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Showing posts from January, 2015

Ani DiFranco - 32 Flavors (HQ)

This is for those who think we need to be less than they are.  Thanks D for reminding me it’s out there.

Pieces of paper.

I wrote it down in great detail
the day you tore me down the day you made me feel small the day you tried to hurt me.  and then I tore it up  into small pieces  and discarded your memory and your carelessness  and your thoughtlessness I smiled as I saw the pieces  of paper fall away from  my finger tips, carelessly drifting into the resting place of yesterday. 

Brandi Carlile - Dreams

A recommended video from one of our readers. Thank you. :)

Here's to the Crazy Ones, Think Different - Apple

Launch of Pink Flamingo in Brown Duck Pond

I am a writer. That’s what I do.  I write.  And so I did. It’s as simple as that.  I started the book a long time ago.  I love story telling and so throughout my life time, I have told stories in one form or another.

A part of me says enjoy this moment. The other part of me says this moment is too big, and so I opted for a soft launch, for now so that I can establish a marketing plan and determine how exactly ‘we’ enter the world.  I reflect upon the reasons that I wrote this book in the first place. 

Story telling is powerful.  There are thousands of stories one can imagine and tell, but the story must begin with an intention.

Sometimes story telling can be positive and illuminating if taken to heart. Sometimes it can cause barriers if taken to heart. In writing this story, I had to make a decision to tell the story that would illuminate my path and the paths of my readers and relieve my heart and allow the story that hurt me a peaceful ending.

When I started writing this story, I …

The Second Coming: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.
    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,


I have dreams and aspirations
I step forward to take the leap
of faith in myself.
And then I became afraid.
I ask myself, who am I?
Why me.  Who do I think I am?
Why should anybody listen to what I have to say?
He pushes me to the precipice,
so that I might jump just to get it over with,
because that would be easier than listening.
And so I retreat secure in my smallness.

45 - From “How to be a Pink Flamingo in a Brown Duck Pond”

When they look at me They see someone else
Someone’s mother,
Someone’s wife
Someone’s something.

I know my freedom is near
Deep down inside me
But so far away
So distant that I can’t touch it
Can see it
Don’t know what it looks like

I am alone in this journey
Because everyone has something to gain
By my staying the same.
Everyone has a stake
In my never changing.
The courage that it would take to let go
To freefall
To land wherever
And to pick up and go on

As I look out on my life
I don’t know what is out there now
I just know that I feel trapped
On the other side of my life
Where lives my potential, my voice.
Needing to be heard.
But I don’t know what to say.
Needing to be seen
But afraid to show myself
Needing to be free
But chained
When is it ok to let go
To be free

What if letting go
Means losing everything
That I have and know
What if letting go
Means starting over

What if letting go means not being the kind of wife that I used to be
Not being the kind of mother they need me to b…

This labour of love, of visions of sky, flamingos and ducks.

I’ve got to take a little time / A little time to think things over. / Better read between the linesIn case I need it when I am older. / This mountain I must climbeels like a world upon my shoulder / Through the clouds I see light shine / It keeps me warm as life grows colder . . . From “I want to know what love is”, Foreigner 

January 2015.  The new year. A second chance.  A time of vision and intention, of clarifying the path ahead, of culling those things that no longer work, and making space for new things. 

I set out on this path three years ago with the intention to do what I love, and to love what I do, to live and work with and for purpose, and to live in freedom.  Change is in the air for SKY, as it must be for all things. Today I am thinking about the journey so far, what I have learned and what the future looks like from this vantage point of experience. 
My Intentions 
I would publish stories that are read world-wide about interesting and inspiring people who live and work in …


“There is a place where people come together to learn, to heal and find balance. A place that gives back to the community. An oasis of warmth, of sunrises and sunsets, of freedom to explore and deliver.”

About a year ago, I ‘graduated’ from a 300 yoga teacher training program through a studio in my home city.  Toward the end of the training program, I found myself asking the same questions that I asked myself when I graduated from university:  "What do I know, and what will I do with this?”

At the time of graduating from university in 1996, my decision process was pretty simple. I had two children to feed and care for, and my husband was still in university himself. I had to get a job and somehow turn this Journalism degree into a mortgage payment, groceries and dance lessons.  So I set a goal of $50,000 in five years before walking across the stage to accept my degree. Thereafter I was to spend about 20 years trudging up the corporate hill of vision as a corporate strategic pla…

The Suits of Armour: See you later.

This is me now.  That was me in 2009.  I left that life behind in 2011, but that suit, along with about 20 others had been hanging in my closet waiting to be worn again.  We had already broken up, but neither of us were willing to admit it.

I tried to wear them, but every time I put one of them on, somehow we just didn’t want the same things. They still fit as they always had, but I had changed. I was no longer that person.  Somehow I felt like I couldn’t breathe  - like I was suffocating, and so I would take off the suit and hang it back up.

I think the suits were a back up plan in my mind.  I started my own business in 2011 and truthfully, I kept the suits in case I wanted to get a ‘real job’ again.  (Every entrepreneur thinks about that from time to time. )

Some weeks ago, I wrote about giving up the “suits of armour” in my closet. It was difficult to do of a long time.

I even bundled them up in black plastic bags and placed them in the back of my car to deliver them to one of …

Thawing out the River of Intention: The Flamingo’s Guide to Flying

It’s January 6 today. The temperature is -34 degrees Celsius here in the land under the sun.  Getting out of bed is hard on days like today because of the cold alone.  Once I do tear myself away from my bed, it’s off to the closet to figure what to wear for another sub-arctic day.  How many layers can I possibly manage today, I wonder.
I opt for bamboo harem pants and top, a long knit sweater and mukluks, which were a Christmas gift in 2006 when my husband worked up North.  The mukluks are handmade by a woman in Northern Saskatchewan. They are made from moose hide and beaver.  I never wear them outside because the salt will destroy them, and they are too beautiful to destroy.

My phones are ringing.  Emails are dinging.  People want to meet with me. They want to know ‘the plan’, as if plans just miraculously appear upon the asking.  But plans take time. I should know. I am a planner.

In the corporate world where I worked as a strategic planner for some 20 years before starting my own …

Who do I think I am. I am vulnerable.

Who do you think you are. No question mark, just a cold stop.  For every second that I pause with a response, the demand reverberates. Who do I think I am.

I guess it’s always been there.  That gnawing feeling inside of me that asks me who I think I am. In fact, the word ‘ask’ is too mild.  It’s more of a demand.  Who do you think you are.  

The other day I visited a book store to see the books on the shelf.  They were filled with people who I imagined could answer that question without pause.  They must be somebody after all. They are on the book shelf. Who do you think you are, the questioner questioned.

On December 16, I published my first book, “How to be a Pink Flamingo in a  Brown Duck Pond: Painting the sky.”  The royalty package that I chose is specifically designed not to incent book store buys, because of that question - who do I think I am. 

It’s been three weeks now since the book hit the online book store and to date one digital copy has been sold.  One copy.  And that te…