsals would produce a chorus line in which all members could actually execute a stag leap. And Mrs. Potts??? Oh my Goddess. This is a musical. Who ever thought of casting a woman who CANNOT sing in such an important role. The costumes and sets were good but they are part of theatre in a box so I can't really give a lot of credit to the company for those. See, the way I understand it to work is that you give Disney a huge whack of money, they tell you what to do (in creative-killing detail) and send you the music, sets, costumes and props. Canned music is not my idea of musical, sorry. Jim Cronin was superb as the narrator but I suspect that the huge whack of money spent on theatre in a box from Disney could have been better spent on real musicians, locally produced sets and costumes. We have the talent. We have the commitment and professionalism. In my opinion, home-made is better.

But then, home made wouldn't have been Disney (read total control freaks) and, would people of Sault Ste. Marie have paid $27.00 a ticket for home made, not Disney? Maybe. I say do it and find out.

But of course it would have to be something other than Beauty and the Beast.

How about Handsome and the Beast? Imagine if you will, the scene where Beauty begins to relent and feel affection for the Beast. The one where she is reading to him and then invites him to have dinner with her. He jumps up and runs around excitedly, shouting 'YES, YES'.

At that point Beauty tears off her dress revealing a classic dominatrix look, you know, black leather corsette, thigh-high boots, fish-net stockings, riding crop.

"Then lick my toes, you bad Beast, you!" says Beauty.

So that would be the jumping off point for the concept.

What do you think, would the good folks of Sault Ste. Marie pay $20 a ticket to see it? Maybe not with their kids, but would there be a market for it?

Thanks, Gus, for a great night out.

Okay, quick one today as I have to move my woozie butt outta here and work.

First DON'T eat bean sprouts for the next little while. If things turn out as they appear to be turning out, I may NEVER eat bean sprouts again. The rest of the ones I didn't eat for lunch on Monday are going in to be tested at the Algoma Health Unit this afternoon.

I am feeling better but weak still today and the gut is still a bit of a complainer.

The really indelicate thing about this is the kind of sample they want from me at the Health Unit. Um, after using my empty sour cream container to collect it, I may never eat sour cream again either.

Wow. I can actually still blush. Cool.

So, maybe wining about a health problem will turn out to be helpful to someone out there after all.

Next entry will be the bad/fun thing I had a lot of fun doing last night.

Note to self: DomBeauty and the Beast and remember to blog results from AHU and tell the store if positive.

You scored as Bragi.

Odin

80%

Hel

80%

Heimdall

80%

Bragi

80%

Thor

80%

Tyr

60%

Loki

60%

Njord

50%

Balder

50%

Skadi

50%

Freya

40%

Frigg

40%

Sif

40%

Freyr

20%

Which Pagan God or Goddess are you most like?
created with QuizFarm.com

Thanks Goode Childe for that Meme

This bird flu is so not tweet.

You know it's bad when I can't even sit up and type on my lap top.

I've spent the past 36 or so hours mostly sleeping -- something rather bad for a working single mom. When I was trying to find the strength to cook food for my kids yesterday (without throwing up on it) I actually thought 'We need warp speed in three minutes or we're all dead'.

Nope. Still no burst of energy. Get up and go has gone away. Still just hangin' on.

For about a week I've been just hanging on. Do what must be done and nothing more. Need to sleep at least six hours a night or I can't walk and talk... not my usual three. I should have know something icky was headed my way.

So I broke one of my personal blog rules. I wined about being sick/wrote about health problems. Oops.

On a positive note, I lost a few pounds.

Now I'm going to break another personal blog rule.

Sick or well, I still think about him way too much. Pretty freakin' sad if you ask me.

Back to sleep.

You are Woodstock!

Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Thanks to Canadian Mark for this fun little quiz.

I’m okay, you’re okay

I’ve blogged about my breasts, my vagina, my self-image, my dog, my friends… enough about me, let’s talk about you.

Okay, I suppose I can’t really talk about you other than to link to your blog or offer you the opportunity to comment here… which is enthusiastically encouraged.

Instead of guessing who you all are, how be I blog a bit about what I like in a friend. This is actually the easiest task for me because I recently lost a dear friend. No, he didn’t die. He just fell off the planet and I’ve been wondering why I missed him, or more specifically what it is I missed about him. His absence has given me cause for introspection.

