Variety is the spice of life

One thing about waitressing is that you are constantly dealing with people. The friendly ones, the nasty ones and the gushy ones. YOU must meet their every request and take care of them as if they were your own family. Or else...well they probably won't come back if their experience is unpleasant and that reflects badly on your restaurant. It's really the perfect occupation for a writer, so many ideas for characters and scenes! Some of the customers I have had to serve have been wonderfully charming. In fact, yesterday I got lucky with a table of four english ladies who loved me - one of them left me a little extra something...she loved me the most. At first they weren't too sure about me, but once I brought them their starter round of drinks (mostly wine) and told them I was not able to pour them because of my age illegality, they found that cute and began reassuring me that they were perfectly capable of pouring it themselves. Even the sternest of them all, a very composed woman with ear length brown hair and an alcohol lover-apparent nose laughed at my little quips and took to smiling at me whenever I walked by. You see? The good ones are terrific...the bad ones...well, next paragraph.

There were two tables in two days that had rowdy, impolite and inapropriate customers. Unfortunately, both tables were given to a fellow waitress and she was not happy. The one she had yesterday treated her so poorly they provoked tears, and then proceeded to linger outside, inebriated beyond belief. Finally the woman of the trio came in, paid their bill and they left; not without a sigh of relief from front of house. But then again, this type of thing is to be expected, and we simply learn to take the good with the bad, which is outnumbered by the first 99 to 1.

I was trained to work in the kitchen mainly, through my culinary arts training and fast food experience. I have been working in the restaurant industry for nearly 10 years, cooking, serving, cleaning, you name it, I've done it. I like to think this makes me a triple threat in the business, something I proved this last evening by helping out when it got too slow to do anything but sit and wait, something I am not partial to. If I am getting paid to work, I am going to put myself to use until my shift is over instead of lounge around waiting to be told what to do. I even feel guilty for taking a break! That's something that needs to change...

As for waitressing, this is the first time I have actually tried it rather than cooking as a job, and I must say, the two are equal. You might think that serving is more difficult because we are in charge of sitting them down, taking their orders, bringing their food and drinks, checking  back, printing the bill, running after them to get a signed merchant copy, cleaning their table and then doing it all over again, but no. The kitchen has just as hard a time of it. You see, cooking their meal takes a good portion of time and making sure it is prepared correctly is a trick unto itself, something my boyfriend has mastered quite effortlessly - he's a natural born cook. And then there is always prep to do. While the other servers were taking a break, I was helping in the kitchen tearing lettuce, cutting mars bars (we serve deep fried mars bars...yes, you read that right), battering the mars bars, portioning yam fries etc..so as you can imagine, the cooks do not often get bored.

And yet, I still enjoy waitressing more. Despite the sore, swollen legs and long hours, the people I meet make for a very interesting day. So far I have had tables of Americans, Germans, Englishmen, Frenchies (I do not say that derogatorily, they were some of my favorite customers), Native Americans and of course, locals. I've made mistakes (some more horrendous than others) but lessons have been learned and those errors have not and will NEVER be made again. The place I work acts as more of a family than a host of employees and employers, there are harsh words, impatient gestures and frustrated sighs but a pat on the back and credit where it is due is never far behind. And we all stand behind one another 100%, there if needed, there if not. In fact, now that I think about it, the job I have now is probably the best one I have ever had, and I can't wait to see what else happens this summer. Well, I shall post again soon, goodbye!

The money blues

My money talks to me. It likes to say, "Bybye."

My father told me this quote yesterday and it struck me right away as being terribly true. Our money really does say goodbye as it's flying from our hands, waving like the Queen of Shiba. I'm sure it has a jolly time off on dozens of new adventures as it changes possession time and time again, but what about us? We have to go and work hard simply to earn it back, nevermind actually make enough for a nestegg. I really admire those who put away money each month, patiently waiting for years as they build their bank accounts or safes (whichever one they fancy) and spend frugally. I'm quite the frug myself. (Another new word. You see, I wrote "frug" - Fr-OO-g - instead of "prude", much kinder I think.) Whenever I see something I want, I usually go home and think about it, working myself up into an excitement over buying this one 'thing'. By the time I return to pay for it, the item just doesn't meet my expectations and I bypass it, going on to the next one. As you can probably imagine, this has saved me from quite a few ridiculous splurges - a handy quality, I should say!

Sometimes I wish we could go back to the days when trades were the common currency. You have a rabbit? I have a duck, let's trade! Tit for tat, you know? People were more satisfied with their "purchase" that way, and if something went askew, a hot headed brawl ensued - entertainment included! But the "powers that be" didn't like that very much. It gave them little control, if any, and so gave the people too much freedom, which the PTB began trying to diminish years ago. Wampum also sounded rather promising, attractive jewelry being made into a type of coinage used for exchanging. But alas, identical to the problem today, too much of it was made and so it dropped in value. It dropped straight out of the system. Too bad, if we couldn't have stuck with the bartering program it would have been nice to at least have pretty money.

Speaking of pretty, have you seen the new bills that are coming out now? Plastic and even more fake than the paper stuff. Pretty soon, the old 5, 10, 20, 50 and 100 dollar bills are going to be collector's items. Like the 2 dollar bill - I wish I had one of those. But despite the government's near complete takeover of the monetary system, they will never be able to degrade the value of gold and silver (At least I hope not!). Sure it rises and falls with the tides, but in the end I believe it will strand strong. Like David in David and Goliath. Sorry, totally random thought.

