I cary your heart –

Life is a series of events that turn into memories that you sift through while waiting for further events to unfold. This is how I have always seen it. I believe I formed this idea due to the fact that we watched the Neverending Story series about a million times.

In The Neverending Story II Bastion is being tricked by an evil Sorceress into wishing for things and every time he does he loses a memory. She collects these small marbles filled with memories in a large tumbler thing on her evil table. Every once in a while we watch her as she picks one up and looks at it. Makes perfect sense right? Whatever.

Basically I’m dancing around something I’m trying to deal with so I mind as well do it in a semi-public platform. I deal best when talking things out, and there’s no one to talk to really who gets this, and who mourns the way I do. So I’m trying to make myself feel better.

When I am very sad I get introverted. I am a natural extrovert and usually I get my energy fill ups by hanging out with my people. Talking an laughing and generally being the annoying loud table in the restaurant filled with those people who haven’t ever heard of the “inside voice”. When I am faced with a reality I wish weren’t I can only really deal alone, or in very select company who understands I don’t really want to talk about whatever “it” is.

My horse is being put down. She is 24, and a cripple, and in pain. It is the right choice. I just wish there wasn’t a choice. I was thirteen when she was given to me, she was seven and pregnant. Whore-S! get it?? Horse? I though it was funny. I use humour to deal ok?

Horses aren’t animals to everybody. To some of us they are partners, sisters, mothers, best friends, teddy bears, safe places. There are some things you can only tell your horse, while choking back sobs as you ride through the rain in the middle of the forrest. Hi-Lite is this to me and more. I was watching a little girl at a horse show last year. She was so tiny and she was walking through this big field while leading a Palomino pony and she was just chattering away. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I didn’t need to I knew. She was spilling out her heart to her pony and her pony was watching her with those big soul filled liquid eyes and she was totally getting all of it.

Hi-Lite is my childhood, she is me discovering that I did like boys, that I  hated boys, that I wished I had blue eyes, was slimmer, had purple hair and a tongue ring. She taught me how to endure intense physical pain, how to fly, how to swim in the ocean without even thinking about sharks. She is my secret keeper. How do I say to someone “it’s ok, we need to put her down” when she is me?

Because she is in pain. Because I love her. Because I am no longer a child, I am an adult and that fucking sucks.

Now as I deal with this I am far away, alone, and trying not to feel guilty about that. I said goodbye, I said thank you, I said I love you. I said “get back you’re crowding me and try to breath between bites you pig eat slower”! Because she has bad manners when I am trying to feed her treats. And then I drove away. There is no right way to do this so I’m trying get to being ok with that. I heard a great quote today that started me thinking about this whole thing:

“You can’t force people to mourn the way you want them to just because it’ll make you feel better.”

So I guess I should let myself off the hook a little for not mourning they way I think mourning should look like. But hey, I broke down and sobbed through the Disco last week while watching So You Think You Can Dance… the Disco, the world’s happiest dance. I hate being a grown up.




Head ’em up, move ’em out!


I’m getting ready to leave again. I think I have eaten, and drank my way through the whole summer – successfully allowing my muscles from earlier melt back into useless fat. Luckily the first day of school is landing on a Tuesday, “Boot Camp” day. I can feel my lungs, glutes, and quads burning already. The only thing keeping me going, is the realization that I won’t be the only one – hopefully.

I’m simultaneously super excited, and completely hesitant to go back. While I love everything about learning to be a farrier, and being in a school environment I now know how much I am going to miss the husband. A lot. Tonnes even. It gets a bit wearing when all you want to do is talk but your last phone bill was $300, (true story), and the internet is too poor to hold a Skype conversation.

These realizations cause me to wonder a couple things: 1) Is it still a long distance relationship when you’re married? and 2) will North America ever get with the program on mobile phone billing? Come on! It’s times like these that I miss the UK, but that would be long distance.

In two months I have managed to read two books, go to Ontario, make an off centre birthday cake covered in ganache three tiers high. I have spent time with good friends, wonderful family, and my man and my dogs. I have re-integrated the cat into the house and caused her to trust and love humans again. We, (the husband and I), have cooked together, traveled together, and survived a possible 127 Hours scenario.  We have played card games, spent time with our favorite couple more that once(!) and talked about camping. I will miss all of this like crazy but I know that it will be here, supporting me in love, until I return for December.

I’m looking forward to hard work, smelling horses all day, being physically and mentally challenged. Going to the Aquarium, Bard on the Beach, and visiting my grandma. I will be packing lunches with all the glee of a kindergartener, and doing yoga every morning. Mini Ponies. I will attempt to keep my hands lady like while still smashing my 2lb hammer all over that steel. It’s gonna be a blast.