As a result of that introspection I realized a truth I hold to be self-evident: be what you want others to be to you.

In the spirit of this tone, my oath of friendship was created.

I solemnly swear to be reasonably loyal, supportive and honest as a friend.
I swear to do my best not to dis, degrade or otherwise put down my friends (constructive criticism to the face of a friend is okay, though).
I swear to trust, confide in and spy for my friends.
I promise not to expect any one of my friends to be there for me anytime I happen to crave a little company and to allow each of them time to sleep, eat and be with their families.
I promise to take things as they come, not seek to control and to accept what is given freely (even compliments).
I swear to appreciate my friends for whom they are and to try to recognize and celebrate their growth, even if that means they get a better job than me, the guy I wanted to be with, the jacket I wanted to buy this winter or the same hairstylist as me.

Yeah, so that’s what I aspire to and miss most about him. Okay, so no one can be all that they aspire to, but it’s always good to have a goal. I’m also lucky enough to have more than a few people in my life who have come pretty damn close to all of the above, and a few who have raised the bar.

What would your oath of friendship be?

Woah. OUCH.

I have a MAJOR headache -- no not from drinking too much last night but from getting carried away. Literally from thrashing around as I was being carried down a narrow hallway on a guy's shoulder. It was fun, well until I tried to get up this morning and found the goose-egg on my forehead.

Happy birthday to Fluffy and CinCin from Dana, Nova, Manda, Kyle, Bryan, Jen, Ry, Ron, Barbie and me.

Now I am sifting through the remains of last night's party and every half-full glass is like a little treasure box of happy memories.

Mmmmm, that chocolate cake turned out well... as I toss another fork in the sink.

That peppermint thing they made was really good... as I toss another glass in the sink.

I'm so happy they liked the stew and focaccia bread enough to finish it all and the salad Manda made was delicious... as I toss another bowl in the sink.

I'll have to pick up more vodka as soon as I get some more money... as I rinse and throw all the empty bottles in the recycling bin.

Oh look, Fluffy left his scarf... guess I'll have to bring it back to him after Council tomorrow night and see how his first day on the job went. And maybe a few other things!

Oh, for those who wanted to know, recipies:

Stew
6 lbs stewing beef, braised with two medium onions (diced) and a large clove of minced garlic
2 medium sweet potatoes
1 small turnip
3 medium potatoes
4 large carrots
1 anise
sea salt, fresh ground pepper, basil, dry mustard, thyme and a bay leaf
1 cup apricot nectar
simmer together a LONG time (until the meat falls apart when you touch it)

Chocolate Cake

Makes 1 - 9x13 inch pan
Prep Time: 15 Minutes
Cook Time: 35 Minutes
Ready in: 50 Minutes

Ingredients:
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups white sugar
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup milk
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup hot, strong coffee

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease and flour a 9x13 inch pan.
2. In a large bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, cocoa, baking powder, and baking soda. Add the oil, milk, eggs, and vanilla, mix until smooth. Stir in the hot coffee last. Spread evenly into the prepared pan.
3. Bake in the preheated oven for 25 to 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean.
Makes 24 servings

Coffee Butter Frosting
Makes 2 cups (Will frost one 9 x 13 inch cake)
Prep Time: 5 Minutes
Ready in: 10 Minutes

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups confectioners sugar
1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup butter or margarine, softened
1 tablespoon strong brewed coffee

Directions:
In a small bowl, stir together the confectioners sugar and cocoa powder. In another bowl, beat the butter until creamy, gradually beat in the sugar mixture, being sure to scrape the bottom of the bowl, occasionally. Finally stir in the coffee, and beat until smooth.

Lets play the comment game...

Please leave a one-word comment that you think best describes me.

It can only be one word.

No more.

Then copy and paste this in your journal so that I may leave a word about you.

Warning, this one may make you blush

I LOVE "The Sex Files"! Thank you Discovery Channel.

Today on "The Sex Files" I learned about my vagina and about female sexuality. I learned that those orgasms are indeed different (as I’ve long suspected). Deeper is definitely different from faster, or the front-on feeling. Well, as far as I can remember, anyway. It has been a while.

Too long.

