Tag Archives: attitude

Ginger Snaps

I would like to share something a little different today. These are not my quotes. Someone I met here on my blog has been commenting for a while now and I think she happens to be brilliant. Unfortunately, she does not have a blog of her own. It’s a shame because I think she’s wonderful! My opinion. These are her actual words on some of my posts. Please enjoy.


Ginger Snaps       (another instalment)


From 04 September 2022 on.

Let’s virtually join hands and feel each other’s strength and determination and allow it to power us forward.

Some journeys end with us right back where we started! Very often that’s a good thing.

We have a worse pandemic of “closed minds” than we do of Covid…all over the world.

People with closed minds are the same people with open mouths…they can’t stop talking.

If something is perfect there would be no need to brag…it would be evident to all on its own merits.

Sometimes what we never envisioned turns out to be the best thing ever!

A cracked frame is like a wrinkled face…every crack, every wrinkle, tells an amazing story about us.

If we would just open our eyes to the wonders around us, we would see too.

Cracks, chinks, flaws, wrinkles are all proof of a life lived, and hopefully well lived. They are our beauty marks for all to see.

Nine times out of ten, life is only as hard as we make it!

Instead of fearing what we don’t know, we would be wise to research all we can learn about it. Poof! Fear gone!

Our imaginations need unencumbered space to work their magic! Instructions just muck it all up because they’re somebody else’s instructions and have no place in OUR imagination!

Sometimes a bit of foolishness saves the day and lightens someone’s heavy heart.

Life is too short to not live it as fully as we can.

We humans are great at mucking things up but not at leaving things alone.


This Christmas Morning

Christmas morning is here,

And with it the holiday cheer.

With a glass of eggnog,

It’ll clear up the fog,

Then magic will surely appear!


Santa has been in the night,

And he makes everything right.

From on top of a sleigh,

He guides the new day,

And suddenly everything’s bright!


Now this morn I wish to impart,

Words that are said from the heart.

With love and compassion,

It is the new fashion,

Perhaps we’ll get a new start!


This year has come to an end,

To all that I now count as friend.

The world is so big,

But I don’t give a fig,

Blessing to you all I do send!


The Christmas Gift

Jeremy was bereft. His feet were cold and he felt the sniffles coming on. And yet here he was on the evening of December 24 standing in a freezing parking lot looking at dying trees.  Why? Because his family insisted. He desperately wanted to tell the world to piss off and just go and get drunk in some dive bar.

He hadn’t always been like this. He used to love Christmas. But 11 months and 13 days ago everything changed. The woman who completed him, who made him laugh and more importantly who laughed at his jokes, died. Mattie loved Christmas.  She loved life. She loved him. Until some two bit gangsta’ wanna-be thought it would be fun to drag race on a snow-covered icy street. They said she died instantly. But he didn’t. Jeremy wanted to die or to kill, but instead he lived. He felt the tiny box in his pocket. He had planned to ask her that night. That’s why she was out. They were going to meet.

It had been a horrible few months but everyone seemed to have moved on. Except for Jeremy. Here he was standing in the cold with instructions to buy a lovely full tree for Christmas.  He shook his head, was about to turn around and leave when he heard an odd sound.

He looked around the parking lot but he didn’t see anyone. The sound was low, almost frantic. It was a scratching noise with a hiccup and a sigh. It intrigued him. He wanted to know what was making that sound. Jeremy took a step forward and the sound changed. It was a whine now and a huffing noise. It didn’t sound human and yet it didn’t sound animal either.

A back-firing car startled him.  He felt silly. It was probably just the wind stirring up some garbage. Jeremy shrugged his shoulders; he knew he needed to get on with his life. He could never forget her but maybe he should put her where she needed to be:  deep in his heart where she could be protected, her memory safe.  He would start by taking an active roll in this evening’s activities.

In that moment something else happened.  Jeremy seemed to swim up from the abyss of grief he had been living in for almost a year.  His eyes truly opened. He almost smiled. He was looking for a tree. Now there were tall ones and fat ones and ones that looked a little sad. But he couldn’t seem to find one that he thought needed a home with his family. And then something fell on his foot. It wasn’t very heavy, it was very small and it coughed.

Jeremy peered down at his feet trying to see what this thing was.  There wasn’t a great deal of light but he was pretty sure that he saw it move. Without thinking he reached down and scooped up the small ball of something.

