Fall, Autumn, by any name would smell as sweet!

Fall. It has been and always will be my all time favorite season. The leaves are turning brilliant colors of gold, red, orange... It's thrilling! Having moved back to the prairies after living in the maritimes for the past 9 months, I am looking forward to the comforts of a long chilly fall. The air is crisp, but never too cold. Leaves litter the sidewalks and streets. The fresh smells are sweet, like cinnamon. The season of gorgeous smelling cups of tea, and glowing fireplaces makes my heart oh so happy. Welcome!

I'm back!

So, I'm not going to lie, I had become discouraged by my blog for quite some time. I decided to quit, walk out and not look back... But here I am, back with open arms, and an open heart. Please forgive me for ignoring you. I promise that I will pay you some much needed attention.

Good evening, see you tomorrow!

What's happening here?

The other day there were these two boys (They looked to be about 7 and 9 years old) in line behind me in the bank. At first they were standing calmly beside a man that I assume was their father. As the long line slowly crept forward, the boys became impatient and began goofing around. At first they appeared to be playing tag, then they split up and played alone for a few minutes. All of this seemed very normal. Boys will be boys after all. Then after a few more minutes they were back playing with one another.

What happened next shocked me... The older boy all of a sudden spotted a surveillance camera in a corner of the bank. He nudged the smaller boy, and without a word spoken between them, both raised their little hands as if they were holding shotguns and pretended to fire at the camera. Next, the smaller boy aimed his "gun" at one of the tellers and proceeded to pretend to shoot her. They both continued their "massacre" until after about a minute, when their father finally told them to stop.

I stood there for a moment, absorbing what I had just witnessed. I was actually shaking, thinking about the fact that this was just normal play to these kids. Nothing out of the ordinary. Is this really the way that we are allowing our children to play? I was really disturbed by what I saw that day... I think the image will haunt me for a long time...

A glimpse

Gather together,
We are sad seers
Envisioning our broken world
Revolting earth
Taking nature by the throat
Tears, fears and chaos
Created by an angry ocean
The sky ripped open
By the careless amongst us
Lives misplaced, untraced
Is it the end?
Where do we go from here?
Can it all be salvaged?
The dying walk this earth
Alive as we once were
Seeing the end
With wide open eyes
Are we all blind?
Is there no sacred beauty left?
Nothing left to be buried
Nowhere to lay the dead
No chance that we will rise again
Can we look back now?
Is there a reason for looking forward?
Did we forget to read the labels?
Sad seers
Are there enough of us?

Know your place?

I got talking about religion with a co-worker today, because I wear a Saint Christopher's cross around my neck, which I have not taken off in almost a year. According to the Catholic religion he is the "Patron Saint of Travelling". I was given the cross before I left last year to go travelling, and have since given one to my best friend (she was raised Catholic and is currently travelling Asia). Probably not the best idea in a town dubbed the "Little Vatican". I am not Catholic, nor will I ever be. Nothing against the religion or those who are a part of it, it's just not my cup of tea. I was raised in a family that is made up mainly of devout Hindus. My mother on the other hand raised me as a Pentecostal. Confused yet? Sometime after my family began immigrating to Canada and the U.S., members of my extended family decided that they would just pick and choose what they wanted to be. Many remained devoted to Hinduism, others strayed. My mother was one of the latter.

We didn't go to church often, but when we did I had evry mixed feelings about it. For the longest time I felt like an imposter in the church. I felt like everyone could tell that I didn't know the words to all of the songs, or that I felt uneasy in the prescense of such powerful believers. For awhile we stopped going, and when we started back again, something had changed. The new pastor at our church was funny, made everyone feel at ease... and I had grown up a bit. I saw the church differently and was less worried about how I was being perceived. I was a lot more focused on the reasons that I was there, and what I wanted to get out of it.

I realized that my beliefs were loosely based on a number of different religions, and that I didn't have to identify with one specific church in order to believe in something. When asked, I still say that I am Pentecostal, its what I'm familiar with, but I have my own beliefs and accept the fact that everyone is entitled to their own beliefs.

The problem that I am faced with, is that my own beliefs are a melting pot of different religions, and many people do not accept that someone can believe in "part" of their religion and "parts" of others. Most think that you pick one and you stick with it. The thing is, that thats not what I believe. I wear my Saint Christopher's Cross and truly believe that I am safer in my travels with it around my neck. I also believe in Jesus and pray to him. I also believe in reincarnation and that everyone gets a second chance. I also believe that there is a higher power that created us, who or what it is, I'm unsure. Does that make me a bad person? If I am not Catholic, but someone who is gives me a gift from their church and I wear it, does that make me a bad person? Does it make them a traitor to their own religion?