Kick Your Own Ass

“It’s a mind game”. “It’s all in your head”. “It’s a mental challenge”. Never have I understood what people were talking about when it came to exercising, until now.

Some time in April I was five minutes into my third jog ever when I had a breakthrough. A “mental” break through. You see I like to work towards small goals. I had done this job a couple times and I knew there were little markers along the way that I would blessedly allow myself to walk for ten to fifteen seconds at. But not that day, that day a super fit exercise nut friend of mine was jogging with me.

“Jess you’re really doing well!”
*gasp* “…..thanks, I’ve made it farther than ever before my break!….. I’m gonna walk at that fire hydrant”.
“What? no way! you can make it to the gate”
I made it to the gate, and then the tree, and then the end of the road. All because I was too darn proud to let this guy down. That’s the day it hit me right between my sweaty eyes. It’s all in my head.


How many times had I hear Tony Horton say “If you think you’re beat, you’re beat”. Now I knew. I can jog all the way to the end of the road. That quickly turned into I can jog all the way from the barn to the end of the road AND back without stopping. Just two days ago, after a month of inactivity, I jumped on a treadmill and jogged 13 minutes straight while increasing the speed the whole time.

It’s time to kick your own ass people. No excuses, you’re the only person you’re helping or hurting. Get over your fat self, I’m trying to.


Pain is ____________

I am in pain, every joint, muscle, rib. Breathing is stretching, moving my hands sends splinter feelings up my knuckles, getting out of the chair is what I imaging 90 must feel like. I am crippled and I love it. 

Monday to Thursday I spend 85% of the day on my feet, I spend 50/50 of that either under a (most likely difficult and unruly) horse and at the forge learning how to hammer steel into shapes. I have blisters ON my blisters, and they are all in the creases of my second and third knuckles. Breathing reminds me I need to see a chiropractor to get my rip placed back where the good Lord intended. I am so happy.

Last night, while attempting to fall asleep in record time I lay awake thinking about quotes on pain. “Pain is beauty” is the one that pops to mind first. Indeed often it can be, but honey, my hands look like a 50 year old loggers, and that ain’t beauty. I read a haunting book last year called The Secret History, by Donna Tartt. Read it. Here’s a quote that struck me:

Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming…Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.

Beauty is terror. Interesting. So I went on a “it’s 12 am I now have 5.75 hours left to sleep” rabbit trail in my mind. You know the ones. Here’s the long, run-on sentence that it turned into.

Beauty is Terror, Terror = fear, The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom, I always thought the truly wise knew what and how much to fear, therefore Wisdom = managed fear. Wisdom is beautiful = wisdom is terrible;

Wisdom is Pain.

I’m sure it was the late hour and the fact that every time I rolled over my bones creaked like an old snag tree off the west coast but this meant something slightly awesome to me last night. 

I’m n half a bottle of cab sav in, Something’s Got to Give is playing in the background, and I am getting ready to brush my teeth before getting into bed. Once again, before ten.


Life is beautiful


Moi xoxo

Today has been such a great day.

Today has been a great day!!! My new life is amazing. I have started school to become a farrier, one who shoes horses for those of you who need clarification. I am one week in and I have never been more scared or more happy. Today we went on a field trip to Laughingstock Ranch in Langley. Laughingstock is a pony party for hire company, they have over twenty mini ponies, goats, bunnies, and puppies! Today has been a fan-freaking-tastic day.
When I came back, grandma made cake!
Hope you’re life is lovely.
XO Moi









I’ll Spare You

I’ll spare you the long drawn out apology as to why I’ve not written because, hey it’s my blog not yours. However it is the first of 2013 and I felt the need to resolve some things. Go figure. 

To update the previous years list:

8.) Make a sour dough starter. Keep it alive forever. 
9.) Harvest. Cultivate. Enjoy. 
10.) Make epic costume. 
11.) Bake every weekend. Of just this month… maybe.
12.) Go to Sudbury for Christmas. 

 I made bread in August, not sour dough. Also I got into Kombucha and have nearly made my own batch. I feel fine about that.

I harvested amazing tiny grape tomatoes off my tomato plant, (obviously), I realized I do not know how to cultivate, I did enjoy.

I made a spectacular Steampunk costume. Someone must have a picture of it somewhere. I used all my own clothes and realized I have some kick ass taste. Oh ya.

I baked three weekends in a row, then on the fourth our lab ate my rolling pin, and on the first weekend in December both dogs broke into all the baking, and ate it. All of it. I cried. 

We stayed in BC for christmas, we just got married, we’re broke.


I’m half way through a list of things I’m thinking of updating you on soon. I’ll let you know later as I plan to get back to publishing a post once a month at least. I may not though, as I have recently discovered pottermore.com and I am a bigger nerd now than ever. I am a 28 1/2 year old Hufflepuff, and I’m bad at potions but I rock spells. You looking at me?