The next thing that happened was unexpected. But perhaps given the day, appropriate.  With the small black bundle at eye level Jeremy poked it. It poked back! And then it opened its mouth and emitted a rather large meow. It was a kitten. It was a small, black, cold, abandoned kitten. It curled itself into a ball and started to purr. Jeremy smiled for the first time in almost a year. He tucked the sleeping bundle into his pocket and bought the tree it had been hiding under.

He got his tree. He didn’t haggle the price, he just paid it and chuckled. He was taking home more than a tree.  He had found the Spirit of Christmas hiding in the small body of a kitten under a tree.



The True Spirit

Mary was angry. Here it was two days before Christmas, she was in a town she didn’t know, a new job she didn’t like, she had no friends and no family close by, and some dirty bum had his hand out looking for money.  And on top of all that, he had the unmitigated gall to be smiling as if he was happy.

Mary wasn’t smiling.  In fact, she was absolutely miserable.  Christmas was just another day on the calendar, it had no real meaning.  People went into stores and spent a ridiculous amount of money on gifts for other people that the other people really didn’t want.  Christmas wasn’t even for the children. It was just another way to teach them about how money makes the world go ‘round.  If you had money, it was a good life.  If you did not then you starved and were miserable, and you should look like you were miserable.

Mary approached the man that she called a bum.  She was frustrated, she was angry, and she needed this person to explain to her how he could be so damn happy! Maybe he was on drugs or maybe he was crazy, but Mary didn’t think so.  Of course, she did drop a twenty-dollar bill into his tin can before she posed her question.

“Are you alright? You are sitting here on a cold sidewalk asking for money.  All around you is obscene wealth.  How can you sit there and smile when you have nothing and so many people around you are spending money like it is water and on frivolous things? You look like you need food and these people are buying toys for people who really don’t want them.  How can you sit there and smile? I’ve seen you everyday for the last week and you smile everyday, you wish people a Merry Christmas, or Happy Hanukkah, or Happy Kwanza and I don’t understand how you can actually be happy.”

At this point Mary was almost in tears.  She felt so alone and so unloved that she felt jealous of this destitute individual.  She wanted to shake him to make him see what an awful place the world was but she didn’t. What she did do was pause for a breath and what she saw then took that breath away.

Just a moment before she had been looking at a dirty bum and now, he had taken on a dignity that belied her original perception.  He sat up straighter and his smile became wider.  Even his eyes seemed to twinkle with a secret knowledge. There was a beauty to his face that she had not noticed before. His voice, when he spoke, was strong and melodic.  The words he spoke were the truth.

“But I have everything.  Someone gave me a coat to keep me warm.  He gave me the gift of warmth. People stop and give me their spare change, a cup of coffee, or a sandwich. A small child gave me a penny.  A penny to a small child is like a million dollars to a billionaire. A beautiful woman gave me her scarf to warm my neck.  An old man gave me a warm pair of gloves.  All I have to offer them in return is my smile and my best wishes.  Some people are embarrassed and hurry on but others take it in the spirit in which it is given. Some people give of themselves, and that is what makes me the wealthiest of people.”

Mary thought about what this person had just said to her.  It was starting to make sense.  The importance of the season was not the gift; it was not the thought of the gift. That was all meaningless.  What was important was the giving of one’s self willingly.

The next day Mary went into work.  She felt a little lighter, a little happier.  She looked around her with a new perspective: people were giving of them selves; the gifts they were giving were simply an extension of their spirit.  Sometimes the gifts were expensive, sometimes the gifts cost only pennies and sometimes it was only a word and a hug.  But these people were giving, Mary saw that now.  And Mary started giving as well.

It was Christmas Eve now and Mary wanted to share with the homeless man what she had learned.  She stopped at the bank and took out one hundred dollars.  She placed the money in an envelope and tucked that into the pocket of her coat.  With a smile on her face, she went looking for the homeless man.

But he wasn’t there. Mary walked up and down the street looking for him.  She asked shop keepers if they had seen him but everyone was too busy and said they didn’t remember.  So, Mary continued on her walk home.  She was sad now that she couldn’t share with the man who had taught her so much.  She wondered where he had gone and what he was doing for Christmas.

Just two blocks before Mary reached her apartment building was a small church.  Mary had seen the structure before but had never ventured in.  Today her feet took her over the threshold and into the church.  She sat quietly in one of the back pews and looked up into the beautiful stained-glass windows.  She felt at peace.  As her eyes wandered over the beautiful paintings, a figure seemed to stand out:   it was of man who was seated on the ground and his hand was outstretched as if beckoning.  Her eyes widened in recognition and then she shook her head, it was not possible.

