Tragic Tale of The Washer That Won’t Wash 

We are running out of clean clothes. Close to three weeks with no working washing machine and I’m about ready to lose my shit. Seriously, I’ve called the company from the washing Gods at least seven times and yesterday, I reached my boiling point. I yelled…I never yell…I scared my daughter who ran upstairs when she heard me exclaim “I HAVE THREE KIDS, A DOG AND NO WASHING MACHINE TO WASH ANYTHING!! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!!! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT? HUH?! HUH?!! WHAT?!” (The dog has nothing to do with washing anything, it’s not like I have a newborn baby around who poops in her pants and throws up over everything, but I thought I’d toss in the fact that I’m a loyal pet owner who likes to keep stuff clean….I thought I could induce sympathy, but apparently the washing machine company from hell is void of feelings…and compassion to pet owners. AND MULTIPLE CHILDREN. They probably hate babies and kittens and those baby chimps dressed up like little dolls, too. Bastards) To which multiple apologies came over the phone with the ‘ma’am’…I hate the ‘ma’am’ Ugh.

So, in the end nothing happened. The motor was replaced and the machine that shouldn’t be called a machine, but a lame piece of expensive- dirty- laundry- dumping- area, still sits there mocking me. NOT WORKING. “Ha-ha told ‘ya they wouldn’t help. Now you have to spend more money than what I’m worth to fix me, so I can break down and sit here and mock you again…I think I’ll have an implosion and spontaneously combust….how does Dec. 24th sound? He-he-he” Asshole.

I’m gonna have some wine and think about how best to drunk-text the washing machine company….I’ll inundate their inboxes with pictures of puppies and cute little monkies and piglets….and say, ‘THIS IS WHO YOU WON’T FIX A MACHINE FOR! THE BABY ANIMALS OF THE WORLD IMPLORE YOU TO FIX MA WASHER…THEY NEED CLEAN LITTLE DRESS UP CLOTHES!!!”  


That otta do it.  




Write a Blog Post

Write a blog post

It needs to be done

Write a blog post

People are waiting for one

Write a blog post

You have nothing else to do

But write a blog post

It can only be you.

Memories of Drowning and Other Stories


So, I’m now an official Indie author.  My book hit the Amazon jungle on Sunday.  I’m not sure how I feel about it, yet.   It’s like taking a little piece of your soul and throwing it up in the air, waiting for somebody to catch it.  And hold it.  And like it, just a little bit.

The silence is what’s awkward.  Not knowing if people will like it and hoping nobody takes it and trashes it into nothingness.   It’s weird, really.  I’ve been flung into the virtual abyss with nothing, not even a life jacket to keep me from going under…scary place, this cyber universe.  But I did it to myself.  I put myself out into the big wide world to see what’s what…no point in turning around and running back home.  Might as well hang out a bit and see who gives me a nod.

So, I’m going to be annoying.  I’m going to make a complete nuisance of myself and be in your face and stare at you until you get all uncomfortable and move around in your chair looking for the nearest exit.  I may even follow you to the door…but I’ll be out here a while, so send me back a coffee or a donut or even a warm blankie, will ‘ya?

It’s a bit chilly out here…..

The Visitor, A Short Story

I wrote this story a few years ago and it still resonates with me.  Since it takes place during the onset of war, I thought it appropriate to have up today, Remembrance Day.  The young soldier is admiring the enigmatic Churchill and hoping in some small way, he too can become brave and heroic in the face of imminent war.  Lest We Forget….


I watched as the plane landed with a thunderous roar, the engines coming to an abrupt halt as if the pilot had simply turned the switch to the ‘off’ position.  I stood with my back hard against the biting wind, wondering if I should prepare a salute or simply stand at attention.  I waited for some direction from my superior officer, but none came.  I believe the shock of the arrival and the excitement of having such a prolific visitor come adrift upon our rocky shores had sent us all into a wave of silent awe.

