Happy "one from" Dad

Todays is my fathers birthday. It’s his one from. That’s what he and I called them, birthdays, “one froms”. For example, when I turned 33, I was one from 34, which was one from 35! which meant I was 5 from 40! GASP! We carried on like this no matter the birthday. Today my father would have been one from 60, 5 from 65, 10 from 70! GASP. I would have teased him, asked me if he could wait to get the free buss pass, or seniors discounts. He would have emailed me in advance his tagged gift list from lee valley consisting of all sorts of woodworking tools to add and aid in the building and fine craftsmanship of unfinished boxes, cabinets, tables, dog dish holders, or whatever the project was at the time. But it meant he could be in his workshop with a new tool and that would make him happier then a kid in a candy store. I would have called him from here, I would have sent him a video.

Ironically or more symbolically todays birthday makes my father a leo, the sign of the lion and I am here chasing lions in the african wilderness.

I looked up leo and the night sky to see when I could see this constellation and I found something interesting. Every year in and around Nov 18th (the day my father died) give or take a day or two there is what is called a Leonid meteor shower.



The Leonids are a prolific meteor associated with the comet Tempel-Tuttle. The Leonids get their name from the location of their radiant in the constellation Leo: the meteors appear to stream from that point in the sky. Again, symbolically in 2009 the leonids shower is to be at it’s peak on the year anniversary of his death. And in 2008 it peaked on Nov 16th through to Nov 18th. I don't think this is a coincidence. In fact I think it's powerfully significant and reminds me how important it is to pay attention to the things that go on around us, when the wind blows unusually strong in an otherwise still moment, or when a street light flickers just as we walk under it. Or that moment when a butterfly lands in our hands, or that dream that seemed so insignificant so we forgot it. Pay attention to the movement, the world around me, the little things that get missed or looked over, more often than not if we think about major life changing events in our life, and look past them to what was going on around us while we were so consumed in the moment, I promise you will find something that is no coincidence somewhere the universe sending us a message and asking us to tune in.

Pain can grab us and hold on so tightly that it feels like it is crushing us completely. Letting go of the pain is a scary thought. I am afraid that if I let go of the pain and agony of my dad's death, that it would seem that I didn't love him so much. I realize that letting go of the pain will allow me to remember him in so many ways, and when I am ready I will. Right now I am accepting that this loss has become part of my human condition that I will carry with me forever, it changed me and I am still trying to accept that and this extra weight in my heart.

Holidays, special days, and events like today, that occur where he would have had a special role, are all more difficult than the day to day. Today exceptionally sucks and the days leading up to it have been building with this exceptional sadness. Today we should be thinking about that 60th and the celebration of that. Today I am angry, today none of it is fair. Today should have been so many things, what it shouldn't be is this hard, this sad, this painful. It is hard to not stop and think that Dad would have loved to do certain things or have been at certain events, or loved this website or that song and that story, or have this new tool, but I go on and do all that he would have wanted to for me, for him. Today I will pop a bottle of champagne and celebrate my dad, I will watch a bond movie and listen to Paul Simon and I will remember him, remember us.

Happy "one from" Dad.

Baapinakamigad dibishkaawin (Happy birthday in Ojibwe)

The art of Tracking

You've heard me speak often of "tracking" the lions. I've realized that I have not touched on just what this means. In the process I've learnt to notice everything and miss nothing. Again adding to my heightened senses since I've arrived. The art of tracking has been said to be the origin of science and represents a crucial step in human evolution (the art of tracking, as practised by contemporary trackers of the Kalahari, is a science that requires fundamentally the same intellectual abilities as modern physics and mathematics [Liebenberg, 1990] it may even be argued that physicists think like trackers).



I can't begin to provide a mere (if that) glimpse into the complexity involved in the process by which indigenous peoples track and hunt animals but I can at least share with you what I've learnt and the intellectual exercise of tracking which depends on scientific, spatial, and symbolic thinking. Tracking involves much more then just looking for prints, "spoor" may include tracks, scat, feathers, kills, scratching posts, trails, drag marks, sounds, scents, marking posts, the behavior of other animals, habitat cues, and any other clues about the identity and whereabouts, we read the visual clues left behind, we look at the surrounding area of the tracks, we listen for signs, like chirping squirrels, or birds warning calling. We look for flattened grass, and which direction it folds down, even animal waster like buffalo poo and the direction it fell as they move off. We develop hypotheses about what the animals were doing when they left these clues. We make predictions about what the animals are likely to do next which direction the lions will head based on where we left them the night before.

