Funny

Cabbage Rolls and Shortbread Again?

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Let’s face it, during the holiday season we all either wear our fat pants or wear a stretchy waistband; nobody wants to take Uncle Patric’s eye out with a button popping off at eighty miles an hour. In our family, the holiday season required plenty of food and social drinks. We traditionally included cabbage rolls and perishke with dill cream sauce for the big meal; these dishes represented the Ukrainian side of our heritage. We also had shortbreads and fruitcakes for dessert to represent our Scottish and English heritage. My mom, wearing her little apron with her large bottle of wine at her side, had been in charge for years. However, things change, and for many years now I have been the head hash slinger. I prepare all the finicky treats with as much swearing and cursing and moaning and groaning as possible. Recently, I have realized that this is merely an indication more gin and tonic is needed and represents all the alcoholics who fell out of our family tree at Christmas time, or rather into it. Cheers.

Daily writing prompt
Do you or your family make any special dishes for the holidays?
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No Need for Sleep

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If my body did not require sleep, I am one hundred percent sure I would capture a nest of mice and measure up their teeny weeny feet to make them form-fitted Dutch-style clogs. Upon completion, I will set the nest of mice free where my husband is sleeping and wait and see how long it takes before the clog-thumping mice become more rambunctious than his snoring. Once he’s awake and I am thrown out of the house, I will commune with a local bat colony and learn echolocation, enabling me to run through the forest at night without hitting a tree. And that’s just the first night, who needs sleep?

Daily writing prompt
If you didn’t need sleep, what would you do with all the extra time?
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To The Writers

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writing text, random text, text, paper, notebook, pen. by turtlepod is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Pursing the craft of writing requires determination and a certain understanding that failure is a step to success. So, when I think of all the writers who struggle, I laugh. It is not a cackle of cold-hearted humour but a laugh of harmonious hysterics. And we must laugh, because it’s far less painful than banging one’s head against a wall. A day without laughter is a day with bandages on our heads.

And so, I commend all writers on their continued dedication to writing. Storytelling isn’t a craft for cowards; it is for people with golden scissors in the pocket of their pants. A tool to cut well-loved sentences, paragraphs, and chapters. In fact, well-written stories are the result of a bloody and thorough scissor slaughter. My novel, for instance, is beginning to feel like Frankenstein— a cobbled together horror of life.

In the end, dear fellow writers, the only way to finish is to keep on writing. Which oddly doesn’t always mean going forward; often times, in a banging your head against a wall situation, you need to go back to the beginning. Ugh. However, don’t give up. Whether it be forward or back, movement is the key to success. 

Be the flowing words; be the vibrational hum; be the silence and the song. 
Warble on and tell your stories of deep longing in a world of shallow breaths. 
Go outside and walk upon the earth; take notice of the trees and the sky. 
Pause to listen to the screams of silent masses, and then come into yourself and gather up your gifts and share. 
Stories are you; they are me; they are everyone we see. 
Endless tales of wonder and laughter and banging our heads against the walls.

Perspective

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Photo by Aviv Perets on Pexels.com

Today, while I ponder over the difficult choice of whether I prefer the mountains or the beach, I have safety on my mind. Mountains have forever been a stellar subject for monologues about awe-inspiring beauty, and I agree they are. However, there is a beastly side to the mountain views. First off, narrow ridges and sharp cliffs provide plenty of opportunities to fall and kill oneself. Secondly, the generous nature of loose rocky slopes offer us all the opportunity to be buried free of charge. Thirdly, there are a variety of wild things in the deep, dark forests and inky crevices along the trails, perfectly safe, of course, until they are not. Yet all those little things will not frighten me off; mountains provide far more solace and opportunity for quiet musing than for death-defying walks.

