for the record

It took a long time to write this in the simplest form. My mind is occupied with images that I have to record before I lose them all while staring at my screen....Slowly, I drift into poetry and a jazzy beat.

Renaming the band
thinking up new rhymes
to go with my...  beats?
don't look at me that way, this isn't working
my pencils are calling



There's no place like home.



Baking up some new ideas. Oh dear, that was bad. I apologize.


stubborn push

I'm internalizing quite a bit at the moment, because I'm challenging myself in a variety of ways. I may be happier than I've been in a very long time but, it's intimidating doing it all entirely on my own; relying on myself to be my best friend and high-five it along the way. I'm quite tough on myself, though I've gotten to reminding myself that the ones who cling to insecurity for security, have nothing to feel insecure about. I'm just stubborn, sensitive, snobby.. and French.

As much as I may have hesitated to share, I made this animated story back when I was in college, in one night, with a rental camera, half a battery, a free trial stop motion program,  an Ikea desk lamp, some cut up bits of paper, string, Swedish Berries, Dr.Pepper... I'm rambling and have tried probably 14 times to finish up this paragraph. Like I said, I'm internalizing.. I'll sort it out. For now, I'm swirling with the advice of my animation teacher. "Have fun and make fucking things that move!"


braggin' rights

After playing indoors, due to rain, I found a reason to brag about something. This crusty pig -that I made for Breakfast- is two years old. Considering how fast my little chainsaw can hack through his toys, in a matter of minutes... I may have high-fived myself.



For those who have asked how Breakfast Jones is doing... Well, from what I can tell, he isn't very happy here.

sunday spells

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. I have a lot of new stuff on the go. That doesn't rhyme.

It's Sunday, I can get away with being lazy...well, not totally lazy; there's banana bread in the oven.

Happy Sunday!


to me

So my first birthday, in this new place I call home, has already come and gone (last weekend.) I really wasn't sure how it was going to present itself, but took it for what it was and made the best of it in my own way.

I did a lot of reflecting, as I've developed a bit of a ritual, where I take myself out to write (or draw) for the sake of the emotional release which it provides. Relying on myself for this sort of enlightenment is rewarding and I highly recommend it to anyone for the sake of catching up with yourself. I can't believe where I am these days.

On the topic of reflection, I got myself a little something on my special day, to celebrate where I am and to add another little personal touch to my place. It seemed rather perfect for my new wall color, which I put up in my hallway recently; where the sunlight beams at its brightest, from my bathroom and studio. It's all coming together, and I am loving every minute.

What a gift to find so much to be happy for.


lol moms

I once wrote a poem, for my mom, which started with the words 'My mom she isn't normal, but she's not a total reject.." It carries on into a ten paragraph sonnet, which my mom has partially memorized. I didn't think it was a big deal but, I'm pretty sure she's going to steal my rhymes and start up a rap band of sorts. That's what moms do.. right?

Of course my mom knows that I love her because she told me I have to but, there are times where I feel she needs to be reminded. I think this is one of those weird mom things where they constantly question if they've done a good job in parenting. I suppose the examples which my sister and I have amounted to are a sure sign that my mom did a terrible job. Way to go Joanne...Sarcasm doesn't really present itself well in writing. This is also my indirect way of saying that she has nothing to worry about. I'm breathing.

One of the greatest lessons my mom taught me, and will always take with me no matter where I am, is that laughter is a far better high than meth. No Mom, I'm not smoking the meth. Anyway, this is getting weird so I'm going to end with some fresh new beats for my mom's poetry collection:

Your face makes me laugh 
in that nostalgic "I remember" you way. 
You'll always be my mom 
... and there go the waterworks

Get that Kleenex. Love you, Mom. 


old lady wit

I was probably too young to be a cynic, but it has always been a part of my sense of humor. I grew up surrounded by a lot of negativity and instability, so it was up to me to make light of the situation in order to survive, even if stating the obvious wasn't always the most candy coated or acceptable approach. Who doesn't love candy? "Strays off topic," is what my English teachers used to say .....

An important piece of this story has much to do with my two grandmothers. I'd describe them both as being rather emotionless, reserved, and completely isolated women. They were far more open to brutal statements of annoyance or resent, which to me, looked like an attempt at maintaining distance for their own comfort and protection. They never told me openly that they loved me or even cared much about me, but there was a moment when both of them took the time to tell me how important I was, for being able to make them laugh.

One said I was the light of her life, and the other insisted I become a comedian. In their eyes, I had an impeccable wit (this was at the age of 9, mind you) which was a big word for such small ears to understand, but I got the idea as I learned how to spell and read. I was told my humor would take me places and attract the right people into my life. "If you can't make 'em laugh, they have problems," were some words of wisdom I once received over milk and cookies, before bedtime. I was a big deal, even if the words didn't come to me in such a direct fashion as I would have liked. Pictures make much more sense to me. 

