Life isn't paradise, but it feels like it when I'm with you...

I never knew you could love someone so much.



My mom is my confidant, my inspiration and my best friend. She's the only one who always listens; even if I'm venting about nothing important and am being absolutely, whole heartedly ridiculous. She's the only one who really knows what to say. And she's the only one who knows how to make Christmas Trifle, properly.

My mom is the only woman I know who is truly passionate about life and who is curious about everything. She's the only one who can keep me organized. She's truly the only person I know who has had a cell phone since 1997 and doesn't know how to text message.

With the deepest, truest love I want to wish her a wonderfully content 48th Birthday.

WATCH OUT WORLD! Only 2 more years until the BIG one and my mom definitely knows how to have a good time.










Ceileigh with our Mommy





Happy Birthday Mom. xoxox

Just send it already!

I laboured over this cover letter for weeks. Finally this morning it felt finished.

As I burnt the remaining demos off of my Mac I thought to myself, this is the first step. I'm taking the first step towards a career I've been training for over these last 3 and a half years.

Many of my friends here have already worked as journalists, whether it was a paid position or an un-paid internship. They pushed themselves through these packed semesters and they have the gray hairs and caffeine addictions to prove it.

I on the other hand see myself building momentum. I'm building it in a healthy, sustainable way. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

I sent my two applications to work for CBC Radio One in Northern B.C this summer. One was sent to the head office and the other to the station that I want to work in.

Hunched over the post office counter, I carefully printed out the address of both locations in the most permanent of Sharpies (we can't have it rubbing off, now can we). As I sealed both cushioned envelopes containing my resume, cover letter and both my radio and television demos my heart dropped. Did I spell the Executive Producer's name right? Good God, did I forget an 'e'? How could I be so stupid?

In a panicked flurry I speed walked home.

My worry was for nothing because I spelt it right. I was fine, but I'm still nervous.

I really want to get industry work before I head off in late September to back pack through Europe and India.

If it's meant to be it'll be. If I tell myself that enough times maybe my mind will sit at ease for a moment or two.

Barbeque Season

It's currently -12 with a wind chill of -21. I'm wearing long johns under my jeans.

I was invited out to a friend's house for dinner by her parents. They wanted to ensure that a young West Coast girl, living away from her family ate heartily on a Sunday night.

A fire rumbled in the hearth and reggae music cooly played off the background. By candle light we ate barbequed ribs, corn on the cob, baked potato with garlic butter and stir fried vegetables. And for dessert banana split ice cream bars. All home cooked, all delicious (except for the dessert of course).

I drank copious amounts of shiraz and laughed all night. It felt so good.

My friend and her family spend a lot of time in Barbados. This is the only Caribbean Island I've ever been to, but it made me realize just how much soul the culture has to offer. Tonight was full of that soul food and it did my heart so much good.



* The 4 B's: Babes, Bikinis, Barbados, Beach



* Anticipation before the helicopter ride.



* View from the helicopter.



* Drinks aboard the 'bottomless' Jolly Roger



* After the bottomless drinks aboard the world famous booze cruise.

Thank you Sarah

If a new artist arises to the main stream (I don't know how the underground scene works) and her name is Sarah, 10 bucks says I'll love her. Let's see: Sarah McLachlan, Sarah Harmer and Sarah Slean. I'm sure I'm missing someone. Anyways, all I'm trying to say is that my musical tastes are very predictable.

It's a brilliantly sunny day. The sky is an amazing shade of blue and it's a brisk -5 with a wind chill of -14.

I can't seem to get Sarah Slean's song 'Day One' out of my head. I keep blasting it and dancing about. My head is in such a great place. It's a lovely day. Much to do.

To Edward Thomas Moore on his big day

My tiny, adolescent fingers edged the antique drawer of this wardrobe back. I know what’s inside. I have to be quiet, very quiet. The wooden drawer squeaks if I jerk it to quickly. Shhh! He might hear us. I push my sister behind me to be the look out and watch the door. He could appear around the corner at any moment.

One more deep breath in and a final tug as I gently pull the drawer toward me. It didn’t have to be all the way open, just enough for my little hand to reach in and pull out the loot.

“He’s coming!”

I whip my hand away, turn to face the door with my arms folded behind my back and a sheepish smile across my face.

“Oh no, that was just the dog.”

Oh my little sister, how do you get a West Highland Terrier confused with a grandpa? I turn around to return to my stealth mission. My arm was completely swallowed by this great drawer as I blindly felt around for that coveted golden tin, this tin of Scotch Mints.

There it is, right there. I had it in my grasp and pulled the tin back toward me. I couldn’t wait to taste this sweet, hard candy that I always clenched between my teeth and crunched.

“Did you find it?”

“What are you girls doing?” Grandpa boomed as he stood looming in the doorway.

Ceileigh had removed herself from the look out post. He’d busted our operation.

“Are you into the hiding place for MY candies? I’ll just have to find another place to hide it now.”

Grandpa took the tin from my hands. My eyes were sweeping the floor with shame. He twisted open the tin and let us each take one. I looked up and our eyes met, he winked with a big smile beaming across his face.

Happy 85th Birthday Grandpa!

I couldn't catch my breath

I know not to head to the subway during rush hour, but sometimes you just get stuck.

Strangers stood shoulder to shoulder. Uncomfortable, "excuse me's" are whispered under everyone's breath. Although some don't even try and be polite, they just push. Everyone pays their $2.75 just to get home; commuters don't pay it to make friends.

Today my legs weren't weary, so I didn't have to push any little old ladies out of my way for the last seat. I decided to lean up against a glass partition and read the travel section of the Star. I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but right here.

I wasn't even two stops into my daily, half hour journey when I realized I couldn't catch my breath. It was like my mind was challenging me to breathe a deep breath, but my body wouldn't let it happen. The harder I tried to breathe the more I couldn't.

I needed out. I pushed my way to the sliding doors. I uttered no apologies. It was almost like a drum rythym had picked up in my head to intensify my desperate situation. I felt like I was suffocating.

Christie station's platform was empty. The competition my mind and body was so engrossed in was dropped, so I could take that deep breath that I had pushed my way off the subway for.

I strolled down to the other end of the platform. The stuffy air cooled me off from my self contained ordeal.

I want out of this city. I want out of university. I just want out!