I want some more.

Now.

I’ve been a little frustrated about how long it has been since a man looked at me like he actually wanted to touch me not like I had cooties or something. I mean, I have the same equipment that other women have. Why are they enjoying rich sex lives while I have to settle with a rich fantasy life?

For the longest time I’ve been thinking it was a flat tummy or a nice pair of perky boobs that would do it for me… you know, make me attractive.

Thanks to the Sex Files I realized it all comes down to one thing… the brain. Believe you are sexy and you are sexy. If you feel attractive, men WILL be attracted to you, flat tummy or not.

So, do you know what that means?

We don’t have to starve ourselves anymore!

We don’t have to constantly compare ourselves to some unattainable ideal and find ourselves lacking. We don’t have to run out and buy what ever latest torture device they’re marketing as exercise equipment.

We don’t have to get up at 5 a.m. and kill ourselves on the treadmill or dodge the traffic anymore!

We are free to be our sexy selves and revel in it!

Can I hear an AMEN sister!

Vagina warriors unite and have another piece of chocolate cake!

Oh yeah! You go GURLZ!

Girls rule, boys drool!

***********
Okay.

All you perky-boobed, cellulite-free, flat-tummy gals can go eat cake now.

Are you gone?

*

Good.

I’m going jogging and by the time I’m done you should be the sagging, squishy, lard-assed old lady and I’ll be the Barbie Doll on your man’s arm.

HA!

But seriously folks. War is a really bad thing.

Just ask my friend Oussama.

Oussama Makari was born on Halloween in Beirut, Lebanon. He grew up in the late 70s on the Green Line in Beirut. He fell in love with a girl named Mona, strangely enough the very girl his family had decided he would one day marry. He did well in school and was good brother to his sisters, grandson to his grandmother (who raised him).

As was the custom, at the age of 16 Oussama got his first machine gun and joined a ‘party’ in his neighborhood. As was Oussama’s custom, he couldn’t do what everyone else was doing and join the hard-line groups that were killing a lot of people. He joined the Mirabitounen. They mostly ran guns and such through the Green Line between the Christians and Islamic groups. They didn't fire a lot of rockets and Oussama said he usually managed to get through the night without having to fire his gun.

For a teenaged boy in Beirut, Oussama had a ‘normal life’.

He told me about it during the many nights I spent talking with him in his apartment on Pim Street. Neither of us could ever sleep during a full moon, and he couldn’t sleep in a bed between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m. Sometimes we would sit on the floor beside the bed, on the side away from the window, where he was most at ease.

“No one in Beirut sleeps on a bed at this time,” he said. “That’s when the rockets come and, if you’re smart, you stay over here so the broken glass hits the mattress instead of you.”

He told me about bad mornings when he would have to skirt the rubble of freshly blasted buildings and bodies of the fallen on his way to school. He told me how, every time you say goodbye to your friends in Beirut, you know there is a good possibility one of them will be a body you step around on your way to school the next morning. He told me that it changes the way you feel about life, about relationships and what’s really important. He told me and he showed me and then he would say, 'Sleep Hajique, sleep' as he finally drifted off for a few hours sleep before school.

Throughout the 20 year civil war, people in Beirut fell in love, got married and had children, much like they do here. They pinned their hopes for the future on their children as we do and they believed in the future and a better life for those children. They believed desperately, fervently and intensely. They even kept on believing and striving when they cradled the dead bodies of some of those children to their breasts after a blast came home.

Suicide was unheard of in Beirut, said Oussama. He told me that when people couldn’t handle it anymore they got stupid and got killed. Anyone that out of their head just didn’t live long enough to kill him/herself.

So, when the Mirabitounen lost their territory and its members were being hunted down and executed, Oussama’s uncle with the big moustache pulled some strings. He got Oussama into a program that took him out of Lebanon and into Sault College to be trained as a refrigeration technician. To the uncle it was like putting Oussama in the bank for later, when things got better.

Now Oussama is a project manager for a major tool and die manufacturer in southern Ontario. He sends most of his money home to his family so they can rebuild, now that there is so much less war. He recently visited Beirut and said he doesn’t even recognize it at all. He said it’s being rebuilt with the most futuristic and beautiful things and that there is newness, hope and joy everywhere.

