Cereal has always been one of those go to foods for me that I have always counted on whether its to kill some hunger pangs, silence an angry stomach that doesn’t know what it wants to eat, or make me feel good inside. And before all of the Nutrition/Dietary Maniacs get on their soap boxes, I am fully aware of where this food staple in my life falls short. In the last few years I have strayed from time to time away from the safer, healthier choices of cereal that would habitually line my cupboards. Every now and again my other half would buy a small box of Sugary Delight, and indulge occasionally in a bowl. I’d toss my nose up in the air as if it was inconceivable to consider eating a bowl of cereal that only as I child I was allowed to have when we went camping. You see, these were “Sugar Cereals,” and if I didn’t know better they may as well have been the devil according the searing Kathy Bates voice in my head. Mama did not let little Cece D such garbage, and forget being allowed to add sugar to my plain CHEERIOS. Read More About That Tale Here. However, the joke would be on my mother when the CARBS ARE BAD era arrived, and all cereal was clumped into that category. But somehow the trauma of my no sugar childhood clearly stuck with me. I had not bought a fun cereal ever until I realized the pie I had just smashed was doing me no favors either.
My palette required some level of priming before I went all the way balls deep into the hard stuff. I started with the Honey Nut Cheerios and Vanilla Special K, moving onwards to the flavorful Honey Combs and scrumptious Frosted Flakes. My taste buds awakened like the blood vessels of crack cocaine addict, and I was left strung out needing more on a daily basis, it was the first thing I’d think of when I woke up. As my tolerance for candy covered processed grains grew stronger it seemed as if I would not be satisfied until I could find the right balance of crystalized glaze, upholding itself against the saturating milk.
But Alas, my other half is not just a pretty face, he is a connoisseur of all things sinful and indulgent, and he had placed something new into the cart one day that I had never seen before. It’s box- bright yellow like a singing Canary; boasting bold, colorful letters that sung a Sonnet into my heart “Cap’n Crunch Crunch Berries.” The audacity this cereal had claiming it was so Crunchy that it deserved the word Crunch twice in its name. This particular delicacy has ruined me for all other cereals as Quaker has somehow managed to corner the niche market on the gastronomical science of crunch. I could take 20 minutes to eat my luscious bowl of crunchy morsels and they show no mercy against the milk’s ominous attempt to penetrate its sugary walls. That my friends is the sign of an exemplary cereal in my eyes. So much so, that the roof of my mouth was no match for its piercing swords lacerating me with its crunchiness. But like all good things they must come to an end, surely the roof of my mouth spoke that truth.
Now you may be thinking from the sounds of it, that I need an intervention of sorts. And I assure you there will be one as soon as these Covid Restrictions ease up and I can return to the gym. I’m in what I have come to call a “HUNGRY STRIKE.” I’ve realized -Why make life harder with more restrictions added to it like cutting carbs at a time like this. And seeing as these restrictions may carry on for some time, I’ve taken my interest to the Magical World of the Interweb where communities alike gather and share their own field research in regards to Cereal, or Nuggets of The Sun that I more commonly refer to it as.
” I think Frosted Flakes are actually the dandruff of angels.”
You cannot get more poignant than that Mr. Edwards.
As I searched further for others to join my Hungry Strike Brigade, I came across something that felt like may give the Cap’n a run for his money. The magical sorcery of these cereal makers continues to keep me in awe as I uncovered that they indeed had made a Twinkies Cereal. You heard me…little tiny Twinkies that you could spoon into your mouth at a rate much faster than you could stuff a whole Twinkie in there.
“Between Popeyes chicken sandwich and this crap we all gonna die before 55.”
— One Instagram user’s response to the new Twinkies Cereal
According to Josh Jans, Brand Manager of Cereal Partnerships at Post Consumer Brands, said in a statement: “In developing a cereal version of the iconic Twinkies, our top priority was focused on delivering the great Twinkies flavor in each bite. And unless you have been living under a rock Twinkies became a hot commodity as Hostess Brands, the owner of Twinkies, went out of business in 2012. Approximately 18,500 employees lost their jobs and 33 bakeries, 565 distribution centers, approximately 5,500 delivery routes, and 570 bakery outlets were closed.