Who decides these things?

Families of all shapes and sizes

Just as I decide to commit myself to writing again, I went on vacation, came back and started a new job, then started house and furniture hunting. It never ends. I have only myself to blame for my lack of ability to sit still, I love change!


In an ever changing world, I strive when my ever changing life is busy. I think that stability is nice, as long as it doesn't apply to me. I'm far too much of a free spirit to stay in one place for too long. I have a feeling deep down that I get this from my father. He was never a part of my life growing up, as him and my mother divorced right after I was born. He was always on the go, and then decided that he would rather live alone and work out of town. That was fine with mom. She's tough as nails and preferred to raise me on her own, if it meant that I would have stability. We moved once just before I started junior high school, then never again, and those houses were mere minutes apart. Mom has never been one for sporadic or drastic change. I, on the other hand, am a huge fan of packing up and hitting the road. Whether it be a roadtrip, travelling or moving, I am not a sit still and let the world pass me by kinda gal!


It took me a long time to figure out that I get a lot of these things from my father. I guess because I would never want to be compared to him, I overlook the fact that I am very much a part of him. After all, it did take his DNA to create me! The reasons behind my apprehension would take days to list. I will say that I do not want to give him credit for shaping the person that I am today. Mom did that on her own. I will however thank God, in her grace for giving me the best of both parents. Somewhere along the line, it all balanced out.

I love when people tell me how strong I am. It is by far the highest compliment that can be paid to me. Growing up I always tried to imagine being as strong as my mother. She never faltered, no matter what this life threw her way. She is a pillar of strength. I never once imagined that one day I would exude her strength in my own way. It does not go unnoticed either. People often comment on my easy going attitude and how strong I always appear, despite adversity. I credit my mother for this and many other amazing attributes that she has so graciously passed on to me.

The thing with my father is that, I am blinded to the ways in which him and I are alike. I hardly know him, and he chooses not to know me, so how can I possibly be like him? Mom says that he was once a very kind and caring person, but that he stopped being able to show that. Alcoholism took that away from him, and now he's a recluse, choosing to fight his demons alone.

Its amazing what one very strong parent can do... And I am thankful everyday of my life for the choices that she made.

Dear Blog...

I have not fallen off of the face of the earth. I am still here, still very much alive, possibly more than I ever have been. After 2 complete months of writing nothing, I mean absolutely NOTHING, I am believer that writer's block does exist. Sad, but true.
I tried countless times to sit down with you dear Blog in front of me, but nothing came. I felt like I had abandoned something that let me be me, completely and without judgement. But, as spring has sprung, and the deep dark days of winter are passing, I am back. I feel fantastic and I have news!
We are house hunting! I also managed to find a great job and everything that was looking sullen and sad has now taken on a whole new light. I am ecstatic! I will write often as my journey progresses.
So, here's to a new season, and another chance at friendship with you.

Always, Melissa

As it should be

I had to laugh yesterday when I was reading a booklet about living a healthy lifestyle. There was, as expected, a portion on excercise. The witty author noted that when we are younger we call most physical activities "play", but as adults we call it excercise, and it's no longer fun. The main reason that I laugh is because I have never stopped calling it "play". This weekend was the perfect example of this. Matt and I were sitting around the house patiently awaiting the snowstorm that was supposed to be moving in, when I got a sudden and severe case of "cabin fever". So I asked if we could go play outside. Matt agreed and we bundled up and hit the road. We decided to drive up to his grandparents old property so that he could show me where him, his brothers and cousins use to play pond hockey in the winter. We parked the car and hiked through bushes and field for awhile as he poited out various places that held special memories for him. We ran around, climbed trees, played in the snow, took turns being the leader...

Then on sunday, the same desire hit and we headed back out into the great outdoors. This time we brought one of Matt's cousin's along to take us hiking up to a beautiful waterfall. We had planned on driving to the trail head and hiking in from there, but once we got about 20 minutes away, the road was snowed in, so we parked and started walking instead. The walk easily added an hour both ways to our hike, so by the time we reached the trail we were pretty worn out. Everything was snowed in so we hiked through knee deep powder all the way up to the falls (About an hour uphill). I'll be the first to admit that it was a tough hike, and the thought of having to head all the way back was looming over my tired body. But I refused to get that close and not go all the way! The falls were beautiful, and as rough as the hike back was, we made it! And it was fun!

The best part was that after four hours of hiking, and the drive home, Matt and I had more energy than we had before we left. I think I'd forgotten how amazing it feels to play outside all day. The next day, sore muscles and all, we shoveled the driveway while the worst part of the storm moved in on us.