So, maybe Oussama’s uncle with the big moustache was pretty smart after all. He’s still in Beirut with his refrigeration business flourishing and his family growing.

Oussama, on the other hand, was nearly killed when he returned to Lebanon in 1987 to try to get Mona out. They wanted to come to Canada and begin a family but he couldn’t get her out. She died and he has devoted his life to working and sending money home for the rebuilding efforts.

Maybe, taking the man from the land has taken too much of the land from the man. Oussama’s uncle with the big moustache lived through the pain and is fully partaking of the hope and joy from seeing things get better. Oussama is still very much there on the floor beside his bed and isn’t growing healthier with the land he left behind.

I suppose the moral of this story is that things can get better and we must remember to give ourselves permission to enjoy what others have fought so hard to protect for us. They weren’t just fighting for our freedom, they were fighting for our joy of life and we must honour our veterans’ sacrifices by appreciating and enjoying what’s really important… family, friends and other relationships.

Beaver boobs

Did you know that beavers’ teeth grow throughout their lifetime? My boobs are like beaver’s teeth.

Okay, so what kind of a chick blog would this be if I didn’t have a chat about my boobs some time? So here it is.

It’s no secret that I’m not very happy about the way I look. I mean, I get that I’m not very attractive and can live with it but recently I had a revelation.

Much of my body image problems come from my point of view. Even if I had a sexy flat tummy, nice tight buns and lean yummy thighs I’d never really see them. I have these freakishly huge boobs that are like twin obnoxious aliens flopping and blobbing around in the way all the time.

Since I was about 15 I remember wishing they would just fall off. I’ve always been self-conscious and uncomfortable with them.

Then there are the times I’ve gotten stupid and followed fashion advice from supposedly well-meaning ‘friends’.

“When you’ve got it flaunt it… You may as well use what you’ve got… bla bla bla”

So, there I went, out to the bars with my boobs out there in front of me, getting everywhere before me and totally in the way. Utterly embarrassing. I mean, the goal was to be attractive, not to disappear behind two grotesque bags of flesh. If I ever get that stupid again, I hope someone will remind me of this blog entry.

You may be wondering why haven’t I had them hacked off? There have usually been two reasons, now there is a third.

Money. It costs a lot to have that operation done and even if I could get OHIP to cover some of it, my kids need stuff first.

A man. When I got married my husband was adamant about it. He said he didn’t want me to mutilate my body and would be disgusted if I did so.

Now – why bother? It’s just too late. I’m old, past my prime and out of time. No more sexy left in me, why bother to even try to feel better about the way I look. I’ve missed the love boat, why bother shopping for a new personal floatation device?

So why am I wondering about this now and what’s with the beaver boobs? Last night, when I let loose the girls from their usual confinement, I noticed they were more squished than usual. The stupid freaky aliens are growing again!

I can’t buy bras any more and it sucks big time. The last bra I bought was the last of its kind. I finally found one that fits and is not a granny bra that goes up to my neck in the front and they stopped making them. Now I’m even further from normal.

The bra that is too small is a 38 DDD. Apparently, I need a 38 DDDD… like a 38 G! Who makes those!? No one.

Gods… I want to be free of this grotesque and squishy prison!

And don’t tell me to just lose weight. I have. Even when I weighed 110 pounds the freakish things didn’t go away. They didn’t even get any smaller. When I gain weight they grow. If I lose weight they stay the same.

Yes, they’re the amazing beaver boobs. They just keep growing and growing.

Next thing you know, they’ll sprout legs and start walking into rooms ahead of me.

Finger puppets of the Gods

We are all just finger puppets of the Gods. Okay, some are more puppet-like than others. And some of the puppeteers have more of a sense of either humour or chaos than others.

So, we have two scales… Fluffy to my ex husband would be the puppet scale and Odin to Loki would be the scale for the puppeteers.

On the Fluffy side of the puppet scale we have a guy with no fate line. Seriously, this guy doesn’t have a fate line on either hand. He pretty much gets to decide what happens in his life and probably five other peoples’ lives if there is anything to this palmistry thing. But meanwhile, he just takes everything as it comes with optimism and joy de vivre that would make Julie Andrews look like an EMO.

“Some guy is having sex with my girlfriend in my bedroom,” Fluffy says. “Cool, can I play too!”