Money, or rather the lack of, has the power to destroy as well as to create. They built all of those enormous skyscrapers in the big cities with money, money they could print off their machines as fast as they were spending it if they wanted. But those buildings destroyed thousands of miles of nature; trees and animals, all for the sake of what? Oh, right, the growing population. I know they say the Earth is overpopulated but what they fail to mention is...well...that it's not. If people were taught to grow their own food and provide for themselves instead of consuming without producing, the Earth would be a much happier place, and without many of the problems we 'enjoy' today. Yet, again, the issue of elite control comes back into play.

I have a friend who's mother is best friends with mine and she works long exhausting days to provide for her children. The oldest one (my friend) just turned eighteen, and so her mother stopped recieving the monthly government allowance while at the same time, the men on pedestals decided she was not paying enough taxes for the amount of money she was making. Can you believe it? My boyfriend experienced rather similar treatment after a car accident he was in last summer. Not only was he charged a large monetary sum, but his license was taken away for nearly a year. How is that supposed to help improve his driving? (And the accident wasn't even his doing). The reasoning that we are subjected to today leaves me baffled and angry, is this justice?

Yesterday I finally bought my first car. It didn't happen in the way I expected but it happened, and I don't regret my decision - it's a good little car and exactly what I was looking for, even though it does have a few issues (of course) that are entirely fixable. The thing that dampened my excitement was the procedure I had to go through AFTER buying the vehicle. Insurance and signing papers and dishing out even more of my hard earned, hard saved money made me yearn for the old days when my biggest worries were whether I would get to have a "play-date" with my best friend or get the doll I was after. Simple things. When you're young, all you want to do is grow up but once you hit a certain age the younger years are much more appealing than the future ones. I geuss I hit it a little early. My father told me that I have to be careful of my possessions owning me. In other words, once I have things that require monetary support, aka: a job, I have to keep bringing in the moola in order to keep hold of that item. I started with a phone and the monthly payments that go with that, then a laptop with all the trappings and now a car, the biggest one of all. Good thing I'll be working two jobs this summer, eh?

Anyways, I don't have much time before I head off for a VERY busy day at work, but I needed to get some thoughts off my chest. And the scary thing is, I haven't even scratched the scratch in the surface on the money subject, but maybe that will be initiative for you to go find out more yourself, something I need to do as well. Knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss. Which would you prefer?

Octopus attack

I'm living the dream. Sitting in a carmen-red armchair of this rustic little bakery with the ocean only a hundred feet away, a small dock playing house to quite a few sail and fishing boats and a large expanse of pristine blue sky. Can it get much better? The laid back cafe music and laptop beneath my fingers only add to the mood, and even having my father sitting across from me doing the same thing makes it more fun. When I walked in this morning, I was dreading the five hour wait before my working interview at one of the restaurants around here - I'm going to be a waitress and I really hope they like me enough to give me part time. But now, with the relaxing environment and movie-like feel (uh oh, I'm going to get called out on that one later) I've decided to just live in the moment and not fret about anything. If I'm meant to have the job, I'll get it, and if not then I'm sure there's something else waiting for me around the corner.

So this morning, after my puppy woke me up to go outside, I fell back asleep only to dive headlong into the strangest dream I've had in a long time. One thing you should know about me is that I am the queen of dreams. Or so I would think, simply because I have had the largest variety of dreams out of anyone I know, of course there are billions more people in the world, but humor me. Some of my sleep-induced journies have been like epic adventures with snowy mountainous terrain and helicopters hovering above places no man would dare venture while I have also had nightmares that could chill sharkblood. I always remember my dreams and by now have such a large repertoire that it would take a short book to cover them all. But my most recent one is brief enough to write about here. Which is what I'm about to do.

I am on an enormous ship, titanic-like, in the middle of a wild and stormy sea. A large group of people is with me, including many of my friends, close acquaintances and grade 12 culinary arts teacher. I am walking towards the rear of the boat with a huge hunk of raw halibut in my hands, bigger than I am wide, and open the window to toss it into the waves. After it splashes into the ocean, I wait a few moments to see if any creatures will come after it. Sure enough, shapes begin to explode from the depths, diving in and out of the storm in hot pursuit. Dolphins! I think to myself in excitement. I could finally say I have seen bottle-nosed dolphins while on a sea vessel. I know that I should go and tell my boyfriend but I really don't want to, and to miss anything at this point would be horrific.

I watch them, wondering how they are keeping up with the ship's ridiculous speed when suddenly I begin to fall sideways. Sure enough, the boat flips upside down, held above the water by a rocky outcrop coming from a mountain that had simply popped into existence. It is sunny by now and I hear shouts of "it was a whale!"  echoeing across the water. A whale had capsized our ship. As we quickly jump out onto the sand-covered rock, two bulbous heads rise from the water, which by this time reaches the edge of the beach. At the same time, my shoe falls off and I yell "Grab it!" to the boy closest to me. He tries to stop it from rolling down the slope, but a slimy tenticle begins to crawl up his leg and he panics, racing away from both it and my shoe. I start to throw rocks at the octopus heads but only succeed in provoking them. The first one bursts forward, all twelve arms waving in the air wildly with only one purpose; to destroy me. I simply turn away from the monster and find myself on another rocky beach where everyone else is far ahead of me, picking their way across small boulders.

