Be Soft like Lint

It is okay to ask for quiet time.
If you need to recharge, regroup, reassess.
It’s okay to let me know.
To be respectful and mindful to the feelings that come with being human.

Knowing what kind of action or non-action will sadden or frustrate one another.
Let us be soft. So that we get the most out of each other.

Teach each other it’s okay to be vulnerable to express our needs or desires; that we won’t run if we tell or get told.

It’s okay to request things. It’s okay to need things from me.
A certain way to love, to listen, to communicate.
It is okay.


Everyone you meet is going to have an opinion. Vocalized or not.
This is one of the parts that make up who they are.

Somewhere in life, they got this opinion. And because your life is different then theirs, you’ll have gathered different ones.

Don’t attack what people have gathered in life.
Embrace that part of them and recognize, it’s okay to feel differently.

Your experiences are yours alone.

And so are theirs.
Respect them.


It’s Not all Art

Everything isn’t art to me. It might be art to somebody else. And I respect that.
I look at a pile of rocks and I see a pile of rocks.
I haven’t trained my eye to see beauty in stuff like that.
When I see laundry on the line and it is blowing in the wind,
when I see a moose in the clouds or the shape of a truck my son has drawn,
it makes my heart twinkle
and I consider that feeling, art.
If something can give me feelings other than what I was feeling, it’s art.
I feel, more so than I see, art
and that’s why everything I see, is not art.

Phases and Stages of Life

I remember wanting to wear baggy tom-boy clothes and trucker hats.
I remember I loved my black Nikes, and eventually my second pair of skate shoes- which were also black. Those were my high school days.

I hated pink and it used to be a battle between my mom and I, every time she tried to get me into a frilly pink outfit.

Until one day.
That day that I was purchasing lacy tops myself and matching them to pink accessories.
The beginning days where I realised I looked and felt good in this stuff and wanted boys to be attracted to me. ( not that this is the only way they would be)

Heels began to excite me. I felt powerful in them.
I didn’t wear revealing tops, but instead maintained a fashion that I felt confident and sexy in.

With the change of country, came a different patch of clothing. I started out wearing summer dresses. Until I started going to the bars. Then I wore bar outfits, tight light fabric. Eight bucks a pop. They lasted maybe only four or five times out but that didn’t matter.

Pregnancy started and I wore loose fitting tops to hide the bulge that could not yet be considered a baby bump.

Baggy tank top!

Baggy tank top!

Something clicked about half way thru pregnancy and I felt I needed to show off what I had. Long slender, hip hugging material I wore. Tank tops and shorts with my belly bands. I wasn’t doing up my shorts half the time but it’s why I had ordered the bands. Came in handy.

Tighter fitting!

Tighter fitting!

I gave a lot of my clothes away after I gave birth. Not that they didn’t fit me, I just wanted an entirely new style. I went for skinny jeans and tight shorts. Tops that were baggy and three quarter length sleeves but exposed a bit of tummy. I had returned to my pre pregnancy weight within two weeks and I wanted to wear clothes that showed off my belly! For the first time in my life I was consciously proud of my body.

I want to correlate the styles of clothing and the choices we wear, with phases and stages. Just like in music. When we think back to when we listened to Simon and Garfunkel or Dave Matthews Band, there is a period in life we come to. Whether it was when we were dating that guy or gal, or when we were moving from one house to another. Music brings us back to places.As does clothing. And the first cars we own. And the second houses. And our last job. There are stages in life and it’s not usually until we are out of them, that we realise, hey- they were a fun and important time in our life. Our attachments to our past can be anything and I understand that not everyone is sentimental.. but you can at least acknowledge that the key ring you’ve had for three years has some meaning behind it.

Attachment to phases can be dangerous.
For when everything we see or does reminds us of some part of our past, the present gets a bit overshadowed and neglected. One day the clothes you are wearing now will represent this part of life you are going through. Whether you are 21 or 45. So let’s respect the things in our life. Everything.Because they all make it what it is and one day you will be looking back on these days and realising that the v-neck you wore did not match your leopard print pants no matter WHAT you thought, or the incredibly tight pants looked ridiculous and made your butt look twice the size.

Phases are just that. Phases. We need to acknowledge them as part of the past, as part of something that got us where we are today. So then we can fully live in this present and respect it, knowing it too, will be a phase of our life.

( I did just realise that all three photos in this post, are with me wearing stripes. Guess some phases never end ;P )

A Thai Funeral

We can all admit. Funerals just suck.
I haven’t found anyone that likes to go to them.
But they happen and we know that to go is the right thing to do.

I’ve never been to a Thai funeral.
And it just so happens that neither has my husband.

It also just so happens that his fathers’ is the first one we attend.

and it sucks.
More than a Western Funeral.

It wasn’t written down in his will but he had repeated to Morgan and his Thai wife that he wanted his funeral held at Wat Phala. Not Wat Ban Chang. ( Wat – Temple ) This was one thing he was adament about.
It was his dying wish basically.
It makes me cringe, it makes me almost hate her.. for having the funeral at a different temple.Because it was more convienent for all her friends to get to… It disgusts me and enrages me and Morgan and I stand to the side after continually stating that it is not what he wanted. But that doesn’t matter because he is dead now and the Thai’s don’t quite care about the dying and there last requests.
It’s sickening.
And so there we are, where we shouldn’t be. And the body arrives in a little patrol pickup truck. and men get out and they carry Martin with blankets over his body, onto the wooden table at the front. He lays there for 4 hours while we stand around and sit around and while Morgan and his step brother and sister and friends and step mom take water from a bowl and pour it into their Fathers hand- which was forced open 10 minutes prior.
I do cry here. And I know I’m the only one that is.
The body is just there. and thats what i can’t get over. I can see his boots sticking out the whole time and his right arm with all his bracelets sticks out too.

It disturbs me and it is mainly just because it is not what I am used to.
It is not how we deal with the dead.
But in the end, it really is all okay because I am here in Thailand and this is their way and I have to respect it reguardless of what I’ve known.

I hope that when you come across something in your life that makes you want to reject or to ‘uninvolve’ yourself just because it is what you are not used to, that you don’t.
I hope that you put on your guts and go through with it.
For respect, for strength, to be better after it’s all said and done.