“My house is being torn down to make way for a freeway,” Fluffy says. “Cool, I’ve always wanted to live in Shria’s basement.”

“My job has been declared redundant and I have my walking papers as of today,” Fluffy says. “Cool, I was hoping for a little time off.”

Then, on the ex-husband side of the scale we have a guy who Odin picks out underwear for. I mean, this guy has absolutely NO control over his own life even though he tries to control every aspect of his life.

“We will have two daughters and they will be blonde,” the ex once told me. “They will have brown eyes and noses like yours. They will grow to be as tall as you and they will be very intelligent. One will be an astronaught and the other will be a veterinarian. The astronaught will marry a doctor and the veterinarian will marry a lawyer. Neither of them will ever weigh more than 160 lbs…”

We did, in fact, have two blonde daughters with noses like mine. That’s the whole cruel joke, though. My ex thought all was well in hand. However, the one who was supposed to be the astronaught gets carsick pulling out of the driveway and the one who was supposed to be the veterinarian breaks out in a rash if she just thinks about cats.

With my ex’s luck, one or the other of the girls will turn out a lesbian (better than marrying anyone, much less a doctor or a lawyer as far as I’m concerned) and the other will marry her career as a stunt-driver or something.

So those are the puppets. Where on that scale am I? Sliding wildly back and forth through it. The problem is, I never know if I’m supposed to be walking under my own power or wiggling around on the end of some God’s finger. It would be nice if they could light up a neon sign for me.

Bing

YOU ARE IN CONTROL

Bing

LOKI HAS HIS FINGER UP YOUR ASS YOU SILLY PUPPET YOU

Bing

YOU ARE IN CONTROL… KIDDING! HA HA. LOKI’S STILL GOT YOU

Bing

YOU ARE IN CONTROL… NO REALLY, THIS TIME YOU ARE… NOT! HA HA HA. THIS IS TOO MUCH FUN.

Yes, we are providing endless amusement for the Gods. Sometimes I wish I, for one, were less amusing. Then maybe the Gods would be more interested in complicating someone else’s life.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SCOTT

Today is my son's birthday. He's an awesome guy and I'm both very proud of him and very glad we found each other again after all that time.

The girls and I miss you a lot and we love you!

We have the best dog in the world

Cooper is a real find.

We decided to get a dog when we found a place of our own back in April of 2003. We were going to get a puppy but ended up at the Humane Society when things didn’t work out.

On Thursday, as we were driving by the Humane Society, I had the clearest image of a white dog with its head on my lap. The place was closed so we decided to back Tuesday thinking it would be a nice way to mark Ostara-Earth Day by adopting a dog from the shelter.

Dana, who was almost nine, reluctantly agreed to let Nova, almost three, and I could go look at dogs without her on Tuesday since the Humane Society would be closed by the time Dana got out of school.

Nova and I dropped her off at school and headed over to have a look.

When the doors opened and we went in, Nova found Cooper in the first kennel. He was shivering in the corner, and it looked like he was barely able to stand.

The lady at the Humane Society didn’t think Cooper was ready to go. He had been left in the night drop box on Thursday, apparently shortly after I had driven by and had a vision of a white dog resting his head on my lap. She had to see if he had been seen by the vet and could be released.

As Joyce went to find out about his condition I glanced up the row of kennels. There were at least three other white dogs, smaller and healthier than Cooper but Nova didn’t even want to take a single step away from that door.

Nova began to talk to Cooper and he responded to her voice, barely audible over the incredible hysteria from the other dogs barking for our attention. Cooper crouch walked over to her, leaning on the wall most of the way. He didn’t bark or whine. He just nuzzled and licked her hand. She told him he was going to be our dog and he was coming home with us.

At first it looked like the attendant was going to say no, but when she looked at Cooper and Nova together she said she thought it would be okay.

Apparently, this was Cooper’s second time at the shelter. Not long before that, he had been adopted by someone else and that he had been examined by the vet over the weekend. His prognosis was okay… mostly dehydrated and afraid. Off we went with our new dog and my serious second thoughts.

I didn’t have a lot of money, prospects for a job or the resources to look after a sick dog. I wondered how we would get along if Cooper turned out to be as sickly as he looked.