My teacher is calling out "Keep ahold of your life buddies!" and I realize that I am the only one without a partner. An old ex-boyfriend comes up to me, arm linked with a female friend of ours and my first thought is "I wonder if they're going to be together soon" before another pair joins us - my big brother (well he's LIKE a brother) and another boy, arms linked just like the first two. I start to wonder if I'm going to die when I wake up again. A good place to hit the road if you ask me.

The most interesting part about this dream was that during the octopus attack, I was aware of being asleep. I knew that if this were a regular nightmare I would be sweating and tangling myself up in the bedsheets, heart pounding. But since I understood that this was not real life, I was able to control my fear and "get away". Neat eh? Well that's my dream, maybe I'll post more articles about my nighttime exploits whenever I have one worth mentioning, sound good? Deal.
Anyways, that's it for now so have a great day!

In the public eye

I know that sunglasses are not exactly healthy for your eyes, but have you ever slipped on a pair and gazed up at the sky? Especially on a sunny day dotted with clouds where the huge masses of white fluff are thrown into sharp relief, their edges outlined in golden sunlight. I did this today as I took my puppy for a stroll and I was in such awe that I should have walked into something; but I didn't. My eyes have always been extremely sensitive to light and I can barely glance at a daylit sky, but with sunglasses, I can look at it without the usual eye-watering pain. And so, I saw giant cumulous clouds along with a fuzzy rain shadow that took up a small portion of the sky, and it painted quite the scene. Gold, white, blue and gray - now I know why these shades go so well together. Like green and brown, they are all colors of nature, and in my opinion nature never clashes (color wise). But "sunglasses and clouds" is not the topic for this post so I'll get on with it.

You know those motivational stories about people overcoming obstacles and finding success in their lives? The ones where, once they've ended, you feel like getting up and dancing or singing, basically doing whatever incredible skill the protagonist has demonstrated in the story? People live vicariously through the lives of others, on screen or within pages no less. Shouldn't they be living actively through their own experiences? After watching a movie where the hero prevails and achieves his dream, the audience has that feeling of accomplishment themselves, as if they are the victorious ones. And yet, when I look around, I realize that I don't need to watch one of those movies or read a book to feel the same inspiration. I just need to pay attention to the things going on in front of my very nose, which are many and not far between.

For example; the woman jogging down the street with her rather chubby belly bouncing up and down as she huffs and puffs her way to weight loss and health - she's probably embarrassed. But she also knows that it is up to her to take the first step and, despite her self consciousness, she still ventures out into the public eye and gives it her all, no matter who might see. This is courage. That young boy who sits by himself at lunch because he won't go along with the rest of the school mob's twisted ideas - he's probably wishing he could. But he understands the difference between staying true to himself and giving up to his peers who want to assimilate him into their "culture". This is bravery.

Are these not people to look up to? One day I was at the gym with a fellow fitness buddy and as we parted ways to explore seperate machines I noticed a strange looking man walk in. He was tall, and walked with an odd duck-like waddle, sticking his bottom way out. He wore gray sweatpants and between their elastic waistband and his shirt protruded a large pot belly; not the prettiest picture. I could hear him cycling a few spaces away and was surprised at the amount of effort he put into it. He was working hard! As he continued to exercise, turning the pedals as fast as he could, I began to gain a certain amount of respect for this peculiar man. After about a half hour, two early-teenage girls walked in. They fiddled with the equipment a bit, did two captain's chair raises each and then sat down on a mat, passing a medicine ball back and forth between them. Once they caught sight of him though, a giggle fest ensued. They pointed and snickered behind their hands, laughing at the man's sweat laden clothes and swayed posture. Now, it might just be me, but this struck me as disgusting. For these girls to come into a gym and play around with a weighted ball, then judge another person as they work their head off...well it did not sit well with me. I kept thinking to myself; At least he's here. At least he's trying. What are you doing?

Unfortunately, I'm not one for conflict so I simply glared at them, arms crossed, until they stopped and left the room. I know this might have been a slight overreaction on my part but what would you have done? Just let them laugh? I couldn't. Not when I admired the perseverance and focus exhibited by this stranger. He deserved more than that. So the next time you see someone taking the initiative to make a positive change in their life, no matter how funny they look, try to remember that it is probably hard enough for them as it is without other people putting them down. They need encouragement, not disdain. And when you find yourself in their position, don't be afraid to expect the same in return. :)

Car drama

At the moment, I am looking to buy my very first car and I'm surprised at how difficult it is to find one that suits me. I'm not being overly picky, well not in my opinion, but there just doesn't seem to be a nice little ve-hicle that wants to be owned by a crazy girl like me. I don't care if its a bit beat up on the outside as long as it runs well and has good fuel economy - in other words is not a gas guzzler - and is not going to involuntarily combust or anything like that, although the color does matter. Beige, burgundy and neon pink are out, purple, green, turquoise, blue, red, black, silver and white are all in. Yeah yeah, I know, that's so "girly" of me but in view of my usual tomboyishness I think I'm allowed to have some princess moments, don't you?