Beaches, ahhh, beloved beaches— aren’t they a delightful oceanside retreat. What could possibly be the downside of such a glorious spectacle except for a tiny tsunami, which could possibly sweep us out to sea? And yet, besides daring to walk beside the largest serial killer in the world, water, we must also consider salt water, the most excellent conductor of electricity. The itty bitty lightening storm dancing in the distance might toast your tootsies too, not to mention, stop your heart. Last but not least, who doesn’t love strolling along the beach picking up seashells? Beware, my fellow crustacean lovers; there might be a poisonous snail living inside that cone shell. This small creature has 30 confirmed kills. But don’t let this stop you from enjoying your favourite sandy haunt; the odds of anything happening are slim.

But seriously, life’s too short to worry; just enjoy it all.

Daily writing prompt
Beach or mountains? Which do you prefer? Why?
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A Fresh New Year

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Photo by Tara Winstead on Pexels.com

In the beginning, we started out as wide-eyed innocent babies hoping to be taken care of, because, well, to be frank, we were pretty useless. We enjoyed those days in the lap of luxury, yelling at our moms without getting in trouble, life was like a vanilla milkshake, sweet and dependable. As we grew and found our feet, we crawled and then tottered and then walked about. Eventually we discovered the joy of crayons, creating marks with wax sticks of color at first on paper, and then if unsupervised, on walls and books and table tops. Crayons then got switched out with washable markers, and then we discovered blue fingers were pretty cool too. If we were fortunate enough to have a stable home, our early years stayed pretty magical right up until we entered school. It was then, that society hit us square in the face with the blunt end of the crayon. We lost our sparkle of wonder through assimilation and sameness. The feeling of possibility was crushed by preconceived expectations of curriculum and hard and fast rules; line up little citizens, work hard but not too hard, have ideas, but not too fresh of ideas, and of course, don’t fool around. Please remember, the government and corporations are depending on you to become compliant, dead-eyed, spending above your means, tax paying citizens.

Cynical much? Yes.

Is everyone is thriving in the robot factory? Rise and shine, eat, have a big poop, go to work, eat lunch, work, come home, eat, watch TV or play video games. Oh damn, we need to replenish our supplies, buy food and toilet paper, wince at the price. Once in a while we might mindlessly buy a product we saw advertised a hundred times on TV, such as a box of super duper band-aids in the shape of a power saw. Then, while we wait in line at the till, we notice some other hogwash item we don’t need and purchase that too… unless we have filthy hogs and an oozing cuts. But who am I kidding, no one procures hogwash anymore, we purchase mammal-lather, it’s far more inclusive. Those are the little items though, perhaps the most expensive and pointless purchase is the ego investment. You know, when we buy something just because our neighbour has one. It’s a plot. We need to keep up with the Joneses, because we understand the Joneses set the bar. (Shhh, don’t tell anyone, but I heard through the grape vine that the corporations install Joneses on every block— two when sales are slow. The banks love the Joneses too, especially when it’s steak night.) The Joneses spark up their barbecue and soon the scent of barbecued beef enraptures the entire neighbourhood. Suddenly credit limits are raised all around suburbia and barbecues ignite simultaneously on every deck in the neighbourhood. Credit approval is now required upon purchase of beef.

There are times though, that we rouse enough energy from our dead-eyed corpse-like bodies to indulge in exercise, socializing or artistic endeavours. Then for a short span of time we become momentarily free from our robotic life and we feel light and energetic, in tune with our bodies and our surroundings. We fervently promise ourselves we will do this lovely soul lifting activity again. And then our well meaning promise gets obliterated through our scrolling compulsion on social media, Tic-Tok, twitter, Facebook, and then out of the blue, Tinder dings and there is a robotic request for meaningless soul sucking sex. Empty soul deflating information continuously being downloaded into our psyche. Is it any surprise that, bam! Suddenly, we are back on autopilot in a lacklustre state, dull-eyed and sniffing the neighbour’s steak from afar.

