Making my Adventure Miracle!

I am about to land in Tokyo – I am about to be in Japan. For real. The miracle of that…the straight up miracle of the fact that 14 hours ago I stood in my friend Karen’s groovy Vancouver kitchen! 14 hours ago we said good morning and I pressed a button for a latte to make itself and now JAL flight 017 is on its final descent into Tokyo…in JAPAN! ME!!

We are still above the clouds…landing in about 15 minutes, says the careful voice of the Japanese flight attendant over the PA. When we lifted off in Vancouver I found myself suddenly, unexpectedly in tears… wet surprising trails of surprised delight across my cheeks. The reality of this… this trip i hardly dared trust would really happen…rushed in on a wave of gratitude and joy.

The wheels are lowering beneath me now…groaning in anticipation of our return to hard pavement from this blue sky miracle highway.

I am so thankful. This is real…I am landing in Tokyo. I am making an adventure. Yes.

And now I am here in Tokyo airport…girls in kilts and people in face masks, talking robots and news about….Trump, Clinton and Cruz. Smallish world, still miraculous!

Frenchish, Spench & Voice Mail Punctuation

 

shut-up-siriI can no longer leave a voice mail. I am not kidding you. If you have received a voice mail from me in the last two years it probably sounded something like this:

Hi comma this is Deborah period.  Thanks for getting back to me about that project semi-colon there are lots of details to be sorted out period Why don’t we meet for coffee this week to discuss question mark SHIT I did it again oh crap ignore this message!!  jeez ahhhh… SORRY!  I don’t even know how to leave voice mail anymore shit (I hang up red faced).  If YOU have been the bewildered recipient of such a message please comma accept my apologies exclamation mark

Seriously.

Damn you Siri! I have figured out precisely how to tell Siri what to text on my behalf. She and I don’t always speak the same language (even without the enriching cab-sav) but we do okay.  I used to be a medical transcriptionist (data entry of patient notes verbatim from dictation cassettes recorded by doctors not gifted in penmanship), so I am well versed in the need for oral inclusion of punctuation (comma) when dictating (period). Clearly, that advanced skill is not working in my favour when it comes to real life communication.

I can speak Spanish fluently… when I’m drinking. At least I think I am speaking Spanish fluently, but hey… it’s hard to be sure after the third glass of red. It’s the same with French… you should hear my Merlot fuelled Francais… c’est incroyable. No, vraiment, c’est incroyable.  What’s really fun is when I get the languages mixed up… I’ve heard of Franglais and Spanglish… what is a word for a grape infused language blend of the two languages of love? Fromantish? Spench? Frenchish? I like Spench… how about Siri influenced voice mail messaging though… do we need a name for that? Surely I’m not the only one who’s doing this…and now I’m doing it all day every day, dead sober, on voice mails I can’t take back.

So as you can plainly see, I have a gift for languages… for learning and incorporating new languages into my life. I also think maybe me and Siri need to take a break Period. Shit. Sorry.

My stilettos, my choice. Your Hijab? You’ve been brainwashed!

c1492d1b9a40d95336eb738d895c9ae2Ever hear anything like this? “It’s shocking that Muslim women have so little say over what they wear. They say it’s their choice to wear the Hijab. They’ve been brainwashed! Their free will has been corrupted and they have no idea what real choice and real freedom is. Not like me. I know real freedom.”

You stand there in your size 9, 4 inch stilettos crammed with your size 9.5 feet, toenails painted and cuticles trimmed, leg hair ripped out by the roots with hot wax applied regularly. The shoes hurt but they make your legs look great.  You know you could wear flats… you choose to wear heels.