Although my goal is to work my way up to a mustang, my perfect car (for now) would be small (to the point of fitting in the "small car" parking spot), one of the acceptable colors listed above, great on gas, running smoothly and the owner of a nice face. Yes, I said face. There is no way that I am the only one on this planet that sees the headlights, license plate and grate and thinks of it as a face. Or as a type of bug. For instance, a little round and red 2 door car is obviously a ladybug! Some automobiles have friendly although rather spaced-out faces, such as mini coopers, others have bored faces (can you say mazda 666?) while still others have seriously evil expressions that shoot daggers at you as they race down the highway; the chevy camaro. I do have many friends that think me completely out of my mind but I think they are sadly without imagination, something I consider much worse than insanity.

Price is also a large part of buying a car, and I am definitely not willing to dish out thousands of dollars on a ve-hicle that I most likely won't have for longer than a few years at best. My price range is low. Nothing as ridiculous as expecting to pay 200 dollars for a new in-great-condition ride, but low enough. Like I said, all I've ever really dreamed of for my first car is a little thing that starts every time, runs well, looks good for the most part and doesn't take gas in one ear and out the other (yes I'm aware cars do not have ears). I've actually seen many for sale within my budget but I want it to be "love at first sight" you know? I won't buy something that doesn't appeal to me (princess moment #2).

Even though I have probably fooled you all into thinking that I am an expert on cars, I'm really not. Not only have I never been interested in the mechanics of these hunks of metal, the different makes have always simply molded into one; a car. However, now that I've been attempting to purchase one of my own, every little detail pops out at me on every little ve-hicle. If a whole line up of these things go by me, I am noticing the color, "brand", number of doors, condition, sound and paint job within a split second all the while wondering if they are manual or automatic and what it would be like to drive one. My walks have turned into study sessions.

I'm planning on lining up a half dozen cars and going over on the ferry to visit them next week, so I'm looking forward to that, but unfortunately replies from the owners are mandatory if I want to set up an appointment. Silly, I know. Anyways, it's off to bed with me, I've been going to sleep at unusually early hours and realized that waking up before 9 a.m. and having a full day ahead of me is really much more enjoyable than sleeping through half of it and then staying up until 4 in the morning. It's also very freeing to know that I am not being forced to get up for school, something I don't particularly miss. Well, goodnight again, and I hope you enjoyed my utterly random car post. :)

It's not just you

Today is the type of day that calls for a blanket, sun-umbrella and good long book. The only problem with that is that I want to curl up with MY book. You know, the one I'm writing? Actually, after taking a few days off writing posts, I'm finding my creative juices flowing much more smoothly. In fact, I just finished writing an event in a way I've never even considered. I had not thought about it for more than a few moments before the words started spilling onto the page, and it works! It seems as though I've continued to write my story simply to find out what happens next for myself which, in my opinion, this is the best way to go. It keeps me involved and curious, exploring my fantasy world with a kind of innocence that I could not have if I knew exactly what was going to occur and when. But even though the words are coming, sometimes they don't show up in the order or with the depth that I would like them to.

Writing is a struggle. Especially to begin with. One could practice for years and still come across that internal battle of clashing thoughts at least once in a while if not on a regular basis. You see, often times I will put down a paragraph that sounds perfect; flowing and exciting to read, and yet another version of the same event will literally dance beyond my reach, taunting me into frustration. I try to grasp it, to mold the words into something more meaningful, but whatever my subconscious is trying to portray is too advanced for my understanding, and it slips away. It's like there is a dam inside of my mind, holding back a much higher level of skill or insight, or both, and I need to break it down. But how? Is this also simply a matter of "practice makes perfect"? Or is there some kind of trigger that will force that barrier to crumble like crackers beneath my shoe? I'm sure it's the first, hoping it's the second, but either way I know both take time.

In the past I've taken a look at my favorite authors - Cinda Williams Chima, Christopher Paolini, Suzanne Collins, J.R.R. Tolkien  and David Clement-Davies to name a few - and wondered how they do it. They've taken something they love to do and turned it into a job where they have to sit for hours just like a regular work day and meet deadlines just like any other employee. Doesn't that diminish the joy of their craft? That's what I would have thought, then. Now I understand that to make a career out of the very thing you were meant to do in life is actually a gift. A gift that not many people have acheived in the over-all scheme of things. The feeling I get when I sit down and write a good section of my book is unparalleled by anything else, it's unbeatable, and to experience that every day? Well that would be bliss.

So for any of you that are also aspiring authors and asking yourself "is it just me?" NO! It's not just you, trust me. I know what you're going through, but I also know that perseverance will prevail and that's what we will do; prevail. As an excellent writer once said (my father) "Writing is the art of putting into words that which you observe" and he's right. For those who think they can't do it, try. Go outside and find an interesting part of nature or even something man-made found amongst nature and write about it. Photograph it, paint it, whatever the area of your creative streak, put it to use. There's no time like the present and if you can do it today, why wait till tomorrow?

Something from nothing

The only bad thing about starting up a blog is getting used to the extra amount of time and effort I put into my writing. Before I began these posts, I would sit down and just let my story pour out of my fingers, but now after having already spent a while on my articles, I feel dry. The words don't come as easily as they used to and the characters seem as drained as I am. I think that's rather sad. I mean, if my goal is to attain author status I'm going to be spending many more hours a day on my craft than I do now and if I can't handle this tiny amount...whats going to happen in the future? Of course I'll never give up, I just need to continue working on it and eventually it will become second nature.  

