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When I’m gone

I love reading memoirs, peoples real stories.I love imagining my own. Because my own life has been so wonderful and so beautiful, and I’d like that to be the theme of my funeral.
I hope the people that love me most aren’t around to see it, because I hope they’ve passed peacefully before me.
But if they are, I hope they’re not sad. Because dust to dust. It’s all part of it. We made Bernadette, our greatest achievement now let’s go on. 
I hope they talk about places and people and music I loved. I hope there’s a party at the red dog and I hope the Weber brothers play. 
I hope feeling good again by Robert earl keen is played, and maybe it will be in the daytime, not the night time. Maybe there will be the roast beef dinner with the buttered buns. The night they drove old Dixie down
And maybe someone can mention that my favourite place on this planet is Daniels harbour, and I only spent a couple of days There on that trip 8 years ago but I just knew it was the most beautiful place I’d been. And …

How we solved baby B’s eczema from the inside out

A lot of this parenting thing involves running to catch up. Physically yes, but also trying to catch up with development, ensuring we’re  knowledgeable about what’s going on at any given time.
When b woke up at 3 months old with red patches of eczema, I googled the symptoms and started on what would be a very long journey to discover the cause and solution - which was not at all as easy as I thought it would be.  If only I knew then what I know now. I could have ended it fairly quickly- and prevented a very scary prospect which still looms over us everyday; 50-70 percent of eczema cases in babies escalate to become Asthma. (https://www.nhs.uk/news/medical-practice/how-eczema-might-lead-to-asthma/)
After changing all our soaps, detergents, and crib sheets; after putting a humidifier in her room, and giving her nightly baths with a variety of different potions with no change, we knew it wasn’t external but something happening internally. We started to examine my diet. She was exclusively …

Old writing about him

You turned into a little boy when you crawled into bed. Out of bed you became a man again
Mascara stained pillow cases
I made coffee to seduce you - make you feel a little good about the day - the day you are to die
We couldn’t take our eyes off you for a second, because we knew - a lifetime without looking at you would be never as good.
Powerful in your highs and lows

A song that needs some chords

My best friends purse
She makes a puddle of her things A puddle of herself
Came home tonight The contents of your purse were on the kitchen floor Lipstick, no lid, loose smokes What were you looking for
Wondering when you’ll find All the people you’ve become All the places you run from
Keys were in the door Stockings halfway up the stairs I hear him coming round But I’m not sure he really cares

Going on 10 years

I caught myself going back there again last night. I visit the time and place in my head where he used to be alive. The people are there, his people, and I revisit. Inevitably it always ends with”he’s not back yet” “no” okay, I’ll come backa’ later.
 I know he won’t be back but it feels like maybe next time.
Although our brains are the most sophisticated machines on earth, they’re rendered almost childlike when confronted with grief. They speak only in the simplest terms.
Where is he? He’s gone Why He’s dead When’s he coming back  He’s not That’s ok I’ll wait
How can he be so real in my memory but not real at all in my day to day? So I live with this illogical idea that I know is illogical but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain it to my brain for it to fully understand 

The South Country Fair

It was one stupid weekend.
He wouldn’t talk to me on the morning I left, because he suddenly wanted to go, but now it was too late. Bye! I yelled to his torso through the open car window.
I wandered through the hippies, reacquainting myself with this alternate reality. Barefooted, bare-bodied youth.

The first night was uneventful, so we drank and smoked and put up a tarp, ruining my car in the process. It was no Frog Fest but it was fun and it was dry. Our more prepared neighbor kept asking if we wanted more rope, which we didn’t. The following morning we wandered through Fort Mcleod, and returned to the festival to discover Nanton friends drinking Pilsners and having songs dedicated to them. They had artist bracelets on because they were Lance’s woofers. We watched Tin & The Toad.

DN played after them. I swooned at his way with words. I’d never seen anything like him, except for that one time.
I was introduced to Kris, as Georgia was handing him beers from our cooler. “The art…