Truth? We are our own worst enemies. We get bogged down with all the well-meaning shoulds, coulds and woulds in our lives. It’s a stalling energy. I should do that. I would do that. I could do that. The trouble is when we use those words they all come with a big fat BUTT on the end. Oops I mean BUT. So, why do we hesitate? What keeps us from achieving? Is it worry or fear? Or a lack of focus? It isn’t easy to yank yourself from the daily grind. We have been expertly manipulated into compliant, dead-eyed, tax paying citizens who seldom look up from their immediate needs. First off, we need to understand how we lost the wonder of our existence? If we can answer that inquest, we will have a starting point to making better choices working towards the accomplishments we desire. Questions are the answer. Are we actively choosing the things we do or are we just choosing them because it is the way we’ve always done it? Change begins with self-reflection.

I have an idea. Let’s all buy a box of crayons, a massive box containing all the colours we can imagine. Now, let’s draw. Draw badly, draw and scratch and scribble and draw some more. Then write. Write badly, just write and write and write. Let’s keep going until we find our childlike joy and remember who we were before we were crammed into the dead-eyed tax paying citizen role. Let’s learn new things and new ways of doing things and most importantly, let’s’ be kind to one another. On that note, Happy New Year to us all! Let’s make this a year of bright eyed living and actively create the life we desire.

Unearthing Information

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Photo by Alex Dugquem on Pexels.com

Good day, my fellow companions sharing in this grand adventure of life. I have a confession to make. I used to be the most over-trusting, easily deceived, green as grass, rural dweller that you ever could meet. I assumed all professionals such as doctors, dentists, lawyers and cheese makers were equally effective and proficient in their job. I had no clue that a little research goes a long way. Talk about naive. I mean, I was once a Girl Guide, I should have taken the motto, ‘be prepared‘ more seriously, but I think I was a bigger fan of the stylish uniform than being prepared. Long story short, I have aged into the understanding that a quality investigation into anything relating to your health and welfare is critical to a great outcome. And, if you know me at all, you know I have a story to illustrate this point, and no, it’s not about a cheese maker. However, if anyone one has one of those stories, I’d be absolutely giddy to hear it.

A few years ago, my friend, Brenda and I were on our daily walk. It was mid-summer; the towering grass growing in the wide ditch swaggered within the rush and wane of the wind and a hint of wild mint from a pond beyond the willows wafted through the air. We strode side by side without saying a word, all talked out from our previous kilometres, tiny beads of perspiration sparkles on our faces and the heat of the day hangs on the road between the ditches. A sudden movement to my left snatches my attention, a fluffy bear cub rears up near the edge of the road and contemplates us with obvious curiosity. My breath halts as a huge black mass rises up from the long grass behind the cub. My eyes widen and my body trembles in alarm. Brenda hadn’t seen them yet.

I grab hold of Brenda’s t-shirt to get her attention. “Stop. It’s a bear,” I say, huffing on each word. My knees weaken, running into a mama bear with cubs was not on my bucket list. Brenda’s eyes bulge as she takes stock of the imposing bear and her three cubs now romping unpredictably through the grass.

Thankfully, this bear and her three cubs had been sighted in the area a few days earlier and I had taken the initiative to sit at my computer and search this question, ‘What do you do when you run into a mama bear and you are about to drop a deuce in your drawers?’ Instantly, I received a list of websites about bears, none about poo. I read about five or six articles to get a wide variety of advice. The national parks had excellent information but there were also some educational personal accounts. The unanimous point in all information was DO NOT RUN. Then I opened another window and searched, “How to remove poo stains from panties.” So, according to experts you can mix one tablespoon of white vinegar with one-liter of water in a spray bottle. That said, I should have checked my sources, because squirting the bear with vinegar solution only enraged her further.

Kidding.

The bear stood about a camper length away, like an average fifth wheel, not a tent trailer. It seemed as though we stared at that bear for hours before we made our move but in truth it was closer to a second. And in that second, it was impossible not to take notice of the sharpness of her claws and the whiteness of her teeth. Who was her dentist? As we huddled together, I swear our hearts weirdly synchronized and we pounding out the drum beat of ‘Run Run Run,’ by the Who.