• Spatial thinking. When you walk, only some parts of your foot make contact with the ground—the tips of the toes, the ball of the foot, the heel. So a footprint doesn’t look exactly like the foot that makes it forcing one to think about three-dimensional objects: What parts of an animal’s foot will leave a mark on the ground? and the properties of the ground’s surface—be it hard sand, soft sand or muddy—influence the shape of the print?

• Symbolic thought. To reason about animal tracks, I have to understand that a sign (squiggly marks in the dust) stands for something entirely different (a living snake. Providing and developing an understanding of symbols.


Litrally when trying to find the lions in the morning we look on the road for fresh lion tracks/prints and we follow them. Sounds easy enough, but I assure you while sometimes it leads us right to them, often it leads us in circles, and I swear they are messing with us.


Lion tracks can be easily mistaken for hyena tracks or leopard and so we often have to get out to look closely to be sure. The lion track has three lobes at the heel while the hyena has only two.































Hippo tracks are hard to miss


















Leopard track












Elephant Track

One life

Until last week when I got the heart wrenching news of my girlfriends fathers extremely tragic and sudden death, wringing tears out of my eyes that have not even close to dried up, did I realize a few other things. I barley remember the day I got that phone call or the hours, days, weeks and months after. It’s a blur, coupled with moving to the middle of the African bush I just trudged forward. And now with this sad news the realization on the suddenness of death, of her loss, of my loss. It was sudden, it was unexpected, it was unplanned. While I don’t know what it’s like to endure a long illness in a loved one I can’t imagine it, no matter what you can’t prepare for such a thing, you can’t prepare for death. What I know is the suddenness. I read in one of the newspapers that my friends fathers one regret was not spending enough time with his children and in recent years made the effort to do so. Donna, and others told me that my father regretted not spending more time with us when we were kids, and it was evident he was trying to do so in the recent years. In fact my father told me this recently while we laughed at some old photos we had been given. I looked at him and shrugged and said what’s done is done what matters is we are here together, right now.

It’s that regret that gets to me here. Why? Why when something sudden happens do we turn to our loved ones and tell them so, hug them. Appreciate them until life kick starts again and we get caught up in the day to day. Days pass, months pass, years pass and we didn’t make that phone call we meant to make, to that person we think of often. Only to say later “I regret not”. Life is short people! while yes death is a fact of life, that life can change in an instant. In a snap. I challenge myself not to have regrets. Even if the person on the receiving end isn’t as affectionate as I am, I will hug them anyway. I will tell them I love them, I will let them know I appreciate them and I will now challenge myself not to have expectations in a response, it’s my avoidance of regrets, theirs is their own to try not to have.

The news of my friends own loss’ pulled on my heart strings more now then ever before. Before I knew profound loss I had friends who lost loved ones. And you sympathize, and you can’t imagine, and you are sad for them and there for them as best you can. But you really can not imagine until you actually experience it. And I can say that with such confidence only now. When you look at someone in condolence and say, “I just can’t imagine what you are going through” you don’t know how true that is until you go through it. And not until you are in it do you really appreciate those that came to you who had been through it, saying they did understand, when even 15 years after their own loss yours triggered tears in a reminder to them. Now in hind site, I wish I took the offers. Judy Alexander shared the experience of the loss of her father with deep knowledge, she knew when she looked at me what would come. She knew that now, 7 months later I might be here seemingly spiraling into a different phase of sadness until I reach the next stage of my grieving process. But I was still in shock then. I didn’t know how much I would need to hear from someone who knew how it felt until now.

I ramble, my point is life is short. The only things you will regret in life are the things you never did. It’s cheese I know but take the time to smell the roses, don’t sweat the small stuff. Concentrate on what you have, not what you don’t have and be grateful. I want to remind everyone to enjoy, love and embrace every one of your family members. We never know when it will be the last time we have the chance to say "I Love You." You can't regret anything, because at the time it was exactly what you wanted.