Your $12 ultra sheer super control top pantyhose do their best to contain that tiny tummy bulge but what it can’t hold in is managed by your Spanx. Your dress is exactly the right mix of professional and sexy so that your meeting today will go well; if your ideas don’t dazzle them, they’ll be hoping for a peek to determine of the colour of your $65 underwire push up bra and wondering if it matches your thong and whether you’re landing strip or clean. You choose to wax because it makes you feel sexier…

Your skin glows… it should, after being religiously scrubbed, buffed and exfoliated. You moisturize twice daily of course, to stay smooth and silky. Your makeup only takes a half-hour now, and you’ve narrowed the routine down to about 15 steps and products. The cost is alarming, but that’s how it goes. You choose to use good skin care and cosmetics; they are much more expensive, but they make you feel prettier…

Your hair… well, it continues to be a struggle. You are going grey and would like very much to let it go, let it happen. In your profession though, grey hair is an invitation to the younger, bolder, hipper folks to step in. You’re not quite ready to let that happen so it’s cut, trim, dye, streak, highlight, foils… you name it. You choose to colour your hair because you know it makes you look younger and sexier…

You pull on your exercise gear and go for a run a few times a week. You hate it hate it hate it and it hurts your knees but you only have a little time to exercise and you seriously don’t want to gain any weight over the winter. Your body needs to be bikini ready when you head to Mexico for a winter break. You may be getting older but you sure don’t want to seem like you’ve given up! And your man, well he likes you looking slim and hot and you want to keep him looking…

Women in the west are the most brainwashed in the history of the world, I would wager. I’m one of them. I have bought into the Virginia Slims, Coca- Cola-Calvin Klein-Betty Crocker-Cosmopolitan femininity construct as much as the next woman. I have no place, no right and no authority on which to judge the choices of any woman anywhere. My choices are the result of the brainwashing I’ve undergone my entire life. Here in the West, that’s celebrated as personal freedom.

There are lots of reasons to be angry about the treatment of women in other countries, under other regimes and political or religious systems. Squawking over women’s lack of choices is hypocritical at best so long as we continue to be pummelled with messages about how to be prettier, fitter, sexier so long as we keep making dolls for our daughters that look like little anorexic prostitutes. We can’t keep offering our own women the choice between being being blow-up doll bitches or perfect Pinterest moms while condemning the choices of others. We need to think about this…

Moral authority? We don’t have it.

So damned sick of cancer

sick of cancer
I am sick of cancer. I am so damned sick of cancer I want to kick it in the face and punch it in the throat and toss it to the ground and stomp it to death once and for all. I hate it. I hate that it keeps sticking its hateful pointless sharp nose into the lives of people I love. It’s a brute of a sickness, an evil and unwelcome liar. It is a killer tarted up and whorish. There’s hope and optimism… bam. There’s confidence and faith and staying strong… smash. And there’s fear and anxiety and hopelessness and grief… yes, there are all of those things.
I don’t have cancer (though who the hell knows, everybody will sooner or later right?). People I have loved have battled cancer… and yes,in my mind it’s always a foe, an enemy. Some have beaten it, for now at least. Some haven’t. Some people I care about have just had it come back and kick them in the ass again. Some for a second time, a third time…
Why? How? What is in our world, this world, this water, this food, this air… these walls, this furniture, this carpet, this computer screen or phone that is KILLING US? What are we ingesting, digesting, resting on that is invading our bodies and turning our own cells against us?
I want this to stop. I don’t want it to catch anyone else that I love. I don’t. I’m tired of crying.

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Swan Heaven!

Swan Heaven!

This lovely trumpeter swan has arrived in Yukon, landing at Swan Haven on Marsh Lake for a rest. The return of the swans means spring has arrived at last and we Yukoners get a bit giddy when we hear their cries overhead.
This piece forms part of my new spring line; I’ve stepped a bit away from jewelry to make these whimsical pieces of driftwood, wire and paper. I think I will call the line Twisted Whimsy, but if you have a better idea please… comment! If you’re interested in buying a piece, please email me at deborahtd@gmail.com

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More SPRING to celebrate!

More SPRING to celebrate!

I am seriously a fool at this time of year. I am giddy and giggly and smile at random people all the time. The sun is up from before I wake up until almost 10 o’clock at night now, and that leaves LOTS of hours of time to create and be active. I can’t STOP making these little sculptures… they just make me happy.