In conclusion, whether you are a stoner who loves the muncheroos, or an adult working through her sugar free childhood trauma-cereal is the bomb. Ultimately I will need to wean myself from its tender clutch, and pretend we don’t know each other when we pass one another in the aisles. But like a booty call that hits you up at 2am with the “You Up” text 2 years later, you know it will always be there for you if you need a dose of frivolous pleasure.
There is often not one day that goes by during my work week that I’m not left thinking about some profound lesson. Today was no different, as I carried out my role as a social worker within the child welfare system. I’m sure 50% of you are either rolling their eyes with disdain towards me, and the other wondering what horror stories I have for them today. But for the most part, my days are much like today where I get immersed in learning and listening about peoples lives. Conversations can vary drastically from feeling like I’m pulling teeth, or the latter, where I get more information than I bargained for. Both often leave me at times feeling impatient as I’m not always afforded the opportunity to get down to the meat and potatoes of the presenting concerns that initiated our introduction to one another.
Today was as good as it gets, as I felt privileged that this one Kiddo really opened up and let me into their world, and as a result opened my mind to some new learning. We had made some initial small talk about the Inauguration that morning, and touched upon the pandemic- it was a carefully placed Segway that set the remainder of my interview up. You see I was looking to explore the impact of Emotional Injury or psychological effect as it pertained to the Radical Anti-Masker/Trumpism/Patriot belief systems by the guardian. Due to obvious confidentiality issues I can’t discuss where this particular conversation went, but it posed a question in the back of my head when I was done.
Where is my Skill Level at in Reference to Understanding How the Adolescent Mind Processes Harmful, Fear Based Propaganda and Extremist/Radical Belief Systems? And How does my own Bias and belief system play a role within my capacity to fairly assess?
I’m sure by now You all have heard about one of the Domestic Terrorist Rioters – Guy Reffit, who was arrested by FBI who had threatened to kill his children if they told the FBI he had taken part in the riot. Find the Story Here. Believe it or not, this is not an isolated incident.
Texas man at Capitol riot allegedly threatened to kill his kids if they turned him in: ‘Traitors get shot’
While this case is not only a form of Domestic Violence/Abuse- there is a sub-category that us folks in the Western World are just getting a taste of. Over the years in my practice of social work I’ve counted on cultural brokers and religious leaders to help navigate and bridge a level of understanding between my own cultural beliefs and biases and others unlike me. As a result, I’m cognizant that in the world there are countries that remain in warfare level conflict as a result of their differing beliefs, and have done so for thousands of years. I’m aware of the complex trauma that follows these families for generations as they settle in Canada and struggle to adapt as a result of us not being equipped to address it as soon as re-settlement begins. I can’t imagine that some of us would have ever imagined this level of divide within the Western World, let alone believe that violence could be the answer to our problems. Yet here we are.
I feel like as this Pandemic continues to divide one another and sever friendships, families become further at risk as a result of the isolation and contentious attitudes that arise from the conflict. I’ve talked about this exact subject before Read Here.
Previously our networks could be counted on to provide us an authentic sense of reassuring safety and support, but has been rapidly replaced by a culture of mistrust, suspicion, and deepening conspiracy theories. This is the message that is being absorbed now within the confines of homes, where once children, youth and families felt safe- but have now come to believe they are not.
Extremism is “the quality or state of being extreme” or “the advocacy of extreme measures or views”. The term is primarily used in a political or religious sense, to refer to an ideology that is considered (by the speaker or by some implied shared social consensus) to be far outside the mainstream attitudes of society.