This isn't a practice run, not a dress rehearsal, there is only one life

No set back is ever too daunting, and while I (and my friends) may have lost an important person, our fathers, we still have many who love us just as much. And I must count the most important people who make my life worth living and despite the distance between us at the moment know I love you, as I know you love me. (you know who you are). There are friends who have taught me that distance is not a hindrance to any friendship, again you know who you are and I thank you.

Honey Badger spotting!

Tonight I saw two honey badgers. Sweet, goofy little things they are. So cute I say, adorable, like little bears. From afar they look a bit like a skunk, with their white stripe along their backs. Up close like a tiny little sweet adorable bear. Graham laughs at me and then informs me that:

Pound for pound this is Africa's most fearless animal despite it's size. (click here to watch a video of a badger eating a snake!) Even listed as the most fearless animal in the world. Even names so in the Guinness book of world records. You don't say! Evidently even lions fear these little sweethearts. uh huh. Graham then told me a story that he knew a guy who had a badger attach and attack the wheel of his land rover. And since these fearless warriors like honey, they've been known to terrorize the kitchens of camps with much more devastating consequences then that of a hyena or baboons. They will eat poisonous snakes, consumed in less then 15 minutes and raid bee nests, to the distaste of bee keepers.



It's tendency to attack animals much larger then itself leaves it seldom preyed upon.


But they are so cute!

Then Graham tells another story that they will even go after a bull buffalo..... you do the size comparison. But they don't go after it to eat it, just to kill it. How you ask? They bite their balls off. Yup right for the testicles. Wonder if they have more estrogen then testosterone?








In a 2002 National Geographic documentary titled "Snake killers: Honey badgers of the Kalahari", a badger was documented stealing a meal out of a puff adder's mouth and casually eating the meal in front of the hissing snake. After the meal, The badger began to hunt the puff adder, the species being one of the badger's preferred venomous snakes. He managed to kill the snake and began eating it, but then collapsed on the dead snake as he had been bitten during the struggle. After about two hours he surprisingly awoke. Once his paralysis had subsided, the badger continued with his meal and then resumed his journey.

Again, but they are ADORABLE!

As usual when we spot these less often seen smaller animals it was after the sun set and I was unable to snap a picture so here are some google images of the darlings.

No more, no less. Just me.

As a variation on a famous statement by Descartes I would like to say “I write, therefore I am”. It is the best way I know how to express myself. Grammatically it’s terrible, this I have been made painfully aware of by various people (you know who you are). Punctuation is not my thing. Eats shoots and leaves who? I am not hooked on phonics by any means. But I have been writing in a diary since I was about nine years old, yes nine. I had a lot to write about at such a ripe age, sadly not so innocent and short of the one that just got stolen in South Africa, I have every single one of them, stored in boxes spread out amongst different family members like a squirrel hiding it’s nuts all over the place to return to at a later time. I am verbally challenged when it comes to communicating what I want to say clearly. That is not to say I don’t try. I do, but it never comes out the way I want it to and the message I am trying to convey always ends up falling on the ears of the receiver incorrectly. It’s often why I get caesar salad when I want the drink and vice versa. Of course this analogy runs much deeper than salads and drinks.

And so I’ve come to write a lot of letters in my time. Many past boyfriends have received such letters of declaration from me. Yes I have kissed a few frogs. Those reading this are likely grinning/grimacing hoping they threw them out before their wives/girlfriends find them. And some, one I know cherishes a poem close to his heart. I’ve written equally as many letters and never mailed them, some exist in said stolen diary so I suppose they’ve now been sent out to the universe as I am sure whomever stole it does not care. It was therapeutic to just write them so then their loss shouldn’t matter right?

It’s what has kept me sane (relatively) during times of great torment. And allowed me to celebrate those silent victories and what I did non stop in the weeks (and still) after my father died so as to not burden anyone. It was what amplified feelings of uniqueness, and writing was always there when I needed it. When no one else was. I write entirely to find out what I am thinking otherwise I would have no idea. I write what I see and what I fear it’s the only way I know how to get it all out into a way I can understand myself.