Now we talk endlessly about all of the fun things that we are going to do outside this winter. Whoever decided that exercise isn't any fun has never played outside all day during a snowstorm as an adult... And I highly recommend it!

Missing...

There's been a lot of buzz around here lately about a 12 year old girl that's gone missing. I watched the news last night, my stomach wrenched in knots, as they searched the river for clues. These kinds of stories always make me uneasy. They cause me to question humanity, and personal safety. The last job that I had was a 45 minute drive from home on the highway and some back country roads. Most nights I would drive home late, listening to music or debriefing my shift in my head. I never really worried too much about my safety. Then one evening, a few months ago, I was making my way home. I came to an open field on the side of the highway where a handful of police vehicles were parked. There were a number of police officers combing the field beyond the barbed-wire fence. I slowed down a bit to take a look, then continued on my way. The rest of the drive home is a blur. I couldn't stop thinking about what they may have been searching for.

For the next week or so, the same senario played out on my way home from work. My shift at the time ended just before dusk, and each night they were back in that same field "searching". Every time I passed them I got the same uneasy feeling. Whatever they were looking for, they still hadn't found it.

That week I started to question my safety. I was still living at home with my mom at the time. She usually knew when I was working, but beyond that, she hardly ever questioned my whereabouts. I would try to call her before I went out for the evening, or stayed at a friend's place, but sometimes days would go by without contact. I wondered how long it would take for her to notice if something happened to me. If I didn't come home she would assume I'd slept out, and everyone else would assume I'd gone home. When I was in high school, mom always questioned me, and knew exactly where I was supposed to be at all times. I remember making a huge fuss over this, because I just wanted my freedom. Little did I know how much I would come to miss the concern that she had for me.

After a week of passing this grim scene on the side of the highway, it finally really got to me. I became so overwhelmed with the thought of my friends and family not questioning where I was, that I pulled off the highway in tears and called home. My mom picked up the phone, and through my tears I said something like this, "Mom? How come you never call to check on me anymore? What if something happened to me and you thought I was out for the night, but really I was missing? You wouldn't notice for days, and by then it would be too late. I'm scared that something will happen to me, and you won't think to look for me. Can you start checking in on me again? You can call every day, tens times a day if you want to. I just want you to know that I'm ok." She kinda chuckled, and told me to drive home safely and that she would be waiting there for me. I pulled myself together and got back on the road.

That night when I made it home we hugged for a long time, then we had a long talk about the whole situation. We talked about how I fought so hard for more freedom, then once I had it I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt so vulnerable. She agreed to call me more often, and I started checking in a lot more. I would call her sometimes in the middle of the night just to let her know that I was on my way home. Even now, living 5000kms apart, I get excited when she calls to check in on me. Its such a blessing to have a mother that worries about you, despite what I thought when I was younger.

I hope that wherever that young girl is, she knows that people are worried about her too...

Miles away...

This past summer I had a chance to backpack the eastern coast of Australia with my life-long best friend. We saved up the money we needed to buy our plane tickets and waited patiently for news of a seat sale... Our patience was short lived, and as soon as our passports arrived in the mail, we were seated with my travel agent. The three of us sat for over an hour looking for anything that even resembled a seat sale, but found nothing. We had months before we really needed to book, but in our child-like excitement we booked "whatever" and paid in full.

For the next few months we worked long hours to save for the rest of our adventure. Summer came and I'd been working night shifts full time for over a month. I felt like a zombie/vampire version of myself, and it was not pretty. I was drained, and for the first time ever, convinced that I was depressed in the middle of summer. Now, just to clarify, I am a long-time sufferer of winter depression. Summer is my salvation. So when I found myself dreading leaving the house, going out with the girls, enjoying the things that I usually enjoy, I knew something was seriously wrong. I became snarly and short-tempered. I also became an emotional mess. I would let all of my emotional stuff build up and then spew it out like a drunk college kid. It was messy.

It was meant to be the trip of a lifetime. The ultimate girl's month out. But I was everything short of pleasant to be around.

Day one of our Australian Adventure consisted of 24 hours of travelling, some bickering and a lot of jaded excitement. I spent the whole 14 hour plane ride across the Pacific Ocean trying to make myself "FEEL" more excited, but I felt really numb. Upon arrival, we were so tired that our only focus was on getting to the hostel. After resting for a bit, we went out to explore our new surroundings. Neither of us talked much, and I found myself questioning how much of that was my fault. I was trying so hard to understand why I was feeling so unbalanced still.