For most adults, we had the experience of growing up in varying different ways. For the majority of the luckier adults, they experienced a relatively well adapted, stable, and healthy childhood. The need for us 30/40 somethings to be “woke” back then was as simple as needing to count on our pre-historic alarm clocks to get us up for school. Nowadays, there is a level of pressure placed on children and youth to be fully informed on everything that occurs in the world. There is a significant difference between discussing world events and irrelevant anxiety inducing content all day long. Children and Youth are growing up in a world where they are fully exposed, non stop, to unfiltered, jarring and disturbing images and stories. For these youth and children, they then come home and find no reprieve- as the parents have become completely engrossed in the toxicity of it all. Free thinkers are not born in this climate, free thinkers are born in environments whereby they feel safe in questioning and challenging things they may not agree with, and not face the threat of being killed, rejected, or unheard. Here lies the “emotional injury” I was seeking to explore more.
“Children growing up in a family with extremist influences are particularly vulnerable to becoming radicalised themselves. Despite the difficulties faced by practitioners to identify these children, protecting them is essential. Effective interventions may include offering alternative relationships and counselling, providing (intercultural) education and using trauma and creative therapy for the most severely traumatised children. Removal from the families may also be necessary in cases in which transgenerational extremism is causing significant distress to the child and is putting them in danger. But separating children from their families is not always the best solution. As such, it is crucial for practitioners to carefully consider what is in the child’s best interest. This requires finding the delicate balance between what it is good for the child and what it means to force the child into a safer environment.”
While many extremists/Radicals feel they are exercising their freedoms of free thought they are in fact imposing and stifling their children’s ability to develop and learn how to decipher what is their own opinion versus one that is enforced upon them. The interest of the child in extremist families may be trumped by the interest of the cause. For some extremist parents, their children are a means to reach a certain outcome and part of their ideological arsenal. They can be used to defend their ideas and give mass to their group. Despite what is sometimes believed, an extremist upbringing puts the child at a higher risk, not society.
In political science, the term radicalism is the belief that society needs to be changed, and that these changes are only possible through revolutionary means. Most people think of left-wing politics when they use the noun radicalism, although people on both ends of the spectrum can be described as radical.
I’ve seen adolescents act out as a result of reinforced negative attention they received over the years- I can’t help but feel at some point this may shift over the next while. I can confidently say I’ve witnessed children/youth now vying for their parents attention and being rewarded with it when aligning now with some extremist/radical belief systems. They verbatim regurgitate their parents rhetoric…this is exactly how racism, sexism, misogyny and every other “Ism” in the book gets reinforced through the generations. The more they agree, the more attention they get, and a bond/relationship begins to grow despite how maladaptive the context is. We often see these behaviors happen with child sexual abuse cases- where children are groomed to go along with the abuse, so as to minimize any harm or be denied affection.
Anyways I did not want to get too deep into this today as I just felt compelled to share my “Ah Ha” moment today. I was left with some significant food for thought, and a desire to start getting on this as soon as possible in terms of how will I approach working with families in an already polarizing climate.
Perhaps dialogue with families with these attitudes can explore a few of these concepts that move towards a more Freer Thinking Ideology that I came across in an article in Psychology Today by Marty Nemko Ph.D.
Beware of confirmation bias. Once we’ve developed a viewpoint, we tend to notice or accept only ideas that conform to those views. That’s called confirmation bias. So you’ll need to be strong to be open-minded to views that aren’t liberal and that don’t advocate for yet more redistribution.
Beware of commitment bias. Our biases get ossified further when we make a commitment. For example, if we volunteer for a Democratic candidate, to maximize our good feeling about that, we more strongly support Democratic party positions.
Argue for the opposing point of view. If you are, for example, as I am, strongly pro-choice, read a few pro-life articles and then try to make the best case you can for the pro-life position. If you’re in favor of gun control, read a few articles against it and then try to make the best case you can.