But Cooper has turned out to be our best friend. He is a major couch potato and we girls love to snuggle up with him and watch cartoons on Saturday morning. He walks on a leash like an old pro, even well enough for either Dana or Nova to handle him. He is great in the car and makes an awesome door bell.

The only left over problem from his bad experiences somewhere else is the need to greet visitors to my home with a mop in my hand. Apparently, Cooper has submissive urination disorder (yeah, they have a name for he-pees-on-the-floor-when-upset).

Trying opinions

Opinions cannot survive if they cannot be defended. – Thomas Mann.

The only defensible opinions I have are defended to the walls. Sometimes the echo of my own voice in the darkness is hollow and indefensible but usually it is just empty.

How can opinions be tested in solitude?

Surely they are well formed in solitude, but tested? No. A single individual can never see things from all sides, will always miss something. Every time I try to edit my own work I miss something. Even when I leave it off and return days later, I find more errors and omissions. An opinion cannot be tested in solitude.

If an opinion cannot be tested, how can an individual’s opinions, moral fortitude and character evolve and grow? Is it truly possible to grow alone? Doesn’t the hermit need to come down from her mountain at some time and test the conclusions of her meditations?

All evidence that I have seen points to the idea that we are social creatures. We need to be touched, we need to communicate, we need to interact with other human beings. So why is it so tiresome and unfulfilling?

Perhaps I have not spent enough time on the mountain. Then again, maybe I'm only fooling myself to make believe I am on a mountain when in fact I am in denial... drowning in deNile. Maybe I'm still sitting and waiting in the place I wanted him to be and have just given up on love, on passion, on lust for life.

Have I gone so far from love that I have forgotten how? Is it really over for me? And again, how do I test these opinions?

Black hole of fashion

Putting away laundry today I realized that, for about the past two weeks, I’ve worn only black. My very-dark burgundy pants and very-dark navy shirt were in the laundry too, but they only look something other than black in the full sunlight… something I haven’t seen much of in quite a while.

I’ve started looking over my shoulder for the ‘What Not to Wear’ secret shooter. Its not like anyone cares about what I wear, but I just get a little nervous about this whole fashion thing.

To be honest, there are two reasons I wear black so much.

The first reason being my weight problem. If wearing black doesn’t make me look slimmer, please DON’T tell me. The next step will be a home liposuction kit a al Hoover.

The second reason I wear black so much is that it’s a no-brainer. I have all my black clothes lined up at the front of my closet. When I fall out of bed after my solid 4 hours of sleep each morning, I just grab any shirt and any pair of pants. Black and black… oh, look how nice it matches! LOL

So I watch my beautiful daughters tear through life in vibrant, glowing colours from the black background.

Now, if only they would lay out stores for me. A black clothing store where the clothes are arranged by size would be nice. Something where I could just go in, grab any black shirt and pants off the rack and take them home would be nice. No need to try anything on, no need to look at the dreaded full-length mirror. Yes, that would be good.

There is only one problem I can see with my taste in clothes… my friendly white dog.

Diet vs lifestyle

Losing weight isn't about looking better, it's about feeling better.

It's about power and control. It's about feeling like one CAN do something. It's about enjoying that gnawing feeling in the stomach and knowing it's a personal choice to put food in there or not. No one else has anything to say about it.

Losing weight is about knowing with every fibre of the being what is deserved and what is not.

Food is my enemy and I WILL win this one.

Another dream

I'm sitting with Maarit in a school gym, like in an elementary school. We are sitting in the back row of chairs closest the doors and we are the only two people in the room. She is to my left and on the aisle. She is holding and looking at a disposable camera I bought to shoot the show.

Chris, Craig, Lindsay and Ed are off doing what ever they do before a gig.

Suddenly Chris walks up and playfully takes the camera from Maarit. He snaps a picture of her and then turns and takes one of the empty stage. It is like the one at Loplops but is set up with red velvet across the back and sides. The lights, microphones, monitors and such are all matching, black and it is very neatly set up, with no tangles of chords visible.

Chris continues taking pictures of different things around the room as he and Maarit laugh and have fun with it. Neither of them react to me or acknowledge me in any way. It’s like I am an invisible watcher.