It came as a bit of a surprise when I watched some home movies, that my dad gave me, to see that I was such a performer. So much, that it's all you can hear in the videos. I'd lost sight of this playful side, in some regard, as I had some distracting experiences along the way which kind of robbed me of my natural stature and thought process. Now that I've been on my own (for 6 months) I've noticed this side of me coming back to life as if it was always there. It's neat when these things happen. It's like meeting an old friend who happens to be myself. Lookin' good, I must say.

The more I look at how stubborn and guarded I had built myself up to be, through my adult years, the more I can relate to my robotic grandmothers - to an extent - and see where it is that they came from and what they were trying to tell me, from their own experience. They saw the importance of laughter and how sharing positivity through such a thing can bring light into other peoples' lives. These women have become more three-dimensional in my eyes; as appreciative and intelligent human beings. I am so glad that they taught me this lesson, in between the laughter which I created.


oh brother

Seems I have a bit of an obsession going, as I came home from the antique mall -from down the street- with yet another lovely find. 65$, in mint condition, all keys function, with its very own carrying case? Score! I can't wait to take my new 'laptop' to the cafe for some creative writing, with all the other hipsters. I'll make me some new friends in no time.



I had to go back to the flea market and pick up a couple of things I couldn't stop thinking about. It feels good to put my own personal touch on this place. I can't wait to go back and find more neat things..


gold mine

There's an antique mall right by my place.



A little focused to write more than a couple of sentences. Two words: big project.



Fill in the blank..



A spinach stacked omelet is what I'm making myself today, as a boost in power, from this flu I was attacked by over the weekend. I'm feeling better, just so weak and ridiculous. Opening a jar of jam makes me feel like I might poop. My body is exhausted and full of sissy, so I'm kickin' it Popeye style.


the quest for being zendyl

I think I'm going keep throwing down these mental exercises for myself, as I have to admit that without the incentive, I don't really think much to write. Writing is good for me, and I need it to help me slow down, pick up in other areas, and think differently. The trouble is that I lack focus, terribly; an indicator to my anxiety.

Dishevelled hair, slacky posture, wrinkles across the brow, and a pair of two-day-old socks typically make up the outfit when I'm not at my best. Before I sit down to do one thing, I carry on to the next, and the next, and the next, I boil the tea pot and drink water instead, I refrigerate my keys on a semi-regular basis, I lose my train of thought in the middle of a sentence, I forget my lunch on the counter time and time again. It is difficult to stop and do absolutely nothing at all, but I'm learning it is necessary. My 4 week old twitch, in my right eye, told me so.

To slow down my racing mind, I've become more conscious of what it is that keeps me grounded even if taking the time may feel a bit selfish, unnecessary or impossible. It is the simple stuff that works in the long run, even if it's for only a few moments in every day. I'm learning to slow down and let these things back into my life. I need to take more advantage of time by actually enjoying it. It's okay to do nothing at all; my twitching eye told me so. This is an interesting challenge.

Self advice for practicing Zendyl (a more zen form of myself): Time is only an excuse. If you have the time to shit every day, you have time for yourself.


saturday: area heater

single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, heart warming moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.


fluffy february: days 26-29: leap

Clearly, I'm not meant to write every day but, I did what I was supposed to and wrote about something I love, for every day of the month. 29 days, this February. Isn't that fancy? I love fancy.

Let's haiku it and call it a day. I can't focus on writing more than this, as I'm on a creative high (which I will share when I slow down..)

I love that I'm me
I would be so bored without
love for making things


fluffy february: days 23-25: yes

I'm failing miserably at this exercise. I can't say that the distraction is at all a bad thing.

23. I have a giant painting to do.
24. I have been drawing every day(!)
25. I sleep well.

I love all of these things.


fluffy february: days 20-22: meeting

I love strawberries
I love waffles
I love when strawberries and waffles meet me in the morning.


fluffy february: days 13-19: things

Little things
Old things
Very odd things
Everythings... *like finding little surprises on the shelves in bookstores.


fluffy february: days 13-15: snappy

13. I love the smell of my lemongrass soap
14. I love umbrellas
15. I love turquoise


fluffy february: days 9-12: love dump

So that we're clear, I am following my exercise to find things that I love in every day, I'm just not writing about them individually. To make up for the delay, here's a bit of a love dump of what I paid notice to as I went.

Day 9: The character of my apartment: Getting to know my new place has been a really fun experience, and I will write more about this along the way. While the last little while has been on the cold side; there is plenty of tea, dancing, and parading around in blanket capes going on over here. I've never been so creative with keeping warm.

I also have a talkative kitchen sink, which likes to make noise on occasion (during laundry nights.) I'm not sure what it's trying to say, but it makes for interesting dinner music.*Glug-glug*

Day 10: Paper stage: I was given this beautiful paper stage, from Colette (who I love), when I was visiting Winnipeg. It is probably the coolest thing -made of paper- that I've played with, in a long time. I might want to make my own paper-something one day, if I'm ever feeling so ambitious. Let's not count on it, though it's on my list of crafting curiosities. I love papery things.

Day 11: Direction: My mom got me a calendar of vintage maps, which I love for what it represents to me and my present world. There are too many metaphors to throw down with this one. I love maps. Let's keep it simple.