“What do we do?” Brenda asks, voice quavering.

Do Not Run, I thought. “We need to look as non-threatening as we can, look at the ground,” I say hoarsely, my mouth drier than a salted mummy. “Back away slowly.” We move in lockstep, a stealthy retreat. The sow shook her head clearly agitated, clacking loudly. Obviously she is trying to decide who to eat first, juicy Brenda or dusty Deb. In one swift move she drops down and takes two powerful strides toward us, head bobbing, ebony fur rippling in the sunshine. Then she rose up again to her full height, clacking fretfully.

We continue backing away, calmly and quietly— kind of quiet. Whispering, “Oh my God, oh my God.” A rattling holy phrase. The bear hoverers on her spot, eyes unblinking, nostrils flaring. Bren and I back down into the ditch nearly disappearing from the bears sight into the sparse shrubbery that lined the road. We duck behind a wimpy looking willow; the sturdiest tree of all. The bear sways trying to see where we are. I search the ground for a weapon of some sort, just in case; a weighty branch to be swung as a club or a sharp-ended stick like a spear. There is nothing. Only twigs. I could poke her eye out.

Then Brenda leans into me. “I think she’s leaving.”

I look up and peer through the leaves. Sure enough, the mama decides we are not a danger and she and her cubs lope off in the opposite direction, up an incline and into the deep bush.

Looking back, I should have failed my online bear psychology degree. Having done the research, I knew that Brenda and I should have been carrying bear spray or wearing a bear bell to announce it was dinner time. But at least I was able to move through my fear and use some of the tools I learned to minimize the possibility of a bad outcome. After all, we are all in charge of our own outcomes. So today, as in every day, I wish you the clarity of mind and clarity of heart in any decision you make. Oh yes, and by the way, the vinegar and water solution really does works.

Your Destiny

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Photo by Ryutaro Tsukata on Pexels.com

Greetings, lovely people. So honoured you have chosen to read my blog today. Now, I’m not here to lecture you on this fine morning like some stogy old professor with yellow teeth and smoky breath. I’m simply here to tell you how much I appreciate your amazingness and uniqueness. I know, you’re probably rolling your eyes and clutching your wallet protectively, thinking, “How can she say that? Is she trying to scam me? She doesn’t even know me?” True. I don’t know you. However, as an old unstogy non-professor I can still infer certain truths from my own life experience. I can claim quite confidently that you are a complex individual coming from a multifarious past of quintessential experiences which has uniquely crafted you into the life you are currently living. You, my friend, are one of a kind.

And in this fine fresh month of January, I am here to remind you that your innate capabilities are limitless. Billions of people are blessed to live on this wondrous planet. Think of it. Billions! And out of those billions no one else has your fingerprints or your energetic frequency. As a rarity, you do not need to fit into anyone else’s idea of how you should act or what you should do with your precious life. You need never bow down before any other person. We are all equal and divine in nature. Part of our divinity means we show respect and compassion for all of our fellow humans, for each and every single being, right down to the drug addict on the corner all the way to the Queen of England. We show respect and compassion because it is right to do so, because respect and compassion lift others and ourselves. This generousness of heart settles the torment in our lives because living in this society is no easy ride on a merry-go-round. It’s more like the Yukon Striker roller coaster in Canada’s Wonderland, with its 360 degree flip, four inversions, and 75 meter drop which descends into an underground tunnel surrounded by water. I dare say those clambering to get on the Yukon Striker don’t need a pep talk through life challenges.

So, my friend, it’s a New Year. Take a deep breathe… and now get excited. What do you want to do that you have always put off doing due to fear or inconvenience? Guess what? Today is the day! There is no better mantra for this year. A little stress and angst is worth feeling alive; thorns can cut and tear our flesh but they offer us the rose. Engage, dear heart. Risk. Smile. Cry. Live. Variety is the glitter of our world. Put a hand on your heart, feel your life force. Remind yourself what a miracle you are. Become aware of the rising energy beneath your palm; swirling dreams by the thousands waiting to be realized. Bring your passions to the table and shine.