One thing I've noticed having changed in the past year since I first started writing my book is the way I look at the world, especially nature. If it's a clear morning and the mountains are crystal clear with a fresh coat of snow on their crests or a tiny hummingbird knocks its beak against the glass at me, I think of a way to describe it in a way that would fit into my story. In other words, my imagination runs wild and wonderful and before I know it, I've come up with three or four detailed sentances. But then, in a split second, I see something else that I want to write about and forget all about the first! After weeks of getting frustrated by this continuous cycle and complaining about my twitchy memory, I recieved a beautiful little flowered notepad from my boyfriend; a place for all of my thoughts. So now whenever I come up with ideas or names, I whip it out of my purse and write them down.

Another strange thing about my writing is that, although I do have my own style (if somewhat tentatively), the books I read often find a way of influencing the events I am working on at the time. For example; If I have just completed a series about queens and princesses dabbling in magic while wolves roam the land as a window to another world, I am not surprised when I start writing about magical wolverine! Whenever this happens I go back and chop up everything on the page, squeezing it and molding it into something so different from its origin that it can no longer be recognized or tagged as anyone's work but my own. I know this is a good thing for the most part, but I worry about how difficult it is for me to come up with original plot and dialogue.Are they just skills I must focus on expanding, or am I doomed to struggle with them forever?

Despite my trouble with plot, character sketches have always been my area of expertise and enjoyment. Throughout my short history of story writing I have spent many days creating people from the inside out. I come up with their appearance based on their personality and more times than not, find myself altering their externalities as their views and ideas change over the course of the story line. That doesn't mean I make Jack's nose bigger because his sense of smell heightens, no. I give subtle hints as to the way they think and percieve their made up worlds. And never stereotypically. There's just something so incredibly satisfying about coming up with people that have never existed, giving them names and thoughts and opinions. Having them go places that are also fictional, do things I wish I could be doing or have relationships that I have yet to experience. It's all about imagination and making something from nothing. I get to play god of my little universe.

Well I think this post has proved its purpose already as I am again eager to continue writing my book! Mel is now at the turning point in the story that sends her on her journey, something that is so exciting to write about; I have a whole slew of great ideas! But alas, they will have to wait until tomorrow. Hopefully I can find some time to work on them, but the stars might have something else planned (I'm getting my first car!). So wish me luck :) and goodnight.

Inked

Every time someone walks by with an inking (another new word!) on their skin, I can't help but wonder what brought them to it. Personally, I have never been against tattoos, although I know it is a very taboo subject for some people and I completely respect that, but when you think of it, they are really just another way to express yourself. For instance, if a friend is a musician and gets inked, nine times out of ten it's going to have something to do with music, right? Or if a close relative dies, it will probably include a symbol or name/date in honor of their passing. As for me, if I ever get one, it's definitely going to reflect my love of writing, birds and life.

"Tattoo" actually comes from "tattau" which means "to mark" in Tahitian - a fitting name for sure - and the practice has held many purposes. In Tahitian culture, such inkings were the storytellers of their wearer's life while the Romans would tattoo criminals and slaves. Such markings have represented social status, family and rank while also suggesting bravery and strength. Now, after its varied history, the majority of today's civilization treat the act of tatooing rather lightly, using them to display their past, interests and personalities. (Although toughness is definitely percieved in the process as well.)

Despite my positive opinion on these artistic ink designs, that isn't to say there are not those who take it to an entirely different level of absurdity. But that's also hard to form an opinion on since who am I to judge those who decide to do outrageous things when I know nothing of their history or reasoning? All I have to decide on is what I see for myself, and when I come across pictures of people who have tattooed their entire faces with random blotches of ink or marked up every inch of spare skin, I always feel a bit disgusted and confused. What could possibly be the purpose to such actions? In any case, I know you'll never find me doing that.

I have quite a few friends with tattoos, everything from blackberries (yes someone I know has a tattoo of a blackberry on his shoulder) to flags representing their ethnic backgrounds to intricate crosses declaring "Dedication". There are so many things to think about when you decide to get inked! First of all, what do you want? And what does it symbolize? Honestly, when I see young girls with random stars on their hips or hearts on their shoulders I question whether or not they were ready for that type of permanency. In my eyes, if you're going to inject ink into your body, even if it is only in the first millimeter of skin, it might as well contain a certain significance, eh?

In reference to the tattoo I would like to get, I've looked up lots of variations and finally decided to try and design my own. It's an old eagle (or peacock) quill writing either a favorite quote (I have yet to find the right one) or something I wrote myself, with the end of the feather seperating into individual birds and soaring off into the distance. I know this has been seen before but by designing it myself I hope to make it unique and meaningful, more likely to grow in appeal than anything else. To me the birds represent freedom of will, of choice, all coming from the quill which is being used to let out my creativity and imagination. I've given it a lot of thought and am now stuck between two locations in which to put this tattoo but will not go into it any further as I'm sure my parents are shocked enough as it is! I also got asked to come up with a sketch for my boyfriend's tattoo and have done a few drafts, although I should probably get started on that again. Thanks for the reminder!

Anyways, inking is not for everyone, and should you want to, think about it first. Tattoos are permanent (actually aren't there tools that can remove them now?) and so if you suspect that you might regret having gotten that skull and crossbones or shark-eating-a-baby (yes it does exist, google it), wait a while and see whether your interests change. I don't know if I'll ever end up getting a tat, but if I do, it's going to be something I know will never go out of style. In my mind at least.