For the longest time it was something that I kept to myself (other than those fortunate boyfriends to receive said letters) I didn’t really ever share it. Once my father read some of my poems, written at the tumultuous age of 14-16 he said they were rather dark (I am sure this was about the time that he really started to worry about me) and he was sure they would brighten with age, but that I had something and should write more. That meant the world to me, but I still felt it so private and that is was such a window into me that I didn’t dare share with anyone ever again. I wore many masks then, one was the facade that I was an eternally and perpetually happy person. Giddy with anticipation every day and confident beyond the mountains strength. Which reminds me of something my aunt Wynanne said to me when I was about 19, and like her have tried since to pass on this wisdom to the youth (to no avail) that comes with women as they age. You will change again, and again and again. Who you are now is not even close to who you will be at 23, 25, 29, 33 and so on. (I just realized I stopped at 33 thinking that was how old I am. Indeed I am not, I am 34, hrmph!) I didn’t believe her, I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted at 19. I was so sure of myself. When my poems reveled that I was just a scared little girl, so unsure and uncertain and unaware.



Until now when I write here. And even now it’s not so deep. Feelings get withheld here in this forum, they really only dance on the water line like a far off buoy warning the on coming sailor to stay port side. Because we all fear judgement don’t we?

To steal again “why I write” from George Orwell and from Joan Didion who stole it from George. More specifically why I write this post now. It’s a bit of a rant actually, being told blogging, more specifically that my blog is self indulgent. Well yes, it is I suppose. Writing in itself is self indulgent. It’s a way of saying I. To quote Joan “there’s no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writers sensibility on the readers most private space”

As is any artist, photographer, marketer, musicians/song writers. Anyone who imposes their vision, their ideas, or their thoughts onto anyone else. I suppose merely existing socially is somewhat self indulgent. I just chose mine in this way, in this forum. I can’t paint or draw so this is my self portrait so to speak.

It’s been said that blogs are the media phenomenon responsible for the publication of more self-indulgent nonsense than any other in the history of the world. I have to agree with it. And most blogs that I have seen are written by people that don’t write very well (myself included). But this is a bit like walking into a party and complaining that the conversations there don’t live up to the standards of a room full of professors or a newsroom. Never mind that you stand a good chance of finding at least one conversation that’s better at the party. The bulk of blogs aren’t meant to be polished or professional writing, and we (you) shouldn’t be concerned that they aren’t.

The truth is I am, as I’ve always been perfectly in fashion and on Que. with the latest trend. In 2008 websters new world dictionary introduced a new word and made it word of the year in 2008.

Overshare : to divulge excessive personal information as in a blog or broadcast interview, promoting reactions ranging from alarmed discomfort to approval.

Many ponder where this narcissistic urge to self revelation comes from and then suddenly find themselves with Facebook pages, or blogs. It’s true, I was one who for a long time refused to sign up for facebook, let alone find myself writing a blog. And now look at me. Sharing it all with the world in both forums, why I even have people from facebook following my blog on facebook, 22 followers to be precise. Thank you all 22!

I guess my point in this rant is, I am not a scholar nor do I pretend to be. I am not an intellectual either. I am not articulate when I speak or when I write. I am not a good, nor bad writer. I just write. And it’s how I communicate not only with others when the need to get something really deep across arises, but how I communicate with myself. I would be completely lost (more so then I am) if I didn’t write.

I enjoy it, now more than ever. And as I write more I become more confident. And so to you I say and quote a dear friend Jess, “I am who I am, no more no less”. And part of who I am is this. Take it or leave it. But if you take it, you must embrace it as part of me and who I am. Is this a self indulgent attention getting device or my sole connection to the outside world from deep in the african bush? How well you know me is that answer to that.

Bellus Loxodonta Africana

Lately there have been herds and herds of beautiful elephants moving through northern botswana, once on the verge of extinction this area now lays claim to 150 000, the largest in Africa.The reason for this mass movement at the moment is mostly seasonal. During the rainy season the elephants stay away from the delta area in the drylands. With the rain on the land there is water to drink and fresh mopane leaves to digest. As these areas dry up, between May- Nov they start to move out into the delta for drinking and bathing giving us an unsurpassed chance to see the elephants in a variety of ways, in the water, on land and up close, right in camp, and almost in our kitchen at one point. Do look up the documentary Elephants without boarders to learn more about the amazing historical migration patterns of Elephants.

I am both fascinated by and afraid of these massive creature. Fascinated by the long history and ancient symbolism I know they hold, and the power this has over me every time I set my eyes upon them. Aristotle once said the elephant was "the beast which passeth all others in wit and mind". I am respectful of the power they hold in this strong history that has profoundly influenced humanity and their intimidating size.