What is the greatest gift you could ever give yourself? Self-empowerment. This is the year that you take control of your destiny. There are no more excuses. So go ahead, you one of a kind miracle, show yourself what you can do.

Butt It’s Valentines Day, I Heart You

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photo of statue during daytime

Piazza Novona, Rome, relatively near to the events that sparked the creation of Valentines Day. In the spirit of love and attraction I gift to you this photo displaying all sorts of suggestive symbolism. Sit back, take a close look, and allow your imagination to run wild, like a horse that’s been spooked by a flying tarp. Photo by Heinz Klier on Pexels.com

Well, my friends of the heart, February 14th, has arrived. That’s right, the gushy, lovey-dovey celebration is here, regardless of whether we want it or not. It enters into our lives either like a ghost in the night, or a yodelling yelp of expectation. Let’s face it, this is a day of jumbled reactions. Some people will excitedly profess their love to a potential mate or current partner, and some people will offer death glares to paired up lovers in the street. While still, others will play the feline, pretending nothing is happening at all.

Despite the diversity of our feelings about the designated day of love, I’m sure you most of you know, the biggest winner on Valentine’s Day is the retailer. Hence, some of the biggest losers will be, the inconsiderate sods that neglected to buy a gift for their expectant partner. If you’re not sure how your significant other feels about the Hallmark holiday, here’s a little hint, if there is glitter on their lips and in their eyes, you should probably pick something up. God knows it’s easy enough to find a little something when all the stores are thrusting their heart-shaped wares in your face like an ageing stripper looking for tips.

As you can probably tell, I have become a Valentine’s Day skeptic. For the past four years, I have asked my thoughtful hubby not to participate in the Valentine’s Day scheme. I have literally said, “I don’t need anything for Valentine’s Day, don’t buy into the fake holiday and spend half a day’s wages on a card, and chocolates. I’m good. I already know you love me, I don’t need a damn card to tell me that.” Seriously. Spending ten dollars on a card that costs seventy-five cents to make causes me heart palpitations. Hmmm, the heart palpitations?  Maybe that’s why he continues to buy me cards.

But like I said earlier, it’s not only the price of cards that creates the extra squeeze on my blood pump. It’s the other items of adoration, like the chocolates. Please, please, listen to me, my bearded bedfellow, don’t buy the elegantly dressed up chocolates in a heart-shaped box for twenty dollars. It’s a rip-off! When you open up the frilly cardboard creation, there will only be a dozen itty-bitty sweets in that box. Even at the very thought, I feel my heartbeat suddenly chugging at top speed like a train about to fly off the tracks. “Dear husband, if you are utterly resolved to ply me with chocolate to express your affection, then for the love of all that’s penny-pinching, go to Costco. There you will find the products to deliver unto me, a serious supply of decadent treats.” He will hesitate at this, and I encourage him further. “Listen, honey, if you absolutely need the heart logo to display your devotion to me, then, by all means, use your handy dandy red permanent marker and inscribe the cosmic symbol for love on the container. I would be charmed by that effort. Plus, on the upside, the enormous bag of treats will feed both of us, and our children, and our children’s children and the future generations to come.”

Now, allow me to state once again, my grudge against Valentine’s Day, is not intrinsically against the event itself, but the retailers cashing in on the opportunity to sell junk for jacked up prices, just like politicians making promises at election time. It’s damn expensive. So, in the spirit of finding some meaning in this day that comes around once a year, I choose to dig up the roots of the February 14th tradition. Lo and behold, after a bit of finger flexing and a strong internet connection, I excavated a truth, or rather, a supposed truth.