Day 12: Sunday Morning Breakfast: No matter what, Sundays always start off on a good note, because I make them that way. I'll read my paper, drink some coffee, make a yummy/hearty breakfast, and enjoy every little bit of the morning while it lasts. Lovely. Now I'm ahead of the game.

Love your days.


fluffy february: day 8: snap

Breakfast haiku:

I love Breakfast Jones
you were already mentioned
I love my new lens.

I am playing with my camera again.


fluffy february: day 7: drawrings

Of course anyone who knows me, knows I love to draw and make things. Actually, I went a pretty long time without doing either of those things, and now that I'm bringing it back into my life again, I don't know what I ever did without it. What the hell do you do with yourself without creativity? Math? Philosophize? Fold laundry? Sounds fun.. you can have it.

I love being creative.

fluffy february: day 6: sweet quiet

I think a part of my problem with writing consistently is that I haven't been taking pictures, since I moved. Living in a basement suite provides a little bit of a challenge when I don't quite know how to play with lights and fancy photography settings; as I'm no pro. Actually, I took a year of photography in college and may have even un-learned what I had taught myself through the years of trial and error, with film. I'm not sure where I'm going with this one. I can't say I'm straying off topic.. I haven't even started one.

So, my love for today?I wasn't prepared for this one, but I would have to say that I'm a big fan of quiet. Why not? It makes me think, it gets the ideas swirling, at times it can even haunt me.

Quiet is an art. Some people can't handle it, or feel that they need to fill the void with the sound of their own voice, a clicking pen, a drum solo on the surface of a desk.. Yes, quiet is lovely. It's something I like to take time for. If I didn't have quiet, I don't think it would go over well.


fluffy february: day 4 & 5 : breakfast

Here's a different face that I love (and a different sort of handsome) which comes in the form of a little someone who makes up most of my world, Breakfast Jones. Where does the Jones part come from? Beats me, it just fits. Apparently, there is a definition for Breakfast Jones on the internets. It's fitting.. don't ask questions.

I don't think I could imagine what it would be like without the Jones in my life, as silly as that may sound to the non-pet crowd, but it's true that I love my dog for the company which he provides. There's a sense of security that I find in his presence, as we get to know this place that has become our new home. I really can't stress it enough.. I love this guy..

Happy Birthday, stink.


fluffy february: day 3 : greg

So, I may have skipped yesterday unintentionally, but I'm making up for it right now with this haiku.

Dear Gregory Peck
You dashing, fine, gentleman
with great bone structure


fluffy february: day 2 : roads

I was thinking about it today -after yesterday's disoriented episode- how happy I am to be here and how proud I should be for doing so successfully, on my own. I took a picture on the way (during my first solo road trip) so I could sieze the moment, because it was something I had wanted for a very long time; control, freedom, independence, time to myself to figure it all out. I was at that very moment -and still am- quite petrified. I fucking love it, if you'll excuse my French.

As the baby of the family, I don't think I had much room to breathe, as I often had things taken from me or done for me, without even asking for it. Despite the good intentions of those around me, I was definitely conditioned into being slightly rebellious, while it also made me incredibly insecure about trying new things and trusting them completely. I have always preferred to do things in my own way, at my own pace, and sans the implications that there is a better/faster/easier way to do it... it's just that this approach was a little bit different and quite a leap away from my comfort zone. I don't know where I'm going with this, really. All I know is that I got here in one piece, on my own, am still alive, and am constantly moving forward. I'm petrified, as I said before, but shit, man...

I love it all.


fluffy february: day 1 : a toast

For no good reason I had a bit of a rotten day. Not that there was anything about it in particular that made it 'bad', it just started on a funny note. First, I fell asleep on the couch -after getting ready for work- dreamed I was on my way to work, woke up to wonder why I wasn't at work, wondered how I was going to get to work after pacing in one place for a solid five minutes because I didn't want to make the trek all over again as I had just done so in my dream; realized I had to get it done no matter how long I paced, left for work, got distracted and somehow went to Starbucks (I don't even care about Starbucks) purchased the exact brand of tea I have stashed away at my desk at work... and.. yeah.. it carried on from there. I'm okay, really.

Because I want to do something fun, and it is the first day of February -and February is both the shortest and the fluffiest month of them all- I thought I'd do up a "love each day" for the month, by finding something I love ... you get it, right?... write about it, draw it or share it in any way I want. Too mushy? I think it sounds fun. I can't wait to write a sonnet about sandwiches!

Anyway, it's day 1 of Fluffy February. We'll start it off with something non-fluffy, but oh so wonderful for its delicious simplicity...

Glorious, crunchy,
any time of day, I can eat you
and * your * crumbs **
I love you.


chilly dog

Sucks to have to sit and look cute, when it's too cold to go outside and play.



Someone invented the breakfast machine. Um... want.



Wine and painting on a Saturday night; probably the best combination ever. I made a little something to hang on my walls for the moment. I may have hung it before it dried.

I never said I was patient.


dress me

If I worked in a Mad Men office or in a 1950s kitchen, I would wear this dress every day.