I love you, you’re perfect, now change

Sometimes when I think about the day, I feel a great sigh of release. Especially on fridays, I’m full of relief that another week has been successfully navigated, with all its obligations and hours somehow fulfilled.

It’s late. I’ve just returned from Stage West, a dinner theatre that we have season tickets to. We bought our tickets a few years ago because for my husband, it was something he remembered his parents attending on their date nights and it was important to him. 

But I grew up enjoying musicals, and spent many a Sunday watching old movies on CBC, so this was a something I had no problems agreeing to. 

The love of singing and dancing mixed with a plot comes naturally to my family, and we all like to think we’re triple threats (no matter how many people have asked me not to do any of the three things). 

The show tonight was particularly poignant though. While hilarious at many points, and the singing, dancing and acting were on point, what stuck with me most was the raw honesty and frailty of relationships. 

I love you, you’re perfect, now change. 

A funny musical about dating, marriage and growing older in relationships. It was funny up until the end, with one couple divorced, another still in love, and another meeting at a funeral. 

At the end of the day, we all want to feel that someone cares for us. We all want someone special in our life. I thought of couples I know who’ve been married for over 80 years, and others who’ve had horrible break ups or are struggling. 

I know I wasn’t supposed to while watching a musical comedy, but I had a moment where tears fell.

Life is so short sometimes. 

My enjoyable night out was also a good reminder to appreciate the love that surrounds me and to be grateful for what I have for as long as I have it. 

Because you never know if you’ll be talking to someone new at the funeral of a friend of a friend, 

or lucky enough to grow old with the love of your life. 

Rat race

This life is an express train

Rolling down the track

Anytime someone cries

They get no money back
Tick, tick, tock

Time marches on

Faster than feelings,

until the clock is gone
Hyperventilating 101,

Chronos doesn’t care.

He flips the bird, 

Lets it fly, up into the air
That’s it and thanks a lot,

I’d like to get off here.

Take a breath, enjoy the ride,

sit and have a beer.

We are not amooooooosed


I was 38 years old when I heard the news. A part of my youth, 
the years of discovery for my generation, 

The Hip were the soundtrack to my teens and twenties.

They were on every radio station, CanCon, 

but actually worth it.

I remember the roadside attraction mosh pit, 

decking the person trying to steal my bag,

dancing the day away to the sounds of New Orleans and At the Hundredth meridian.

They were there at every graduation, 

every night at the bar, 

every restaurant.

And then when I was 38 years old, 

I saw a man be so brave it broke my heart.

A nation showed up to honour him, one out of every three people at their final show,

A country facing it’s identity 

in song and sorrow.

Today a poet has passed away.

Rest In Peace Gord,

Under the Canadian sky which you loved so much.

Rest stop

Tuesday is tired day this week. 48 + hours into another busy week, and my energy has stalled out, 

as though I forgot to fill the gas tank.

I’m a cautious person, and have a tendency to fill up at half full, 

unlike those brave souls that live risky and wait until the needle has been on E for awhile.

The thought of running a car that low scares me, 

a lot. 

Images of being stuck on the side of the road in poor weather while axe murders roam, trying to pick up poor hapless suckers has crossed my mind as I drive whenever the light on the tank goes on.

So why is it that I rarely let my car get that low in fuel,

But I continually work myself down to the nub?

Is it that I don’t know what my capacity is, 

or conversely,

that I know it a little too well?

Too little sleep, too much junk,

Plenty of stress,

Scheduling out the ears?

Why is it that we treat ourselves less carefully than we treat our car?

I see so many people that do the same thing,

I counsel self care, stress reduction and meditation,

Each time thinking I should be doing more of it myself.


Much like that risk taker with the car on empty, the car doesn’t need anything until it runs dry,

But then it’s too little, 

too late.

And I’ll find myself broken down on the side of the road,

wishing I’d filled up at the last rest stop.

Maybe one of these days I’ll get it right?

Monday night review

Another Monday, come and gone. I’m sitting in a stupor on the couch, arm wrapped around a soft little boy, lap full of black cat. 

For a brief moment, I feel calm, 

the wind that howls from the constant storm inside abated.