Feathered perfection

In the summer of 2010 I had my first close-up of death. Before then I had never lost a loved one that was near enough to my heart to leave an unforgettable imprint on my young spirit. I knew people that passed away, sure, but at the time I didn't completely understand the implications death carried with it, nor did I want to. But no human being can boast a life without loss. Loss defines gain, sorrow defines joy and in the long run, even though it seems like the end of the world in the moment, these experiences only strengthen us.

It was morning, maybe 10:30, and I was taking Tia (my dog at the time) for a walk. As we were leaving the driveway, I heard a high pitched cheap coming from the grass somewhere near my father's truck. Tia ran over and started pawing at something - trying to play or eat it I still don't know - and the cheaping reached a frantic pitch. I yanked on the leash, pulling her out of the way, and bent down to peer between the blades of green. At first I thought I was seeing things, but then I realized that I was indeed staring down at a tiny, down-covered bird. You have no idea of the excitement I felt. Gently picking it up, I cradled it in the dark recess of my palms and carried it into the house to find a nice little box for it to settle down in. Possibilities were racing through my head; maybe I'd actually get to raise this baby bird to adulthood! I would be it's "mother" and take care of it and even teach it to fly (not by jumping off the roof, don't worry...that's another story). My summer had just become interesting.

I thought to call the vet and ask an opinion on how to help it recover from the traumatizing event of getting pawed at by an animal fifteen times its size. I can remember the smile on my face drooping slowly as I listened to the woman tell me, "Just put it in a dark place and leave it alone. It'll probably die by the end of the day, birds like that don't usually make it." Well if anything, that only made me more determined for it to live.

And it did. After a couple of days I decided to name it Bella, after the nickname my best friend's italian crush had given her, and it fit perfectly; in my eyes this baby bird was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I fed Bella soggy dog kibble mixed in with baby food, pinching up the concoction with plastic round-tipped tweezers. You should have seen her! Every time I brought her out into the sunlight, her little yellow beak opened automatically, as if she knew food was coming. She would gulp it down as fast as she could and then ask for more, tweeting excitedly. Within a week her fluff was disapearing, leaving delicate sleek feathers in their place, and her eyes grew brighter and more alert. The first day I found her, she could barely balance on the flat surface of four fingers, now she could jump up and down on my pinkie without a problem. 

One day, around the week and a half mark, I introduced her to my father's garden and wow did she love it! I dug up worms for her and tore them in half, teaching Bella how to feed herself by poking her with them until she snatched their writhing bodies from my hand. And after every meal, she would perch on the edge of a bucket and dunk her entire head into its watery depths, shaking the droplets in every direction. She then proceeded to actually drag herself through the dirt and even roll around at certain points. I swear she had some dog in her.

By the time two weeks had arrived, Bella was flying around the house, chirping her head off. Even when I took her outside and let her loose, at the sound of my voice she was at my side in an instant. One time she flew onto a high branch and my mother couldn't get her to come down so I went outside and sang her name in a light falseto, making sure she could see me. Within seconds she had landed on my foot, whistling all about her brief adventure and what I'm sure must have been a very detailed description of her bird's-eye view. She was magnificent.

Then the day came. It was very foreboding with windy gray skies scattering rain across the ground, almost like tears. I went into the garden, calling out to her as usual only to be met with silence. I knew there was always the chance of her flying off, and I was pretty confident that she would be able to fend for herself but then just as I was leaving, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
There she lay, floating beak down in the water. I remember the flash of horror that ripped through me as I yelled for my father. He tried to revive her, but the poor limp body lay sodden in his hands, eyes closed, cold. I cried all that day, wondering how something so terrible could happen to such an innocent creature.

But that is the cycle of life. You are born, you live, you die, it's God's design. And despite the sad ending, I took away a beautiful experience from it all. You see, I got to witness perfection at its height. Bella was perfect. I often think back to that summer and wonder if I would have preferred to have never gone through those two precious weeks but I always come away with the same answer; no. You can't wish life away simply because of its inevitable death, what kind of world would that make? Instead we must appreciate the beautiful things we see and hold them in our memories, knowing that even though they pass on there will always be something fresh and wonderful to give us a whole new reason to smile.

So smile, and help someone else to do the same :)

Bugs galore

You would imagine that after making a mistake that left you red as a lobster, peeling and then scabbing, a lesson might be learned. At least, I would assume as much...but no. I decided to go out in the burning hot sun again and work for another four hours in my tanktop, without a hat, and get re-burnt. Yes, RE-BURNT! The most disturbing part is that I was wearing sunscreen this time, even if it was only SPF 15. It must have still made some sort of difference especially since I reapplied it three times, but not a noticeable one. Oh woe is me! I geuss I asked for it, but spending 26 dollars on a tiny tube of sunscreen should at least count for something. Okay, I'm through wallowing.

Something I realized today as I was busy yanking weeds out of the ground where they were attempting to choke poor innocent blueberry bushes was that I have become immune to bugs. This is a big deal! All throughout my childhood I have hated spiders, ants, earwigs (especially after that story about them crawling into your ears and eating your brain), silverfish, wasps, worms and centipedes to name a few. The cute ones were alright, such as caterpillars, lady bugs, bumblebees and woodbugs but if I saw one of the others, it might as well be dead already. But suddenly, I find myself letting the silverfish on the bathroom floor slither away or picking a worm off the pavement to gently deposit it on a mound of cool earth or even nonchalantly flicking a spider off of my arm without so much as a shiver. This is abnormal. Of course I was still wary of the enormous wasp cruising around my bedroom but eventually I shooed it out the window as well.

