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Earlier today I had a scathing post all written out in my head concerning a rather irritating incident at the grocery store. Now that I have actually taken the time to sit and write, the whole thing doesn’t seem like such a big deal. Afterall, I completely understand that the cashier was just doing his job by checking my ID and, I admit that an out-of-state licence could make him suspicious. Policy or not, refusing to sell a bottle of wine to someone with out-of-state ID does not exactly scream welcome to the country. I digress. Now, a few hours later, it is a minor annoyance to be forgotten not a situation to bring a grown woman to tears.
Now the only thing on my mind is the recent completion of yet another paper bringing me closer to graduation. The tasks ahead are still rather daunting with over 900 pages of reading for my next course, plus four small papers and two exams. Really though, it feels surprisingly good to get it all done, and the guilt of lost time lessens with every productive day. I am even finding myself with the luxary of day-dreaming about completed courses, getting a job, and moving into our own aparment. Day-dreams that could be realities very soon.
For tonight, in celebration of another milestone, I will take my cup of tea to my bedroom where I will likely fall asleep while attempting to read or watch a movie. My kitten will cuddle with me for all of 20 minutes before being distracted by the cord hanging from the blinds. And, for a little while, I will forget about the daunting tasks ahead of me and be content with the ones behind. Doesn’t it sound like a lovely end to the night?




Four letters making up a word that is, emotionally, near-impossible to define. For me, the options are muddled and confusing, trapped somewhere between what I want and what I know.

I left my first ‘home’ when I was seventeen. Then, home meant the place where my family resided. The place where all my things stayed whilst I participated in the diversion of schoolwork on the other side of the country. By second year of school, my definition of home became somewhat complicated: remaining back in Burlington with my family, but invested in my life at school. But then Lucas came, and home took on a whole new meaning. It was no longer a fixed place, but a theoretical place existing where ever he did.

Marriage meant moving into our first apartment and, shortly after, our second- though those never felt much like a physical definition of home. I doubt that I need to explain to you the complications caused by fifteen months of unwilling seperation and what that can do to a definition of home. But now, sitting on the other side, I thought the complication would be over. I would finally have a co-existing physical and emotional definition of home here with Lucas.

It’s still muddled.

It’s not that I am unhappy here by any stretch of the imagination, it is just that I grew accustomed to things while we were apart. I lived and learned with my parents and sister. I called myself canadian. I had a job and places to go. Most of all, there were, and remain to be, people I love back in my last physical home. Here I have those things too, but it can be difficult to invest myself again.

The changes are starting to hurt as they multiply. I never believed the transition would be easy- or if I did, I knew that it was wishful thinking.  Today I lost it over the realization that I will need to get a new doctor. It’s a terribly long story starting with good intentions and ending in, yet again, miss-information. Does it really bother me that I need a new doctor? No, not really. Its just one little thing to add to a list of items that redefine physical home.

Biblically, it is clear that one cannot serve two masters. One also cannot serve two homes- it’s all or nothing, and I know I want all. The process is just harder than anything I was prepared for when it comes to the things I once thought insignificant. Doctors. Social Security cards. Accents. Libraries. I digress.

At least I know I will always be emotionally home with Lucas- even when the physical details seem painful.


It occured to me shortly after having walked away from the computer on Monday, that I would be unable to uphold my previous commitment to posting every day because I would be leaving for a short vacation. Silly me. I was all caught up in the packing and cleaning that I neglected to use my brain in the whole process. A very kind couple from our church let us spend two nights away at the beach in their time share, and we just returned last night. We could not have asked for a nicer time away. The sun was bright, the air was warm, and the company was splended. Lucas and I spent countless hours walking along the beach, hiking through rainforests, and simply enjoying each-other’s presence.

We returned home in the afternoon, unpacked and watched some tv. Back to life as usual, almost. There was a package on my nightstand from Dea containing a precious jar of home-made lavander hand cream, and my Social Security card on the bed. As we were settling back in, I found an audition call online. Lucas called and booked an audition for today.