Long, long ago, in the ancient times of Rome, there ruled an Emperor nicknamed Claudius the Cruel. We can infer from his handy dandy moniker, that Claudius the Cruel wasn’t precisely the empathetic humanitarian you would choose for a leader.  He was ferociously dominant, and during his rule, was knee-deep in a plethora of bloody battles. The warring tyrant used-up soldiers as casually as one would swat away flies. Eventually, there was a noticeable decline in the number of volunteers enlisting in his army, after all, what man wants to mean less than an insect? The arrogant ruler presumed it was the men’s affection for their wives and families that prevented potential recruits from joining his legions. Therefore he banned the practice of marriage and engagements in Rome.  What a Dic… tator.

Soon, all of Rome’s lovers were seeking cold showers. And then, as an answer to many hardened  prayers, along came Valentine of Terni, a Roman Catholic priest. He took one look at the quivering lovesick young people of Rome and made a decision. He defied Claudius the Cruel’s ban against marriages and performed ceremonies in secretive circumstances. Unfortunately, the ruler discovered Valentine’s defiance and arrested him. The cold showers ran once more, and the Roman Catholic priest, Valentine, was sentenced to death. On February 14, 270 AD, the tender-hearted man, Father Valentine, was beaten, stoned and then beheaded.

Consequently, the priest was granted sainthood for providing the blessings of marriage, done in the spirit of love. And that, my friends, is why we celebrate Saint Valentine’s Day. My opinion has changed. I have a new respect for the remembrance of February 14th, a fellow human sacrificed himself in the spirit of love and connection. My heart warms with honour and appreciation for Saint Valentine’s sacrifice. I will still refuse all the retail gifts today, but I’ll gratefully accept love and give plenty in return.

 

An Unexpected Gift

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arts and crafts child close up color

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

So, here I am, another year into my life and literally halfway or more into the grave. It’s been fifty-four glorious years since I had my first slap on the rump to make me wail. Five years after that, I received another slap on the rump, but that had nothing to do with my mom’s vagina and had more to do with my poor attitude. And then many years beyond that— Hmmm, nope, nevermind, we aren’t going to talk about any of the other rump slapping episodes because nobody really wants to know.

Yesterday began as an uneventful birthday. I didn’t have a dance pencilled in with the tribes of Pygmy’s in the Congo, or a swim with the sharks in Fiji. But, to be fair, I did eat a banana split for breakfast with mountains of whipped cream and a big fat olive on top. I even ate it before I created my first poop emoji of the day. So, there it was, a big green glistening vegetable atop of some cream, and then it was gone in a crushing moment of daring. And… since no one else was there to say it, “Congratulations to me.” Eating olives and ice cream took a special kind of courage. 

Fast forward midday into my birthday and you would have found me writing and alternately taking the dogs out to poop and pee. I was on my own for the next few days, Rick, my hubby had gone to work and wouldn’t be back. The day was mine. What to do? Besides writing and finding excuses to not write, I mean, well, it was my birthday. Shouldn’t I do something extravagant? 

“Ping,” said my phone as though answering my question in the form of a text. It was my daughter letting me know that Julie, my granddaughter, was sick and needed to stay home from school. My daughter Megan didn’t ask me to come and help. Yet, as I eyed the text, the hamster wheel inside my brain creaked to life, and as it spun my grey-haired old rodent squeaked, “Emma has dance tonight, you should offer to spend time with Julie, so Megan doesn’t have to bring a sick kid to dance or have Emma miss dance class.” And so a few hours later, I was snuggled up to Julie on the couch while her mom and her sister, Emma were away fulfilling dreams of a future hip hop star. After all, Emma is three, and at that age, dreams still have plenty of potentials to manifest. Gotta keep the dreams alive. 