Be humble. As writer Frank A. Clark wrote, “We find comfort among those who agree with us, growth among those who don’t.” Beware of being too cocksure you’re right, even if the schools, media, colleges, and friends insist you are. On so many issues, especially that foundational one of increased redistribution versus meritocracy, there really are strong positions on both sides.
I’m not one to talk about the past too often unless it brings fond memories, which for the most part I have many. The topic is not that far in the past that it doesn’t still give me residual pangs of hurt that feel as recent as yesterday at times. But I wouldn’t be willing to discuss it openly if it didn’t offer some level of experiential wisdom for anyone who may be facing similar circumstances.
You see it would be approximately 5 years ago that I made the decision to leave my marriage. The marriage was a result of a very long relationship in which it seemed just natural and right to transition to the next step. There is no real love story behind it, rather quite the opposite. In fact if you were to have only had the experience of knowing me more recently, the idea that I would have consorted with the mundane would seem absurd. However, let us return to the Cece of Christmas’s past. Proposals, marriage and the filling of new homes with children is what everyone was doing at that time. It’s what everyone was doing around us. I’m unclear why my mother’s voice wasn’t piping in at this time saying “If all your friends were jumping off a bridge, would you?” But in the case of marriage and settling down, the world around you is giving you a life jacket and pushing you off the ledge. I admit its easy to blame societal pressures to conform; I don’t deny that at that time I was all in. And when I say “all in,” I mean I wasn’t able to foresee my life being anything different than what it was. My vision was exceptionally narrow and reinforced by the baggage I had brought with me from my previous abusive relationship.
Often when marriages and relationships dissolve its only natural in many instances to look at the other person and place the blame on them and their shortcomings. That’s not to say that many partners are 100% to blame and do terribly selfish and hurtful things in which the other played no role other than love someone who didn’t deserve them. And in my case, it went both ways, however its never fair to dive into the details without the other’s ability to share their perspective. And I’d be open to that but he hasn’t answered my calls in three years.
I’m sorry to disappoint you and advise this post is not about my shitty marriage that didn’t work out. In all likelihood, I may devote a whole wine fuelled podcast on the subject, but until then I’ll uphold some integrity. I’m grateful that I am alive and well today living my life in the most authentic and honest way. What a difference 5 years can do for you when you make the best decision of your life.
Which leads me to the topic of how I reclaimed my life when it began to gain momentum in a direction that wasn’t a genuine path for who I am as a person. I believe for many people there are “tells” just like in a game of poker. You see just like the game of poker we often bluff when we aren’t holding a good hand; getting caught up in the risk taking and potentially losing it all. Often when the momentum has us pulled in, there is no consideration for the long game. The more we begin to lose, the more our “tells” come out as the anxiety and desperation begins to build. You see, when you keep seeking the rush of winning and ignore the consequences of losing, we’re left in the emotional poor house. At the tail end of my losing streak, I admittedly had lots of tells, but I also gave the illusion that I had lots of chips in my pocket.
So its no surprise that when I landed on my ass, my emotional poor house was located on the corner of Despair avenue and Hopeless Street. I found myself in a deep, destructive depression that I could not for the life of me dig myself out of. I was erratic in my choices and behavior, and admittedly had considered running my car into bridge barrier one evening as I was screaming at the top of my lungs at the universe in anger. That event haunts me until this day because while it was over 5 years ago, the emotions, my surroundings, what I was wearing, the car indicator lights are as clear as if I was there right now in this moment.
You ask what could have brought me to such a place of despair?