Elephants are the largest animal to walk the earth and live in separate social groups of females and males. They have the longest gestation period of any land mammal at 22 months. The breeding herds or female herds spend their entire lives in tightly knit family groups led by a matriarch. They care and protect their young, act together for mutual protection from predators, and maintain loving relationships across the generations. The older, experienced females act as the Grandmothers of the Herd, using their experience and wisdom to assist the mothers and calves with the problems of life. Adult males on the other hand live mostly solitary lives.


It is the breeding herds that make me smile on the inside and leave me in awe.

Throughout the world the elephant symbolizes ancient power, strength and royalty, strength of the feminine: the child, the woman, and the wise woman (matriarchal head of family) and the importance of family. A symbol of huge strength and stature, wisdom and courage and perseverance in that it is an extremely hard working animal.

The elephant crosses many world religions, in buddhist cultures the elephant is patience and wisdom, as the embodiment of perfect wisdom and royal dignity the Buddha himself is often refereed to as the elephant. The chinese a symbol of energy strength and power. Even in the U.S it is the symbol of the republican party. And the sacred hinduism Ganesha- the elephant headed god has been widely revered as a remover of obstacles, hence as a bringer of success.

Perhaps my/our draw to the elephant is because we see a close connection to their characteristics. Such as longevity, social customs, and varied personality traits human-like qualities such as fearfulness, rage, and stubbornness.
The life expectancy of the elephant is somewhere between sixty and seventy years. It is an intelligent creature and capable of complex emotions, even neurosis and insanity. And like our two sexes, well, I will let you derive your own conclusion out of that. And they have the ability to recognize themselves in a mirror, like humans with the ability to relate to empathetic tendencies and to distinguish oneself from the others.

Having the privilege to be so close to these immensely, empowering, humbling and god like creatures, to at one point have elephants enclosing in on all corners of camp for what felt like a large protective hug is something I could and will never take for granted. These elephants are teaching me about spirituality, about family, about a sense connection that despite all the available resources to us to connect we seem to grow further away from one another. They are magnificent not just in their size but in the power they hold over me as I sit, in their home, on their land and they teach me all they know.

A night out in Moremi

You might wonder what we do for fun around here, there is no local waterhole so to speak, no dancin' to be had on bars (good thing I've outgrown that, though from what I keep hearing Graham hasn't and thus does so naked..... you can ask him about it) no wine with the girls to chat about what girls chat about.
Which I miss a great deal (shout out to my girls), poor Graham gets to hear about all my girly things, that I think he may almost be a girl now. Now for fear that I may be emasculating Graham please see the post about Moremi and the art of vehicle maintenance, grease covered manly man banging on steel heated by man made hot fire hitting it hard with very very heavy hammer resulting in the steel bending.

Anyway, I had come to love that staying in was the new going out anyway. So I am good with all this. But every once in a while ya get the urge to just "go out".


We have a few places for such outings, one as you know is Dead Tree Island a favorite magical spot for full moons and sunsets. There is also the Baobab tree. Which might be my favorite. Equally as magical in a story book sort of way. African's
have a tradition called sundowners. You guessed it, drinks outside watching the sun set. It's brilliant and all should embrace this tradition! And so we may head "out" for sundowners from time to time.
















The Baobab tree has inspired me, so much so to change the name of my blog to "At the Baobab Tree".... seems fitting.

















Here are some pics of us at the tree, Grahams friend Mike came up to spend some time here with us and I insisted on pictures being taken with the timer, you know group shots, killing Graham and leaving Mike the urge to entice Graham to be silly in one said pic. Being as quick witted as I am, I picked up on the ploy of their shenanigans and joined in on que... the result the following pic laughing, and then in all seriousness....

Back in the game

It has occurred to me that I’ve posted a lot of pictures of the big five and forgotten about the other less cooed over beautiful animals here in the delta. The often misunderstood hyena being one of them.

Before I left I heard all sorts of horror stories about the spotted Hyena (Crocuta crocuta) yes I am learning the latin names of mammals here in the delta which I might add is nothing to our resident two year old Keita who knows them already and all the latin names of the trees... ahem.....anyway......did I mention she is two?

There were stories where they had pulled children out of tents and killed them. From camp fires etc. All cases caused by negligence I might add. Tents left open to feed or catch a glimpse of one does and will result in this sort of outcome. Don’t get me wrong, horrible situations but there are rules for a reason. Because of these stories I was somewhat turned off by the Hyena and thought of them as scraggily ugly scavengers to be thought poorly of and to be afraid of.