However, this impartiality to insects did not come without some serious conditioning. I have stayed in a carpenter ant infested cabin for three nights, weeded for over thirty hours, cleaned an entire beach of debris and burned them, collected worms for a baby bird (that was two summers ago) and picked spiders from my limbs and hair. As you can imagine I've had my fair share of dealing with creepy crawlies over the past while, and it seems that after coming in such close contact with these multi-legged critters I have become somewhat tolerant of them. In any case, communications between us has definitely stepped up a notch.

I find this all very interesting, because when I was a young girl (two years old, I believe) I received a toy walnut shell with a spider/lady bug jiggling on a spring inside of it from a friend of my parents'. Once I had confirmed that it was indeed fake, I walked about the room to each geust and exclaimed in all seriousness, "It's a bug!" Now in my opinion that sounds as though I LIKED bugs in those days. I wonder what happened...

Anyways, I just wanted to share with you this new and exciting discovery before washing the crusted mud from my legs and brushing the dirt from my hair - I feel like a real farmer (and I look like one too)!  So goodbye for now and I'll definitely be posting again soon.

Writing for purpose

I'm guessing at least a few of you are wondering why I would suddenly decide to start up my own blog and write about seemingly out-of-the-blue topics without so much as an explanation. (This does not apply to those of you who know me and therefore also know exactly why I did this) Am I right? Of course I'm right. As you can see in my site address, I am "rite for life". Actually, "write" for life was already taken so I was forced to make a little play on words and erase the w. Witty eh?

Okay, moving on. The answer to your question is simple; I am a writer. I have been writing stories since I could hold a pen...not that I used the pen to write them, but I definitely tried. In school, english was always my favorite subject and I still enjoy bragging that I never recieved less than an A in class. I've started dozens and dozens of books, anything from plots about wolves taking flight from a ravenous fire to pregnant mothers who would give birth and then an hour later be home cooking supper. Unfortunately, I would only get between 2 to 35 pages in before becoming consumed with boredom - time for something new. So I would abandon my old characters and make new ones with new problems, not really understanding that in order to have a successful fiction novel, multiple characters are one of the main components. Ah, to be young and blissfully ignorant.

Reading is also an enormous part of my life. Of course, if one wants to write, one must read as well. This is the way I expand my horizons; study different styles of literature, different authors, learn what works and what doesn't, understand WHY people write - every author has a unique answer to that one. As for me, the reason I write is because I need to. I don't think I could be completely happy doing anything else, and as long as I continue to work hard and gain experience, I can see good things (hopefully) happening in the future. Although I must say, that future seems a long way away. But the journey is always worth the effort.

Almost a year ago, I finished reading Christopher Paolini's "Inheritance Cycle". As I closed the fourth book, I realized that writing had completely slipped from my repoirtoire, and I missed it! The inspiration I gained from reading this series was so profound that I wrote nearly 5,000 words in two days. That's a lot. For me at least, compared to the weeks it used to take me to complete a single page. (I will do a small report on his books sometime soon). Anyways, to continue, I started my very first official fantasy novel. So far I've written 5 chapters and am well into the sixth without any signs of my imagination letting up. I feel as though this story was just waiting for me to grow up and get started! Well I have. The main character's name simply popped out of my fingers without a single thought and it surprised me to say the least. I mean, to name a girl Mel? Actually, her full name is Melana which I think is beautiful.

And that's it, my purpose for writing is to live, and my purpose in life is to write. End of story...well I hope that's the beginning of my story to tell the truth, and I can't wait to get it published! ;)

Not yet extinct

Sometimes, when I begin to lose all hope in humanity, the random act of a complete stranger turns my thinking right around. I mean, there are so many horrible things going on in the world that often  we turn a blind eye to the good and wonderful. And then, when something incredible happens, it's a bit of a wake up call.

Now, these are not the musings of someone who was sitting around all day trying to come up with a good topic to write about, no. I have reason to speak of this, and what happened tonight at my family's Mother's Day dinner made me realize that human kindness is not yet extinct.

You see, earlier today my father and I went to the homeshow that took place in our recreation center, something we've been doing since I was a little girl. I've been to at least a dozen homeshows; many of them being in Vancouver, and I've met and spoken to countless interesting knowledgeable people, but today's group of new acquaintances beat them all.  

First off, we had a long visit with a young couple that were selling egyptian cotton bedsheets. They were so much alike, I can see why they've been together for over 4 years. On the physical level they were both short, about my height which is 5 foot 3 and a half, maybe a smidge taller, and had fantastic people skills. The man was 25 years old and made me feel like an old friend even though I had only known him for a few minutes. He looked me straight in the eyes and really communicated with me on an entirely different level than what I'm used to. (Usually adults get nervous when they realize I'm not your average stupid teenager and don't know how to relate to me, ignoring my comments and avoiding eye contact at all costs lest they get blasted away by my evil death ray...no I don't really have a death ray.) The woman was 26 and exactly the same. After quite some time of talking to her boyfriend, I got worried that she might think I was flirting, which I was not, so I turned my attention to her. I asked her questions, learned that she was actually an aspiring actor, and got to know her a bit as well - turns out we have a fair amount in common. Anyways, as we were saying goodbye, the man gave me his e-mail address, saying if I was ever in Vancouver and needed a place to stay, I should simply give him a shout. These are not locals and this is only the first example of the kindness I witnessed today.