I feel grateful for how warm and happy I am, 

with my loyal side kicks requiring nothing but my presence.

We ate supper outside for the first time in the three years that we’ve been in our house, 

outdoor fireplace roaring, 

watching the children run and play off their energy before bed.

Even after the nightly battle of bedtime supremacy, 

I’m content. 

My children are growing up together, fighting and playing just as they should. 

While I’m exhausted watching them do it, I still can’t believe how lucky I am.

New arrival 

A new day.

Like any other, 

except for those that come 

before and after.

A slight change, 

by degree if not design,

suddenly the world is changed,


One more creation in the world, 

it will ascend to a place on my shelf,

In my heart,

Maybe touch another on its way?

My paperback newborn

Living the dream

Excitement bubbled under the surface all day. Knowing that tomorrow I’ve achieved something I never thought I would has given me such an incredible feeling, 

it was all I could do not to succumb to a state of anxiety and joy and just sit in a corner and wait.

I continued with my everyday life instead, as mouths still expected to be fed, and the sun neither rises nor sets on my decree. 

But while I’d worried the day would last forever, I ended up enjoying it far more than I’d thought possible.

That feeling of anxiety and happiness carried throughout the day, 

giving everything sparkle instead of spackle.

It made me enjoy the book I’m working on right now even more, 

it carried me through several technology things I accomplished, and it allowed me to really appreciate the fun my kids could bring to a day.

I watched my children play together with a smile. 

They had foam swords, which they took turns chasing each other with. I worried about tears and eye injuries, but was relieved to see they played perfectly well, for once. 

I watched my princess tuck her sword into her skirt as she climbed the slide, my little pirate queen, bent on revenge against the nefarious little brother, scourge of the big slide. 

I held hands with my husband at the park, as we sat on a bench and watched our children laugh.

I bathed and fed them, earning big hugs and kisses as we left for a short night out to see Seinfeld.

I laughed and laughed at nothing, identifying with it all, projecting the rest onto the others with me.

The day I worried wouldn’t end flew by, with a smile and joy in my heart. 

Writing is only one small part of what makes me happy, but living my dreams makes me a much better wife, mother, friend, and physician. 

I just can’t believe I waited so long to start!

The dark

Cloaked in darkness,

Swirling in the night.

Doubts creep out,

unafraid of the light.
Like vampires they lurk,

gliding on air.

Tyrants of thought, 

opressors of care.
Burdened by unknowing

desperate for relief,

oblivious to goodness,

overwhelmed by their grief.
Tamping it down

only works for awhile.

Inevitably it bursts forth,

tired of it’s exile.
Loss and longing

are strangers to none,

each must deal 

once the damage is done.


What if they notice?

realize I’m a fraud?

Would they string me up,

send me to my God?
Will they judge me,

lest they be judged back?

The luggage of doubt 

which I carry in my sack.
With age comes experience,

with experience dismay.

I thought I’d get smarter,

but I’ve got nothing to say.
It’s called imposter syndrome,

Or so I understand.

Apparently it gets to us all,

takes us by the hand.
Maybe one day I’ll escape,

Out of its grasp

But for now I’ll keep breathing,

gasp after gasp

The cold

Oh man. 

Rhinovirus is not just a funny sounding disease. 

At least, I assume that’s what I have right now, based on the exceptional quality of the congestion and scratchy throat that I’m experiencing.

Luckily, it was a light day. My six year old diminutive doppelgänger had her follow up with the ENT, and managed to live through a tiny light being shoved into her right nares.

She was not pleased, but she did survive. 

She is definitely a chip off the old block, as it’s been only a year and a half since her tonsils and adenoids were removed, and she’s almost replaced her adenoids. 

Lovely. Most people don’t regrow body parts. I wonder if we’re part salamander.

I bribed her/rewarded her with sushi before taking her home and rewarding myself with a PSL. 

Hey, I accept I’m basic each and every fall. I don’t mess with delicious, no matter what people call me.

Quick rounds and a few phone calls later I was saying “I need wings for supper”. 

I’ll start my healthier eating habits when I can breathe and taste vegetables again. Right now, spicy wings are just what the doctor ordered.

Tomorrow, I have to go buy some steroids to spray in my kids nose. That’ll go over well…