Once I got to see one several times I started to see the beauty in them as there is in all animals. Still scavenger like, they are the only carnivore the eats virtually everything and can swallow a sliver of bone up to 9cm long and digest it with in hours, giving me something to be afraid of, from the comfort of the vehicle he is a lovely spotted beautiful animal.








The Jackal (canis adustus) is another often spotted animal here. To compare to something familiar to those at home, they look much like a fox. One will often see them eating the jackal berries form a jackal berry tree.









And my most favorite and not seen nearly enough for my liking the wild dog (Lycaaon pictus) such a magnificent and beautiful animal. They are a pack hunting dog and live in numbers that often reach 20 or more dogs. Stunning to watch but unfortunately rarely seen and as they move fast on the hunt making them very difficult to follow.





























I have also had the privilege to see a Caracal (Felis caracal) the african version of a Lynx, unable to take a picture as it was too dark at the time as they are mainly nocturnal, I’ve stolen this from google images. Stunning little creatures with the most amazing eyes and pointing ears.











Just the other day, as well at last light (google pic) we saw a beautiful Serval (Felis serval). At first I thought it was a baby leopard. It is the tallest of Africa's small cats with long legs.

Moremi and the art of vehicle maintenance

I am sure my uncle Bob has been following along thinking not much has happened in terms of the vehicles as of late. That lions of Moremi crew must have finally gotten their cars sorted.

Not so fast Bob. During yesterday's slight Mopane bashing chasing the lions we managed to hit several stumps and fall into several big holes and we drove home listening to the wheels wobble, the springs squeak and all sorts of nerve racking questionable sounds bellow out from within.



Today was therefore spent straightening bent springs, greasing bearings and checking the breaks.

Sometimes without the luxury of a close by mechanics garage, my Uncle Bob and a blow torch one has to improvise. Nothing that can’t be done here in camp. Improvising is a skill set that we all proudly posses as a result of living 4 hours from the nearest town. See my post on exercising in the bush and my improvised exercise equipment. (of which I have now added old soccer drills to, sprints, side steps, etc.)

To straighten the springs, which I imagined to be coiled springs but learnt today, adding to my exhaustive (and unwanted) knowledge of vehicle maintenance, are in fact leaf springs, which should be straight, not coiled as this one seems to have become. (once again doing my uncle Dan, uncle Bob and all other mechanics, yes there have been "some" for some reason, proud) One has to heat them up to bend them back to where and how they should be. As mentioned above, sans blow torch we did what all people that live in the middle of the bush would do. We lit a fire, put the metal "leaf" springs into the hot fire getting it to a high temperature so that we (Graham) can beat it back to how it should be.











As I sauntered by to see how Graham was doing I spotted this large pile of "bits". I asked if they all came off the vehicle, and if he actually knew where they all went. His response "some of them came from the vehicle, some not. And yes I know where they all go". Impressed, and reminded that once Graham is asked what it takes to become a wildlife photographer, his answer is always "become a mechanic first".

With the vehicle now it top condition we will head out tomorrow and search of the lions in an open plain.

Reflections

The game here is obvious and of course I love all the animals and miss them a great deal when we go into town. I can’t sleep without the hippos laughing me to sleep at night. But there is more to Moremi then the game. That does sound cheeky, but obviously not meant to be. ;-)

These are the reflections of Moremi. Everywhere there are reflections. We head out at first light in the morning, and in the afternoon not till 3pm to catch last light. Providing mirror like images in all the water we pass by in such wonderful light.

These images always set me into my own reflective state of mind. My mind revolving around itself in a combination of all of my life experiences, all the things I’ve had the privilege to see, all the things I’ve had the privilege to do, and all of the life choices I’ve had to make. I ride rooftop on Nythai and think back on all the emotional highs and lows of life and everything in between. The loves of my life, the good and the devastating and the one that got away. The success and the failures. The happy and the sad times and those all too difficult times. The amazing people in my life, and those who have disappointed. These times of reflection belong only to me. My life and my reflections are mine and mine only. Mine is the only one like it in the whole world. It is one of those rare moments where something is yours and yours only to be grasped.