I can trace it all the way to the beginning when I first met my ex-husband. I was a single mother at that time with a one and a half year old. I was fresh out of an extremely horrifically abusive relationship with her biological father that left me in ruins emotionally, physically and psychologically. I was 22 years old and I was not equipped with the self awareness and emotional maturity to tackle the damage- in fact I was oblivious to it. I ended up settling after a year with the first real boyfriend I had since leaving my abusive relationship. When I say anyone that was nice to me and wasn’t physically abusive towards me was my standard at that time. The relationship brought many good things regardless of my basic standards whereby I returned to University and got my Social Work Degree from the University of Victoria. My daughter grew a close and loving relationship with a man who accepted her as his daughter whereby they remain very close. I couldn’t have asked for a better father for her and for that I will be forever grateful. He provided us with an extended family and sense of belonging that I had not experienced coming from such a small family myself. He remained committed to our little family and moved to where I got my first Social Work Job in Northern Alberta, leaving his family behind and beginning a life as a unit in a strange small town. Life was looking up as it was during the Alberta Oil Boom and Fort McMurray promised wealth and stability for us as a family. The momentum of my life appeared to be moving in the right direction. I was adequately distracted by my own ambitions and self actualizing a life that was ultimately the way it’s supposed to be in the naively idealistic sense.
Then one day his vision began to blur which quickly turned into vertigo, precipitating what we thought was a stomach flu. We went weeks attending the hospital and trying to treat his stomach flu. I knew something was terribly wrong, and finally demanded he be admitted to hospital otherwise I was approaching the media. Through further testing he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis at the age of 25. He left Fort McMurray to recover with his family thousands of miles away, where I ultimately decided that I would help him get through this and we would make it work.
It was a devastating blow in every aspect.
This wasn’t part of the plan. In fact it shattered all our plans, and dreams which were left in pieces at our feet. Despite my rage and the unfairness of it all, I quickly resorted back to what I knew best. I had been here before and did what I thought was best in crisis; which was to ignore the emotional impact and take care of those who weren’t as seemingly strong as I.
And there you have it. Mistake #1-Believing others don’t possess strength without you.
Poor Self-Esteem and Confidence can make the human spirit rely on others to validate importance and purpose where others who are in pain can fulfill these voids for us. The experiences/traumas responsible for planting those weeds of doubt in ourselves can be vast and complex. In my circumstances, it would be the trauma from domestic violence, the psychological and verbal abuse. I strongly believe that there is a strong sense of co-dependency created within these dynamics, whereby one enables the other. When done improperly, assuming the role as the “rock” can also perpetuate maladaptive inferiority roles for those who feel powerless with their diagnosis. And in regards to my marriage- I take accountability for succumbing to depending on being needed then feeling stifled years later by creating the culture of dependency.
How do we remedy this? Well I can’t say I was successful in doing it in my marriage otherwise I wouldn’t be speaking about a husband that is now an ex. But over the last 5 years since starting over, I have successfully committed to putting my physical and emotional health ahead of others. This often means, setting firm boundaries and expectations with loved ones and communicating my bottom line. At times it can appear intolerant, or lack empathy, however when our reasonings are given context it can be the most admirable lesson ever. Not everyone will understand this- but know it is for us as individuals to actualize our strengths, and I see no better way than to demonstrate it by walking the walk.
So this leads me to my second mistake.
Mistake #2- Using others crisis as a distraction to avoid my own shit.
I feel like I take the cake with this one, because I could have picked a more appropriate career as a social worker to enable me in doing this. Nonetheless, do you ever find yourself immersed in others lives, being over involved in problems that aren’t your own, and coming to the rescue of some damsel in distress. I was this person, and counted on filling my world with a plethora of noise to avoid the loneliness and pain I was feeling. My bucket continued to run empty as the fruits of my perceived “strength” went unacknowledged or appreciated by my partner, and overutilized by others. I had created the norm and the illusion that I was the “Rock,” someone who had their shit in a pile. That was my doing, because if I eluded to otherwise people would stop running to me with their noise and I’d really be alone. You see, he was increasingly declining in health and struggling with the neurological complications of Multiple Sclerosis. He was angrier, moodier, and more depressed. Intimacy or signs of romantic connection were not reciprocated and I found other ways to appease my needs to feel a connection and needed.