I get up to go have a smoke (which is odd because I don’t smoke). I light it as I walk toward the door I think leads out of the building. Instead this door leads to another empty gymnasium. As I walk through this room, the lit cigarette continues to burn but I am not smelling it or smoking it.

Again, the next door leads to another empty gymnasium but this one is darker than the last. As I walk through this room the cigarette burns to the butt and I put my left hand under it to catch the ashes but they fly out and fall to the floor as I walk.

When I reach the door I hear footsteps behind me and glance back. Chris is following me with my camera in his hand. I open the door in front of me to throw the still burning cigarette butt outside, wondering if this will finally be a door out but I wake up before I find out.

Beloved dead

Part of the Samhain ritual involved a moment of silence to remember and honour our beloved dead. A moment wasn't long enough for all the people and animals that have passed through my life and left an impression on me.

Family:
Grandfathers Cecil Behnke and Mike (Mervin) Freeman
Grandmothers Hildegard Behnke (ni Zimmerman) and Eileen Freeman (ni Buyers)
Sister-in-law Ann Bird (ni Martin) -- dead at the age of 34, leaving 7 children.
Nephew Jerry Dominic Martin-Bird -- dead after just seven hours of life.
Seven of my own unborn children who were no less beloved than they would have been if their eyes had seen the light of day.

Friends:
Phillip Rainbird -- my twin in all but blood died at the age of 34.
Talon David St. Pierre -- child of two of my close friends died at the age of 27 months.
Camellia Sutherland -- mentor, teacher and medicine woman, died at the age of 73
Anne Marie Sutherland
Minnowasey
Margaret (Black Margaret) Wesley
Walter Wesley
Louis Woods
Sean Maidens

Animals:
Damien, cat
Clutzy, cat
Sigel, dog
Taffy, dog
Cujo, dog
Pooh, cat
Dabber, cat
Bingo, cat
Brandon Lee, raven
Kissy Bugs, cat
Freddy Fender, finch
Farah Faucet, finch
Skippy, dog

I didn't put Bob the pigeon on this list because I'm pretty sure he's still hanging around

And of course there are the relationships to mourn. Friends whose lives I've faded away from, who have walked out of my life, or who I have just lost touch with. And the family members I never really knew. The childhood of my son is dearly missed, although we are doing okay as friends now that he is an adult. Then there is the brother I didn't even know I had until I was 30.

Now is the time to consider what these relationships have taught and what they have made of me. As is appropriate to the time, I also consider the lessons I teach others, either inadvertently or consciously.

When I'm gone, what will I be remembered for? What do people think of me now? Is it close to what I want it to be? How close to my goals am I? Am I progressing through life, just reacting to my surroundings or just standing still and waiting for life to happen?

What are the circles I want to put myself in the centre of and how close to that am I? What do I want to bring more of into my life and what do I want to diminish?

A friend said to look to my dreams for answers to these and many other questions. This is what I hope to do now... Maybe, for a change, I will sleep a full night.

Wondering about a dream

Another weird dream came to me last night. It's one I've had a few times before and feels significant.

I'm standing on a high hill on a bright sunny day. I'm looking down on a town threading thinly through a narrow valley between the hill and the ocean. There are many towers and tall buildings in the densely constructed town.

A man is talking to me but he is no where to be seen. His voice is mature, deep, warm and full of strength and quiet passion. There is a warm salty breath of air coming off the ocean that is glittering in the sunlight, as the man describes to me what is about to happen.

"A wave will come up as high as this hill and wash the town away," he says as the ocean seems to draw a deep breath before obliterating the town at my feet.

It is utterly silent and the water looks real but wreaks no destruction on the buildings. The wave rises up over the town, stands still for a fraction of a second and drops over the buildings, pouring through the empty town and filling the valley.

All this is steadily, calmly narrated by the unseen man.

The level of the water rises steadily and quickly to the crest of the hill but I feel no apprehension because the man's voice at my side was very calm and reassuring.

"The waters will rise to make a new shore," he said. "You are standing where the water will meet the land."

As I watch the in-rushing clean water swallow spires and roofs of the town below me, I am a little sad to lose this place of beauty.

The green hill I stand on is peaceful, fertile and welcoming, unlike the cold and fussy town submerging before my eyes and I am waiting to see what will happen next.