With mixed feelings and much anticipation, Lucas and I drove to Salem this morning for the audition. We were met with enthusiastic, friendly people and a quality script. We’ll see what comes of the whole thing in a couple of days. It’s just exciting to be getting back into the theatre a little.

Did you know that daffodils grow wild by the side of the road here? It’s one of the little things that makes me smile as we go about our days.


I love rocks.

It’s true. I had a rock collection for most of my childhood that grew with every family vacation and every visit to sciencey stores. I kept the little treasures in re-purposed egg cartons stacked in my closet on the odd days when I was not examining my favourites, turning them over in my hands. Thanks to the guidance counselor at my elementary school who was a palentologist/geologist in the summers, my collection even contained a couple valuable stones like Pyrite, Jade, Geodes, Amethyst and Michah. Even my dear friends fed my love of rocks by gifting them to me in their natural state or as a part of rings and pendants.

I am not sure what it is about rocks, but they serve as a connection to some of my most treasured memories. I have never forgotten the significance of a rock or the person who gave it. There is a large piece of petrified coral in my room that reminds me of a family vacation, a piece of white quartz that I pulled from the bottom of the lake at camp, and a geode that traveled to mexico and back on a mission trip.  Rocks were the marker I chose to represent the moments of my life when I wrote and preformed my senior project at prairie. The night that I realized that I loved Lucas, I picked up a black, egg-shaped stone at suicide park while the sun began to set- it sits on my night-stand in my jewelry catcher. At the beach, I don’t collect sea-shells, I take rocks.

For Saint valentines day, my dear husband brought home a small hand-full of rocks. He had stopped on his way home from work to find them for me. It simply melted my heart. How wonderful is that? Well, wonderful to someone like me who gravitates to stones for memories. I suppose not many girls would be happy to get rocks for Saint Valentines day unless they were attached to gold.

I suppose, in a way, all this talk about rocks was to tell you that I have a wonderful husband who love and understands me- quirky collections and all.


An apology is in order. To you my reader, and also to myself. When I began this blog I made a commitment to try to update at least every-other day. I find writing about my own life allows me the creativity to write other things- even if that simpy means papers for school. Sadly though, in this last week, the days just got away from me. I suppose you will be pleased to know that the days got away from me because I was busy with school work and enjoying the new normal.
Tonight, I am home alone enjoying a little quiet time. Lucas had to pick up a shift at work tonight so that he could take some time off later this week. We are going to spend a couple of nights by the Ocean thanks to a very kind and generous couple we know. Gary is in a very loving mood this evening, crying whenever I leave the room for just a moment. He is getting bigger all the time- his first collar, once dangerously loose, needed to be loosened today.
Here’s to hoping that you have had a lovely valentines day and someone to share it with whether they be friend, family, or significant other.


Yesterday, I added something new to the ‘why I love Portland’ list: Fabric Depot. It is a proverbial mecca for anyone who is guilty of falling in love with a pattern, a project, anything that requires a needle and thread. I thought my brain might pop out, skip across the store and never come back to me when I first walked through the doors.

Fabricland would be put to shame four times over if it knew Fabric Depot existed.

For weeks people have been telling me of how fantastic the store is, but I was careful to restrain my expectations to avoid the over-sensationalized let-down of the fabric district in Hamilton. But when I walked through the doors, my arm held by my sister-in-law, I felt completely under prepared for the fantastic sight before me. It was as large as Costco and filled to the brim with rows of brightly coloured fabric.

I didn’t know there were this many kinds of fabric. Anything you could ever want!

My brain swam with elation as I wandered slowly between the rows, careful to keep my eyes down to avoid becoming overwhelmed. I ran my hand along silk, cotton, fleece, upholstery, felt…. everything. The possibilities were endless and creativity felt like a fire spreading in my mind.

Would you believe I left with nothing! Self restraint at its best (or worst depending on whose side you’re on).  It was a magnificent end to a lovely day spent in the company of some wonderful ladies.


a tea for everything

More Pictures

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