It was November 1942.  The world was engulfed in the biggest conflict known to man, the classic battle between good and evil personified by the leaders of European nations struggling to define the world on their own terms, ignoring the plight and suffering of those they plundered into despair.  Leaders who were so enmeshed in their own agendas they took no notice of the people being tortured and beaten or of children being left to die on the streets with explosions and gunfire rattling their souls, shattering lives and dreams without a second thought.   Our little part of the world seemed so distant and removed from such gross atrocities against humanity, save the work our army was doing to assist our allies.  Our shores were vulnerable and England knew the possibility of oncoming attacks, sending reinforcements to protect our rocky cliffs by setting up battlements to keep constant watch over our ocean.  I say ‘our ocean’ as if we, the country of Newfoundland, could even suggest possessing such a thing.  This living, breathing entity entrusted to us by God to forever protect and nurture, and in return permission to fish her open blue waters.  She bestowed food in abundance to feed our families, nourish a growing country and sustain our people through long harsh winters, all the while, the stars beckoning fishermen to take to their boats and sail beneath their watchful gazes, enrapturing them in the ocean’s song of freedom and peace. The salty water blowing upon our land giving weight to the wet laundry strung out to dry on the tenuous lines, the gale force winds blowing it skyward.  Salt we could taste upon our lips, and feel the sting in our eyes after waiting and watching for our husbands, fathers, brothers and uncles to return home from months at sea.  Our lives hung in limbo, much like the laundry blowing haphazardly across the blue horizon. We were left to protect our waters, land and people with nothing more than a few strong men and the good sense God had granted us to outlast the evil dictators who were waging war against England.  We watched as our men and women departed for lands far out reaching our own, with the ever present knowledge that they may never return.  We applauded their bravery, mocked the suggestions of indignant retreats and prayed for their eventual safe return to Newfoundland’s humble embrace.

The wind blew out like a blast from God as I blindly stood, tears streaming down my face with my hands frozen by my side.  The Botwood air base was abuzz with excitement, people milling about in the cold waiting for the slightest chance of catching a glimpse of his surly expression, most likely with a lit cigar firmly planted between his teeth as ashes trailed his every step.  This was the man who held the fate of England in his hands although promising years of struggle and grief, he never wavered in his belief that we could withstand the loss of lives brought upon us by Hitler’s egocentric views that embraced the inane and contemptible.

The entire world watched as England waged war against the tyranny of this dictator. The population poured passionate and all-encompassing faith into a beloved and respected Prime Minister, believing he could lead the world to victory over the malevolent force spreading across Europe.   I was excited by the prospect of meeting the leader of almighty England, but nervous he may look upon me as subservient.  His stellar military career had ignited my own aspirations of service, however I knew that I was not his equal.  His brilliance was far beyond my capacities and I was quickly daunted by the challenges of such a life during this tumultuous time. It was as if people knew this was an era of change and historic will; nations rose together in allegiance to restore peace, hope and the conviction that all people should live without having to witness death and destruction in their backyards. It was a time where the future seemed uncertain, the constant news of battles and resulting casualties the topic of every radio broadcast, but when he took to the airwaves, we rose in unison to hope the end of such senseless slaughter would soon be upon us.  I recalled hearing the warnings from the Prime Minister years before this terrible outbreak regarding Hitler’s rampant greed for superiority and his assembling of armies in the name of ‘white supremacy’.  Although he was politely ignored, Churchill could see Europe’s demise propelling forward and he was prepared to rally a nation to stand tall and fight.  His inspiring words sprang intense patriotism that only war time mentality could comprehend, and years later as he took his seat as Prime Minister, he became England’s savior as well as our guide into the dark abyss of war.

I watched in wonder as the man of whom I had been inspired emerged from the plane, the propellers slowing as the engines died.  He stood, his long trench billowing about his ankles and lit his cigar surreptitiously beside the plane’s engines.  I smiled as I watched, seeing the horrified looks from my superiors at Churchill’s disregard for such trivialities as an impending explosion from a lighter in proximity to the plane’s fuselage.  They hurriedly escorted him away from the danger zone and into a path leading directly to where I was standing.  The smile must have still been securely glued upon my face as he approached and smiled back at me.  His hat had almost succumbed to a violent gust of wind and he forcefully replaced it upon his head.  He looked me up and down as if inspecting my presence in such a desolate and isolated place and said loudly, “Hello, Sergeant!  So, how do you like it up here in Newfoundland?”  I was momentarily stunned staring into his bright blue eyes and the energy and warmth behind them tempted a reply from my gaping frozen lips. “Fine, sir” I sputtered, “I like it fine.”