Peace and have a super year! Hey we survived an apocalypse, that’s at least two now for me, I feel like Buffy.



Moi xoxo

A Mother’s Prayer For Her Child: By Tina Fey

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches. May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty. When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer. Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age. Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit. May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers. Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait. O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed. And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it. And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes. Amen.” -Tina Fey




While looking for tattoo pictures I stumbled onto that somewhere in the intweb, I laughed. Funny, I heard she was a comedian.

Moi xoxo

Geeking Awesome


Guess what! (Note that is an exclamation point and not a question mark; that should indicate I’m about to tell you the answer without you having to ask; ie: A rhetorical question.)
Joss Whedon has filmed Much Ado About Nothing! And if that weren’t enough to make me stupid happy the ridiculous couple of Beatrice and Benedict are going to be played by Amy Acker and Alexis Denisof – that’s right, Angel‘s doomed couple of Fred and Wesley. Be still, my softly weeping heart.

Joss Whedon is responsible for how I viewed women at an early age. He successfully protected me from the angry poison of feminism while still empowering me to be bad-ass woman who dates who she wants, doesn’t take crap, and kicks vampire but. I watched Buffy every Tuesday night at the impressionable age of 13 quickly followed by Xena… I may have been overly violent as a teen.

In one of my “I live with my parent’s again” times of life, we watched Firefly. I had already seen the show, however as punishment for making me a Second Generation Trekkie, (as in I am the second generation), I hushed my dad’s “What’s a Space Cowboy?” questions and we got together once or twice a week and watched The Captain and crew. My dad still sings “Find me a horse! Find me a gun, I won’t rest until I’m done!” loosely in the tune of The Ballad of Serenity by Sunny Roads.

I’ve watched pretty much anything Joss has done over the years. I enjoy his snappy dialogue and the way he fleshes out a character to the point of realism. You can almost see the family like atmosphere he creates on his set between the crew. I am so happy to see the cast of characters in the upcoming Much Ado; it looks like a family reunion. Here are the one’s I recognize; there are about four more who I don’t from various Joss films etc.

Nathan Fillion – Dogberry
Clark Gregg – Leonato
Amy Acker – Beatrice
Alexis Denisof – Benedick
Sean Maher – Don John
Fran Kranz – Claudio
Tom Lenk – Verges

Pass the popcorn.

Moi xoxo


I’ll see you two later.




I would like to dedicate this post to IMDB.

So It Goes

Anyone out there absolutely LOVE Vonnegut? And then simultaneously realize sometimes you just can’t handle him? Moi. Over here; right here. Ya. I think, was he for real? And then I remember how I felt the first time I read about Bokonists pressing one’s feet against another’s….

We will touch our feet, yes,
Yes, for all we’re worth,
And we will love each other, yes,
Yes, like we love our Mother Earth.
-Books of Bokonon

Whatever pilgrim! I didn’t come here to talk about the Kurt.
(I’ve been watching a lot of Family Guy. I’m seriously stuck on Peter’s John Wayne impersonations….Pilgrim.)

Remember this?

1.) Find running shoes: start couch to 5k.
2.) Decide on and put a payment on a wedding band from Tiffany’s. 
3.) Hike to the West Coast, take pictures as proof. Start garden. 
4.) Celebrate last birthday as a “single” lady. Go to SanFran with BFF.[Amended to “Seattle w TF”]
5.) Throw a kick ass, stress free party for all my friends so they can watch me get married. Live the moment; you only get married for the first time once. 
6.) Paint a picture.  I chose to garden instead…also I still haven’t unpacked therefore can’t find my easel.
7.) Read a book I’ve put off from the NYR/2011.
8.) Make a sour dough starter. Keep it alive forever. 
9.) Harvest. Cultivate. Enjoy. 
10.) Make epic costume. 
11.) Bake every weekend. Of just this month… maybe.
12.) Go to Sudbury for Christmas. 

Me either, however things are shaping up pretty darn awesome. Well this little update was basically just for books! I count books on tape iPhone as a book read. I just do, so get over it.

This last two months I have devoured five books and I’m on my sixth. I love Miriam Toews, so I read two of hers. A Boy of Good Breeding, funny and entertaining. Irma Voth, tragic and beautiful. I still count The Flying Troutmans as my favorite of her books. I really read those ones, with pages and everything.

I’ve listened to Crime and Punishment, Paradise Lost, and now I’m on Middlemarch. Here’s something I had to pull over to write down it got me so good.

“We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips and in answer to inquiries say, “Oh, nothing!” Pride helps; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our hurts — not to hurt others.”
End of chapter 6
George Eliot