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Category: Personal

And that’s why to this day, f*@cking shoes.

As I’ve mentioned before, when I was very little, we used to live on base in Alberta in a lower income area called Tin Town, named creatively due to the fact the buildings were tin roof and tin siding. When it rained in Tin Town, you felt like you were in a drier full of pennies. A very, very big, hollow, drum like dryer. Our little house had a front door with a little alcove. I want to say that the paneling there like in the living room was dark and faux wood. The alcove for coats and shoes, the…

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This Banana Tastes Like Coma

I was a horrible child. There. I said it. I know that this comes to a great shock to all of you as my well behaved, mannerly, polite and lady-like posts as well as videos attest but it’s true. I didn’t just have a short phase of child’s curiosity where they rummage through everything in the house and snoop through all the places mother’s say, “Don’t go near that!” I frolicked there. In fact, as a child, I made it my toodler and early years goal to be awake and up well before my mother was with great, snooptastic excitement. My eyes would…

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Things I learned from my Mother

Things I learned from my mother:  How to pick out the most expensive thing; be it coffee, food, perfume or makeup without even trying. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again or until you’ve blown $800. If you are going to belch in a diner full of Truckers, go for the gold. Baby shit is not a viable paint.  You don’t have to wear make-up if you don’t want to. Music, especially your favorite music cranked up as loud as it will go, makes everything better. Laugh like no one is watching so they can’t make fun of the snorting you…

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Isn’t she a doll

My mother told me that when she was very, very little she had a doll. It was one of those very-large, stand-up and walk dolls which quickly became her favorite. She took that doll everywhere with her and everywhere with her went it. I do not recall if her sister, my Aunt made mention of it for sure–but I want to say that anytime the doll is mentioned her sister would tease my mother about it. I’ve searched everywhere to try and find the doll that  my mother gave to me–a huge stuffed doll in very old fashioned dress with…

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An Orange and a Needle

Afternoon sunlight angled in through a glass door at the end of the hallway, spilling light across a spotless black and white tiled floor. It was so clean; not a single tread mark or smudge, not a smidgeon of dust along the molding or under any of the black plastic chairs that littered it. The walls were nothing but white with tastefully non offensive photos or photos of paintings that were scenery: fields and flowers and faceless children near the ocean. There was a distinct smell. It’s the sort of scent that, if you spend a lot of time in…

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$800 later.

You didn’t take my mother to a casino unless you had money. A lot of money. Alot of money that you might not want to see again. In Alberta, there seemed to be a Casino tucked away in just about any corner. Some of them were discreet, windowless buildings with parking lots that went on forever. Others were bright-lights, Las Vegas style squat monsters of flashing colors and bright signs. Couldn’t miss them unless you were blind really. My mother could had a list of favorite ones that she “had good feelings,” about. She often liked to roam around them and I suspected that…

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If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.

I love music, and that’s not such a strange thing to say. Many people do–music helps you get through the day, work harder, work smarter, work out harder or relax. I love a weird, wide range of music that spans everything from a song just released a week ago, to Mongolian throat singing. A lot of my music choices are simply sounds that move me to respond to them. I would like to think that my father and mother were especially responsible for my broad love of music. My mother was music. She was constantly humming, if she wasn’t humming, she…

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Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s her mom.

Being a military kid can generally go one of two ways: you’re lucky and your parents end up stationed in one place for a long enough time they c an get a house, settle down and you grow up near base with the same people and same families you were born around, and retire there, too. Or, you get stationed everywhere frequently. You uproot everything and leave friends and new people behind. You hope you’ll keep up but time and distance often keeps that from happening. There are several smaller degrees of severity: sometimes your parents get stations a metric…

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Great Acoustics

P.E.I stands for Prince Edward Island, a tiny little…well..you guessed it, island in the Maritimes where I grew up. I’m not sure who decided that we–my grandmother, my mother and I–were going to go hit the road and take the ferry for a little trip to P.E.I. My mother liked to wander for her own reasons and I suspect my grandmother did too, she just didn’t get the chance to do so often. So I assume they managed to get me to stop chasing shiny things long enough to bundle all of us up in the car for the entire…

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Can I sharpen your window for you?

  My father is a loud man–but not necessarily in the sense of volume (although that can be true, too.) He does a lot of things loudly. He likes to laugh loudly, grumble loudly, express his opinion loudly, live loudly, and talk. He’ll talk to anyone and everyone. Shyness is a thing I believe my father has completely abolished. If you’re respectful to him, he’ll do the same. It’s a small town sort of quirk I think, to be able to ramble on with just anyone, which doesn’t always translate well into the big city he moved to. But it’s…

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