The Christmas Lamp

If you are thinking this will be a heartwarming Christmas story, you couldn’t be more wrong.  AND, if that’s the reason you ended up here, I am sorry.  However, before you turn on your elfin heels to stalk the web in search of lovely warm tales of Christmas miracles and Santa, take a gander at this little story.  It may make you smile…AND, there IS a moral in it!  So…it’s better than the Gift of the Magii…it’s the Gift of the Christmas Lamp!  Yay. 


Christmas when the kids were small took on a different meaning than it does now.  As adults, we tend to enjoy the season of getting together with family and friends, imbibing in all the great food and drink people tend to have out, relaxing and generally having some time away from work and stress.  Gifts are second or third on the list or simply not that important to us.  For the kids it was dolls and dresses, trucks and musical instruments, a much needed new movie or video game.  For Hubby, Christmas is awesome, but it took us (me) a while to figure that out.

Hubby has a bad habit of saying incessantly he wants ‘nothing’ for Christmas.  He stated continuously that as long as the kids have some of the things on their lists, he was happy.  This line is repeated so often leading up to Christmas Day, that after 22 years of hearing it we have become deaf to the whole lecture.  “Yeah, yeah, we know” we say and make sure he has gifts under the tree anyway.  It wasn’t always the case.

One Christmas when the children were very small, Hubby was particularly adamant that he, again, wanted “nothing for Christmas.  I mean, it.  Nothing.”   Me, taking that serious statement as totally the way he wanted it, abided by it.  Kinda.

I mean, I had to get him SOMETHING, right?  Right.  So I did.

Christmas morning found us bunking at Nanny’s so she could be with the kids.  We arose to all of us crowded around in the small living room, the children eyeing what Santa had brought them.  We doled out what was under the tree and watched as they gleefully tore open their packages.  I had a sweet pile by my side.  “Mommy, where’s Daddy’s gifts?”  one of the children asked.  They were so sweet then….  “Well, Daddy said he didn’t want anything, but he may have one under there…”

That’s when I swooped in and brought out the impossible-to-wrap-one-of-a-kind…you guessed it…LAMP.

I got him a lamp for his desk.

The look on his face was…well, surprise?  Guffawed?  Yeah…guffawed.

“YOU GOT ME A LAMP?!”  He was incredulous.

This was not just any lamp.  This was one of those banker lamps from the 80’s with the two columned black iron solid base that weighed a ton.  It even had the green glass light on top.  It was so…so…so much a lamp.

Me:  “In my defense you said you wanted nothing for Christmas, right?”

Him :  “Yeah, but…”

Me:  “So, if you wanted NOTHING for Christmas, I at least got you something you can put on your new desk.”

I was rather proud I had thought of something practical.

He turned it around.  Set it down on the floor.  The kids all gathered around and said “You got a lamp?! “ and laughed.  I think Nanny felt sorry for him…”Umm…it’s a nice lamp…”


Me:  “That’s what you get when you ask for NOTHING!!”

The rest of the day, family was dropping by Nanny’s to see what the kids had gotten from Santa.  They showed them their gifts and proudly proclaimed “AND LOOK, DADDY GOT A LAMP!” but couldn’t pick it up to show because it was too heavy and awkward and could have been used to train a weightlifter.  The fun was never ending after that.  Teasing, holding up the lamp…”That’s it?”  His brothers and sisters were looking, stunned and totally amused and amazed at the awesomeness, I’m sure. “That’s what you got?!!  A lamp?!!! HAHAHAHA..”

I still bring up the whole episode when I hear the “I want nothing for Christmas” shit one too many times.

So, kids the moral of the story:  Don’t be an asshole, or there will be a lamp under the tree….at least it will have a Christmasy green light!

The Lamp...only the glass was green and it was awesome...

The Lamp…only the glass was green and it was awesome…

The Leaves Are Not The Only Things Changing Colour

I’m still catching my breath from the epic win from the Liberals and the election of a new Prime Minister, that I haven’t had a chance to see fall in all its glory.  The leaves are starting to change from their lush green to their auburn and golden hues and I haven’t been out with my camera to take any pics.  I’ll see if I can do that on the weekend if it’s not pouring out of the heavens.  This is Newfoundland…hail, rain and sun all in an hour.  I took some photos a couple of weekends ago, but the leaves hadn’t changed yet, so not so glorious.