Like the reflection of a water bird in a pond at last light, or a dead tree fallen into the flood water with it’s mirror image staring back at itself. There is only one other like it in the world, and that is it’s own image forcing itself back onto it. My image forcing itself back onto me.



Only I have done all of the things in the exact same way at the exact same time, with the exact range of emotions, and my unique sequence of thoughts about what I was doing and why I did it. I have my own unique way of reacting to what I have seen, what I hear, what I feel, and how I express myself about any given situation I encounter from day to day. When I reflect back on my life and think to myself what if I had done things differently or reacted differently, or said things differently in this time, or that...Did I do some things I shouldn’t have done? What if I had made some decisions and choices opposite of the ones I actually made, how different would my life be today? Not that I would want it any different, side from having my father back in my life. I have no regrets. My life is directly tied to the results of the choices I have made, and the messages I have sent out to the universe, and to my own mirror image whilst staring at myself and asking what next?

I can’t say I believe in hind-site. While yes, of course if we had it we would make different choices, but really if you did would you have had the pleasure of learning what you have from the choice you did make? I think with hind-site our lives would be boring and we as individuals wouldn’t grow.

I beleive life is about choices. You can choose to be a person who is simply a result of what has happened in your life,Or "Intentionally evolve and develop as a result of what has happened in your life."


I've learnt that your family won't always be there for you. It may seem funny, but people you aren't blood related to you can take care of you and love you and teach you to trust people again. Families aren't biological. I am blessed with a step father who has always been like a father and never treated me as anything less than his own daughter, and he came with an extra sister for me Kimberly, a step mother who having never had children of her own loved/loves me as hers. I have Marilyn and Dwight of whom took me in and taught me to be all that I can be and again I never felt as if I was anything other then family and at home with them, and with them came an extra brother Jamie and and extra sister Marissa. I had such love from my father and such love in my brother Paul, and sister Jacqueline. My uncle Dan, who like a package when I was a little girl sort of "came with my dad" he was the "other" man in my life, and my Aunt Risa who appears to be my biggest fan along with my uncle Joe... nothing wrong with that. I have the grandmother of all grandmothers, really they don't come like her any more in the dictionary for Granny, you will see her picture. Same for my grandfather, he is what all grandfathers should be. And their 60 plus years of marriage is a testament to me (and all) that love does last. I could go on and on.... point is I had/have more love and more people in my life to be overly blessed. And eternally grateful.

I have learnt that where ever you are that is where you were meant to be. Though choices I have made have seemed impetuous to some (o.k. most), the sort of serendipity my life has been amazed by could only have come with such. As a result of this I have learned that there is a time for departure even when there is no certain place to go.....

Reflections of my life allow me to look back and make a sober survey of my triumphs and failures, loves and losses, good, bad and indifferent. As I look back on my life and gaze into life's mirror, I see the person I’ve always wanted to be. That is not to say I don’t have a lot of growth and learning to do, I certainly do and I can’t wait for each curve in this winding road called life to show me what is next and what lesson I will be taught. But so far, I am happy with where I am and wouldn’t change a thing about my past. Not one bit of it, not even the bad bits. My past has formed who I am today. And good or bad along the way, it’s made me who I am now.

Moremi, and it’s reflections have been a sort of therapy for me, and not just in the healing process of dealing with the too early loss of my father, in my own process of self awareness and self reflection that hopefully comes with life for all, it has been painfully and joyfully therapeutic. And in this has sent me to places internally I’ve never been before. I’ve realized the turning points in my life thus far. I’ve never been one afraid to venture out, to test myself, I have no fear of change, rocking the boat or the unknown even with the hand life has dealt me I’ve always pushed the boundaries with an “it’s just what you do, get it done” attitude (instilled in me by my father, “I don’t care how you do it, just do it and do it right”.)

I don’t predict that I will write the next great novel, or discover a cure for anything, I won’t create a business and make millions. But I will live the life I want, and I won’t ever have the regrets that come with not having tried or done something or loved someone I wanted to along the way. This is the only life we will ever have and so it’s our only chance to get it right. And so I aspire to do so.

All of this has reminded me of a great Robert Frost poem, and if I remember correctly my brother Paul’s favorite;

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference



"I have inherited a belief in community, the promise that a gathering of the spirit can both create and change culture. In the desert, change is nurtured even in stone by wind, by water, through time"