As Mary turned over in bed that night, she replayed in her head what she had learned and she smiled.  She had left the envelope with the money in the church; she knew it was the right thing to do. Never again would she forget just how valuable it is to interact with other people.  Giving of one’s self is as simple as smiling.  He had taught her that.





I Got Nothin’

And I like it! You see, I’m a firm believer that nothing is where something begins. Apologies to Einstein for he disagrees with me and he was considered a preeminent mind. I’m just a middle-aged woman with a middle-aged brain and ageless mind. I’m also an unrepented optimist. I believe we can get something from nothing. Actually, I believe that’s the only place you can get a proper start: when you have a clean slate. Ask an artist what they see when they look at a blank canvas. They see possibilities. If something were already there, they would be restricted or they would have to obliterated. You see they start from nothing and then they create. Isn’t that what we do?

I had the idea for this post a few weeks ago but it was still percolating. And then I saw a friend’s post with exactly the same title and I was crushed. I guess we think alike. But in actual fact only the titles are the same. Dan Antion over at nofacilites.com has a brilliant blog. I get lots of ideas from him. (Shush don’t tell him!) But his post with the same title is significantly different than mine. So, I decided to share.  Here are my musings about nothin’ . . .

When I wake up first thing in the morning my first thought is… Of nothing. It’s nice to have no responsibilities, no pressing needs, no requirements that must be dealt with forth with. If only for a few moments my mind can wander anywhere and everywhere with no restrictions. That’s kind of a nice feeling. But of course, it doesn’t last. I have emails to answer, I have a cup of tea that is calling my name and I have engagements that I have committed to. I have responsibilities. And that’s fine. That is my life. And it is a life that I choose. But for short periods of time, it’s so nice to be surrounded by… Nothin’.

I’m wondering if there is a part of me that is channelling that innocent child in my mother’s womb that floated in an oblivion of nothing. I have no memory. But I wonder if my body does. Do our bodies remember? That is a whole Nother question… for another day.







Books versus Life

I love to read. I love to immerse myself in another world, another reality and experience it. I can live the life penned by another for as long as I am in that world. But I have a life. I have a life outside the pages of a book. I cannot stop my life from moving inexorably forward but I can put a book down and walk away. Can’t do that in real life!

When an author sits down to pen a novel, short story, a poem, they usually have an idea of where they ultimately wish to be. I would say they are in charge. Life is not always like that. We can have a plan, desires, a roadmap for our lives but there are too many variables. We might plan to be a dancer and our education is all towards that end and yet we are unable to dance. So, our path is now changed. We have to change with it. We need to devise a new plan. Is that so wrong? I’ve always found the unknown to be challenging and exciting. Perhaps terrifying is the right word but that also makes it enticing. And we wouldn’t be who we are without challenges. We have grown as a species from babes in the wood to leaders of our universe, sort of.

Our greatest inventions have grown out of a need. We were cold so we learned to harness fire. We were afraid of the dark so we learned to bring light. We like challenges.  We thrive on challenges. Which is a good thing, because there are a whole lotta challenges in our world. Sometimes those encounters can become too much and so we escape into the pages of a book. Or a movie, a video game, etc., etc. etc. The point is, we can take a short break and become someone else. But we cannot stay there. We. Can. Not.  There are books I have read multiple times because I enjoy the world that is created there. I like to visit. And I hope to think that some of the benefits I felt within those pages I am able to carry with me in to my reality. There’s something to think about. Someone else creates and we embody. Hmmmm . . .








The Cracked Brigade

“As I have gotten older, I have come to realize that perfection is a frame of mind and my frame is cracked.”

I wrote that as one of my daily quips last week, and I was quite surprised at the response. People coming forward and saying that they too were cracked. And I mean cracked in the best of ways.

An actor I greatly admire recently came forward and stated that he didn’t feel he was worthy. He didn’t think he was good looking enough or smart enough or talented enough and that he was just lucky. I beg to differ. And hundreds of thousands of people around the world agree with me. He has insecurities just like us and I think he’s brave to come forward and admit that. What we see is a chameleon, a true actor, but what he feels behind closed doors is human. I think that is often difficult for men to admit to and perhaps women as well. I have spoken to people who have actually talked to him and they’re always surprised when they find that he is as nice as he appears to be.

As one of my readers stated that: “we are all cracked”. We all have flaws that we think are negatives and yet they are not. They are part of who we are, plain and simple.