The second episode was with a woman selling a honey product, a cream actually, that is good for all sorts of things; eczema, acne, burns, sunburns, rashes etc... made in Canada no less! When she first demonstrated the lotion, she only put it on my hands, but once she caught sight of my horrible sunburn (I think it must be a second degree sucker, peeling and scabbing and itching, oh my!) she put a dollop on my father's fingers and had him work it into my back and shoulders. It burned a tiny bit but helped in the long run. Unfortunately I had no money and couldn't buy a jar from her at the time, but hoped I might see her again so I could do so in the future.
Let's just say the future came sooner than I expected.

Since today is Mother's Day I decided to take my parents out for dinner at a nice seaside restaurant and who should I find there? The lotion lady! Half way through our desserts, the woman and her husband (I found out they just got married this January, Congratulations!) began talking to my parents and before I knew what was happening, she was setting a small container of the cream on the table in front of me saying "I saw you and thought of that sunburn and told [my husband] he just had to get you some out of the car! So this is for you, for free." I was dumbfounded to say the least, and so appreciative. It has been exactly a week since my skin got roasted after those eight hours of working in direct sunlight and although it is slowly healing, the itch and temptation to scratch has become nearly unbearable. Now to speed the process!

So although it is unlikely that any of these people will read this post, I still want to say thank you again for reminding me of the beauty that DOES still exist in the world. And if I have somehow encouraged even one of my readers to rediscover random kindness for themselves, I am a success.

A foot in the door

Well good morning, you internet addicts! Now, I say that as a compliment as there are much worse things one could be addicted to. Cocaine, for instance. Or chocolate. Actually, chocolate is a perfectly wonderful thing to have an addiction to and I'm sure at least 70% of you would agree (the other 30% are simply verging on the brink of insanity).

Anyhow, today I woke up thinking about life. Not in the way you might imagine, all contemplative and foreshadowsome (I'm not sure if that's a word, in which case I have now officially made it so), but rather in a more determined sense. Summer has pretty much settled in, spreading its rays and salty scented breeze for the next few months, and I realized that I have now been out of school for nearly a year. Now, after thirteen years of sitting in class (except for my grade 12 year which was spent running around a kitchen) having such freedom is a bit confusing! Almost scary actually. What am I supposed to do with all of this extra time?

At first, I had a job working in one of the hottest restaurants in town (I mean popular of course) but then the stress gradually built up and up, exploding small parts of my brain bit by bit and after nine months I  gave in my two weeks notice. Not the smartest thing I've ever done, but sometimes you've gotta do what you've gotta do, to quote a saying I've heard at least three times in the past week.

So I woke up this morning, after not having a steady job for about three months, and asked my pillow WHY? WHY do I need to spend one of the only summers of my life that remains open and free of any work-related commitments looking for a way to ensnare myself in the neverending stream of busy-bodies and stress-filled minds? (Phew that was a long sentance). What was that? You think this is a very good question? As do I.

There's a song that the world of today reminds me of called Slow Me Down, by Emmy Rossum - a fantastic singer who starred in Phantom of the Opera at only 16 years of age. The first line of lyrics goes like this:
"Rushing and racing and running in circles, moving so fast I'm forgetting my purpose, blur of the traffic is sending me spinning, I'm going nowhere."
Tell me, how many people do you think can relate to this? Because I know for a fact that I am one of them. The time just seems to speed up with every passing year and the harder we try to hold onto it or tie it down the faster it gets away from us. And before you know it, the once smooth flawless skin is wrinkled, the agile hands are clawed and crippled and the once strong back constantly screams obscenities into our pain-afflicted mind.
Okay I apologize, that was a bit harsh. Aging isn't all that bad, and with age comes knowledge and experience right? Things that can be achieved through nothing less than time.

Anyways, as I was saying, the years we have on this earth are too short to be spent doing anything other than what we love to do. Otherwise we will be very miserable beings indeed.

And THAT is what I was thinking about this morning. As for what I love to do? That's easy, writing is my passion - I hope to be a successful author one day and leave my mark on the world - and I have decided that it would be counterproductive to try to spend my life denying myself the joy of doing the very thing I am meant to do. Wouldn't you think so? But that's not to say having a job to bring in the moola wouldn't be a welcome addition to my life (yes, I am about to confuse you with my contradictory statement) and I would be a fool to not get one for the summer.

The only problem is, finding a job is a lot easier said than done.
Despite that fact, I have complete faith that if I simply stick my foot in life's revolving door and refuse to budge, it will be forced to provide opportunities for me somehow, sometime.
And that is exactly what I intend to do; wedge my foot in that closing door and say "Oy! What about me?" and achieve whatever it is I'm after.

Well there it is, my first post on my first blog as my 18 week old puppy runs in her sleep beside me. However, it is a beautiful cloudless day outside and, peeling sunburn and all, I am going to go out there and enjoy a good dose of vitamin D. 

So I say thanks for reading and see ya next time!



Foot in the door pastel painting by Nancy Poucher.