To make a month long story short, there were ups and downs the whole way. There were days that I felt like I was pulling out of it, and others that were really tough to face. I remember one night while we were in the Queensland rain forest, a girl asked us whether or not we thought that we would remain friends after our trip. This was my best friend, my confidante, the person whose influence has shaped me more than anyone else's in my life. The thought of our friendship ending made me feel sick. There was no way that I was going to let this slump ruin my life. I just couldn't understand how working nights for a month could effect me as much as it had.

By the last week of our trip I was ready to head home. I wanted so badly to sleep in my own bed again and get my life back on track. I knew that things would be different between us once we got back. The whole trip was a life-changing experience.

Since our return in August, we've remained close, and I am so thankful for her unconditional support. When people asked about our trip, all of the petty stuff seemed so unimportant. We told them about all of the amazing things that we got to do. We laughed about the silly arguments we had and the crazy people we met. We decided that it really was the most amazing trip, and that we had both changed for the better. It also made me realize the true importance of her friendship.

Let's hold hands!

"Not to wax nostalgic about the 1970’s, but back then people got upset when they saw injustice. They got tired of seeing our air, land and water polluted. They were shocked when the Cuyahoga River in Ohio was polluted so badly it caught fire. And on one great day 20 million Americans marched all across this land. Politicians had no choice but to take notice." - Senator John Kerry

This quote caught my attention today, for more than a few reasons. Number one being that it perfectly encapsulates how I feel about our generation. I have always wanted to be an advocate for change. I would have made a kick-ass hippy back in the day! I also believe that there are every day life changes that we can make to do our part to change.

Matt and I had decided before we got home that we would make some changes in the way we live. They may seem major, or really minor to some, but they make us feel great about the way we're living. First, we decided that we would support local producers by buying only local foods. So, on our first trip to the grocery store, we managed to buy only foods produced in Canada (Except bananas, but that was far-fetched!). We spent over $200 supporting Canadian producers! We also bought recycled/recyclable grocery bags. We've since stopped accepting plastic bags anywhere we go! In Nova Scotia there is already a law that you have to compost and recycle or you'll be fined, so that was well under way. The best part of eating locally is that it also forces us to eat produce that is currently in season. We are trying to figure out how to narrow down our local eating to producers within our province.

Anyways, the real reason that the quote got me thinking is that back in the 70's people were so passionate about change. They lived and died for the causes they believed in. And they got the recognition they deserved for what they did. These days there is not enough recognition for the amazing people that fight for change. Sometimes they are even looked down upon for being too radical! In a society that needs so much change, can we not all do some small part to make a difference? Although we all recognize that we need to change, many people don't know where to begin. If we were to encourage people to make one small change at a time, we may be able to work together. Imagine 20 million people marching together towards change?

Still little old me!

I've been feeling really disconnected from my blog for the past few weeks. Starting when I didn't have daily access to a computer, then sadly, continuing once I did. I started asking myself if it was possible that I have "Typer's Block". So I reverted back to the old faithful, pen and paper. What happened next really surprised me. I started reading through some stuff that I'd written last year, and I found out that, I haven't changed at all! My surroundings have.

I'd made a list of things that I found peace and contentment in. The list went as follows: Wintersleep and Bob Dylan CD's, My camera's ability to capture raw insanity and beauty, nature in all of her unpredictability, and last but not least, Matt's daily messages, postcards (he was travelling Europe at that time, and we were living over 5500kms apart) and existence. Ah, simplicity at its best.

So, here I am, a new year, home, job, friends, province, life, and through it all, I am still me. I find a delirious sense of pride in this. I think that everyone expects that with change, we ourselves change. I'm afraid that I am as easily amused as ever.

Here's hoping that whatever is holding me back from writing will soon let go.

A REALLY new year!

So here it is, another new year. But for me, this year brings with it an entirely different start. Not only did I spend the past two weeks driving across Canada, I also moved all of my belongings with me. I now live precisely 5500 kms away from my family, friends and home for the past 25 years.

Now I know that this sounds crazy, but love makes us do crazy things... And believe me, I am happier than I have ever been! I now live 10 minutes from the ocean. What more could I ask for really? I have a lead on a good job, the town that we live in is quaint, and quiet, a breath of fresh air from living in a big city. On my first night in my new house I decided to stay up late and unpack. When I woke up the next day, I felt like I'd been living out here my entire life. Also, until I find a job, I have endless hours to read, write, photograph and organize my new home.

This has truly been the most refreshing start to a new year.

Just stopped by to say hello!

I am currently in Montreal on the last leg of our cross-Canada drive! In two days I will be arriving home, and can start writing again!
Thank you to everyone that's stopped by in the past few weeks! I'm sorry for not responding to any of my comments!

Happy New Year! Talk to you all soon!