Fortunately for me, probably due to the cosmic fact it was my birthday, Julie’s continuous puking had ceased and desisted. The magical powers of youth prevailed, and she recovered. I considered this a grand boon and a wonderful birthday gift. My distress over my lack of opportunity to dance with Pygmy’s and swim with sharks had gone. Before long at Julie’s insistence, we had left the couch and made a blanket fort under the dining room table. Soon we found ourselves colouring harlequin masterpieces by the mystical light of a flashlight. As we huddled together under the ancient wooden piece of furniture, I looked up and banged my head. Warm memories flooded my heart as I recalled  playing in amongst all the nooks and crannies of this smoothly polished table. Many years ago, I too had lounged under this table as I played with barbies and hid out with colouring books. This table was part of our family history, it had been my grandparents, and then my parents, and it was now my daughter’s. My grandparents and parents were gone now, moved on to wherever bright spirits go. And now, by a twist of fate, I sat in the shadows of the past making new memories with a cherished young one.  The circle of life continues and my birthday blessing complete. 

Fresh Start

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September 2009 to March 2010-76

Welcome 2018

Screech! I hope this isn’t a sound you hear this year, with the exception of driving of course. You want to hear a healthy screech when you slam on the brakes to avoid hitting a pet, or a child, or three adolescent lynxes running across the road. Oh, and maybe an adult human, I guess you might want to brake for an adult  human too. Unless you’re an asshole, and then all bets are off. What I am trying to say in a rambling sort of way is stop hitting the brake pedal on your dreams. Ignore the hesitation within yourself. Smash the desire to toss those bright and shiny dreams in the garbage just because they might be hard to accomplish.

Seriously though, this is your fresh start. Begin. Make your wishes a priority. Do you want to travel? Maybe you can’t do it today, but you can start by planning for it today. Is it the cost of travelling which is stopping you? Begin by budgeting your money, read blogs and articles on how to save money, buy stuff at a second hand store, shop the deals in a grocery flyer, and cook your own meals. There are infinite ways to tighten ye ole purse strings.

Maybe this year is the year to lose the extra jiggle on your middle? It’s probably the number one New Years promise (lie). And do you know why people fail? It’s because they cut out everything they enjoy doing and eating on January 1 and replace it with gut wrenching gym programs, and tasteless food you need to chew for an hour before swallowing. The reason people can’t make it past week three of the program is because they are pure misery and still have the jiggle. Not only that, but they are feeling unsupported because their significant other is MIA. What they don’t realize is their significant other is probably hiding in the closet or under the couch. They are avoiding the swoosh of the fun Dracula which sweeps in when you enter the room. Please, for the happiness of those people around you, go slowly into the big life changes. The only thing shock starts are good for, are for jolting your heart when it stops beating. Begin your get fit program with a fifteen minute work out and build up to an hour. Change your diet a little at a time. Wean yourself slowly off the sugars, fats, and breads and gently incorporate healthier food choices. Have one food cheat day, and one exercise free day once a week. Be nice to yourself, changing your body takes time, tiny steps evolve into going the distance with less discomfort. And lets be honest, most people don’t enjoy discomfort.

Maybe this year you are dreaming of a gershnoskel upgrade? Maybe you have one of those snot collectors which have begun to look a little lumpy in a mushroomy sort of way, or it sweeps everything off a shelf when you turn around. If it bothers you fix it. There are people who are trained to deal with the genetic whoopsies in our personal form. Maybe this is the year of the nose job?

As you endeavour to change yourself this year don’t forget you have the ability to change the world as well. Recycle, buy local when you can, and if you can’t purchase something you need locally then please consider what type of country you are supporting with your money. Continuing to purchase “Made in China” products supports human rights violations, suppression of human expression, and death sentences for those people who dare to challenge the injustices in their country. I am so grateful to live in a country where I am free.

Whatever you choose for yourself in 2018, I wish you the most honest effort. I wish you foot off the brakes oodles of dedication. I wish you the simplicity of kindness towards yourself and then towards others. It is an important practice as you’ll soon discover travelling to your dream destination. On the plane they will inform you it is necessary to put on your own oxygen mask first before you are able to help others. This is often the case in life. Your dreams are personal. If you are focused — Anything is possible. All you have to do is to commit.

Have a blow your mind, bloody amazing New Year!