There’s a lovely old story that I remember about a farmer who used to pick up water from the well and bring it up to the house. Each day he took two clay jugs, filled them to the brim and walked a meandering path back to the house. One day one of the pots apologized to the farmer for not doing his job. (OK, OK, this is a story, it’s not real life.  It’s meant to illustrate a point.) The pot said that because he had a crack he never arrived back at the house as a full jug. Too much of the water had leaked out, and he believe he was a failure because of it. The farmer smiled and said: “Take a look at the path we take. I knew you had a crack and so I planted seeds along the path. I always make sure that you were leaking on that side. Look at the flowers that have blossomed. You have been watering those seeds and now look . . . The world is a prettier place, because of what you contributed through your crack.”

Those cracks are chinks in our armor that allow us to share the essence of who we are. That is a pretty special gift and one that I cherish.


Halloween?  No!

Halloween is for sissies,

For kiddies and such.

Not for the minded,

Intelligent touch.

I’ll not be swindled,

And fooled with a scare.

No candy from me,

Not even a dare.

Now I hear knocking,

At my front door.

Ignore this I shall,

I will do no more!!

Children on candy,

Is too much a rush!

It messes their teeth,

Their minds become mush!

More banging is heard,

Just leave me alone!

I’ll not be a part,

Of this weirding new zone!

There are shapes at the windows,

Dear God they want in!

The devil is coming,

He senses my sin!

Moaning I hear!

They whisper my name.

Fear them I won’t,

Please make this a game!

A man was found dead,

Halloween night.

They say that he suffered,

A terrible fright.

Remember this story,

Next year they’ll be back.

Have candy all ready,

Or they’ll help you to pack . .



What is it that makes me, well, me? What is it that makes you, you? We all have a built-in identity based on how we look, how we speak, how we act. I am a Canadian. I was born in Canada X number of years ago. You really didn’t think I was gonna tell you my age? Silly you! But as such, I am perceived by others to have certain… traits. It is expected that I will be polite. Always saying “I am sorry” and “eh” are common phrases that are attributed to a Canadians.  They are attributed because they are often said. (Most of us try to get away from the “eh” because it is, well, irritating.) Assuming we are polite is not a bad quality to have.

Canada is the second largest country geographically and yet our population puts us at the 40th. Big country, few people. I think that goes a long way into determining our character. We have a great sense of humour and love to laugh at ourselves. We have more lakes than in the rest of the world combined and we make a great friend. We are loyal and tenacious. But we’re not perfect. We will be the first to admit that. I like being Canadian. I like the fact that the rest of the world likes me because I am Canadian. But I am sure there are those out there who do not. And I’m OK with that.

But there is so much more to one’s character then where you were born. We develop as we evolve as people. I was lucky to have had an idyllic childhood, a carefree youth and, so far, a useful adulthood. I have had adventures and friendships, sorrows and ecstasies. All of these have helped form my character. And it is still forming. With luck, it will be until the day I die. And I have no plans for that anytime soon! I’m just sayin . . .

Perhaps the most important component to one’s character is time. Time allows us to grow, to experience to become the person we are meant to be. It is sad when some are not given the time to become more. With time we can learn, we can touch, taste, hear, see, hypothesize. What we do with those experiences that we have gained over time is what will define our character.

And the final piece to the jigsaw puzzle that is us is, us. We choose. We can choose to let the good and the bad define us or we can make that choice ourselves. That perhaps is the strongest aspect of our identity.

Give Me Strength


Lord give me strength,

Don’t leave me alone!

I’m waiting for signs,

I’m right by the phone!


I think I am good,

I do as I’m told.

That bit with the baker,

Just means I’m not old.


I know what you think,

I should not have said.

But seriously Lord,

I just wanted bread!


Not one of the 10,

Have I seriously broken.

But in moments of stress,

Number three have I spoken.


One is intact and 5 is a given,

I try number 4 each Sunday I do!

But sleep is the devil,

If only you knew.


My Lord is my Saviour,

He waits by my side.

When shopping for shoes,

I swear He does hide!


Each morning and night,

I kneel down in prayer.

I say all the words,

You taught me to share.


But now is the time,

Dear Lord that I ask.

Forgiveness in truth,

For a despicable task.


My last nerve did he break,

And I killed without thought.

That mosquito is dead,

Your words I forgot.


Stop laughing Dear Lord,

There’s a mess on my floor!

Your mask it is slipping

And I think that you swore!