It seems the times they are a’changin’ along with the leaves and I can’t help but feel a little hopeful.  I may not feel a direct sweeping affect from a new government, but the shininess and brightness that has injected itself into our parliament has left me all giddy and schoolgirl-ish.  Ooohhh…what will PM Trudeau do now?  The Americans have pointed out the young handsomeness that is now our Prime Minister and I’m not above pointing out the obvious, as well.  I texted the crowd and pointed out I was pretty damned happy that our Prime Minister was a handsome young guy that we could laud over the world as our new bright young star…it’s a great feeling to be proud of our Prime Minister.  I think we’ve been missing that for a long time. ‘Look at our intelligent handsome PM who is going to stand for the environment and change the way the world sees Canada’…that’s the sentiment and the hope that goes along with it.  Everybody is holding their breath and waiting in the wings, watching the young man shake hands and smile with the people.  Watching him slowly move back into 24 Sussex and get to work.

This is our new Prime Minister...I hear you applauding...yeah, I know.

This is our new Prime Minister…I hear you applauding…yeah, I know.

Let’s see if Justin can do it…Let’s see if he can fulfill his promises to make Canada good again.

“Just watch me” says the note that is now selling on Ebay.  The note he wrote in response to the question “Do you think you can beat Harper?”

Just watch me…

Oh, we are Mr. Trudeau….We definitely are….

That Day I Was High on Muscle Relaxants and Pain Killers and Argued Politics With The Dog. Otherwise Known as Yesterday

The election is quickly approaching and there are so many ad campaigns and articles proclaiming who is the best candidate, who has the best policies and platforms and who just plain sucks, that it’s getting confusing and sickening and trashy all at the same time.  One promises daycare at such a ridiculously low rate that it’s laughable, one says he’ll invest in Canada and the other one, ugh.  He’s just condescending, grasping at anything and basically has such a look of desperation and a power hungry-beady look in his eyes, that people are rolling THEIR eyes and hanging their heads in shame on his behalf.  Don’t look at him, maybe he’ll take the hint and slink away under a rock somewhere.  Embarrassing, really.

It seems to have gone on forever, this election campaign.  Monday is voting day (finally) and I can’t wait to get out to the polls and exercise my right to make something happen…change or not.

Then, maybe all of this ‘he’s not ready’, ‘he’s unrealistic’ and ‘he’s just an asshole’ will all be over.  I think that last one was on TV while I was in my state of dizziness from my back spasm medication…too many burpees (ugh)  I’m not sure, though.  About the last ad campaign slogan, not the burpees.  I’m sure about those.

Anyway, get out and vote.  Be counted! Let your voice (or your ‘x’) be heard!

I’m sure I’ll be back to myself by Monday and ready to mark my ballot.  No more arguing about politics with the dog.  She was getting all confused, anyway.  I don’t recall any candidates promising free belly rubs and bacon treats to the doggies who vote for their particular party…do you?


Last night, I walked out of my house and spied a little girl, her father and her younger sister walking down the sidewalk with fallen leaves bunched up in eldest girl’s fists. It was obvious they were out for a pleasant walk to collect some fall leaves, although I’m not entirely convinced it was ‘pleasant’. The little girl had leaves bunched up by their stems in her hands and every so often, a gust of wind would blow the leaves, tugging one or a few free. They would take flight, which would then send the little girl into fits of frightful screams.  The father would patiently wait for her to run after the airborne leaf and rescue it, trapping it back into her already full hands.  She would just manage to secure the escapee as another wind would blow yet another leaf astray, and more screaming would ensue.

After several minutes of this game and halfway down the street, the father becomes impatient with the screaming and the running after blowing leaves. He grabs up the entire collected bunch from the little girls fists and pushes them forcefully into his pants pockets.  He grabs her little hand and begins to drag her down the street, still screaming.  He gives up a little further down the road, and releases the girl’s hand admonishing her to stop screaming.  The little girl’s sister looks at the now quieted girl, points to the street where a scatter of fallen leaves have become loose from the nearby maple trees and calmly says “you missed one.”  I giggle as fits of further screaming can be heard.

I love fall….