It wasn’t until I left my marriage that I truly felt what it was like to be alone as my home was loaded up and squished into a small 2 bedroom condo. You see at that time I had nothing available to give therefore the noise stopped and the distractions saw no value in what I had to offer during this period. There were few calls or invitations to reach out and help me move or keep me company. It was then that I saw the value in standing alone in the deafening silence and appreciating the space required in order to redirect all my focus inwards. Often we look at isolation or being seemingly forgotten as a reflection of not being worthy or loved- when in fact its Solitude that is being given to us. So the next time you are feeling lonely or overlooked, take the silence as an opportunity to give your soul some good advice and leave the unnecessary distractions at the door.
Mistake #3-Believing that others opinions mattered
I was completely debilitated by what I thought people would think if I made the decision to leave. Never mind that the circumstance were making me suicidal, but with no success in reaching out for extended family support, I was still left with an enormous amount of guilt. What kind of wife was I leaving her husband when he had MS. The only thing worse than me was the husband who left his dying wife with cancer for the cute blonde nurse that was hired to do the home care. I was worried about what they would say about me and how I would be perceived by choosing a chance at life again. What would my daughter think of me, who couldn’t even begin to understand what I was feeling. And why would she, I had managed to shield her from the majority of my unravelling. I was terrified by all the hurt that I would be placing on everyone around me.
Do you see Mistake #1 weaseling its way in here again?
What I realized in this process is that not one person who’s opinion I was worried about ever took the time to listen or ask if I needed support. I can’t believe I was worried about what this would mean for them and concerned that they would have to take over the responsibility of his care. I was actually worried that this would burden them and they would be angry with me that I had not tried hard enough or just endured longer. In the end it all worked itself out, which is a testament that when we walk away people have the ability to find a solution with or without us.
In hindsight, I wish I had been more kind to myself during this time. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that the challenges we were facing could be tackled in isolation yet we were left with no other option. The marriage counseling along with the long list of personal coping strategies and personal sacrifice at the expense of my mental health had fallen flat. The fact that I’m explaining this further is my lingering “tell” that perhaps I still have some feelings of guilt to work through.
What awaited me on the other side of it all was the overwhelming support from my own family and close friends who knew there was a life out there for me. You see they had boundaries with regards to where they were willing to rejoin me again and even my daughter stood by my decision and me throughout it all.
Mistake #4- Not Doing it Sooner
I wish I had conjured the courage and wisdom it took to commence the decision to move ahead quicker that had been overdue. My days of bluffing no longer held a strategic purpose in my life and with a sense of relief, happily folded the cards I was dealt. Perhaps that ominous bridge barrier that originally symbolized an end for me, alternatively was the beacon of hope that life was worth living if I just changed the direction of my wheel.
Amen to that.
And while I don’t intend on stewing to much more on the mistakes of the past, I hope that in sharing them provoked some fruitful “What if’s” for you if you are facing a need for change. Whether you are facing a decision to get sober, ending a toxic friendship or leaving an abusive relationship-know that you always have choice to change the direction.
Begin to free yourself at once by doing all that is possible with the means you have, and as you proceed in this spirit the way will open for you to do more. ~ Robert Collier
This year I decided to work at our Regional Afterhours unit for the New Years Eve. And before you commend me for my noble sacrifice, it was motivated purely by a dwindling bank account whereby the holidays stripped me of my last dollars. Its a yearly fate that never seems to learn its lesson.
My other half however had the opportunity to celebrate the New Years with a few close friends, and I was just as pleased to Facetime at midnight while I brought in the new year bringing home the Bag at time and half. When I returned home on January 1st, 2021 at 8 am after a grueling 12 hour shift, my other half was still soundly asleep, with the aroma of poor choices emanating in the air. I opened a window, lit a fragrant candle and slept until January 2nd. Its almost like 2020 never stopped.
With my other half’s electrolytes replenished and my sleep pattern restored, the suggestion that we spend the weekend out of the house was just the ticket out of the doghouse he needed. You see, he was supposed to not enjoy New Years too, and in my mind he was supposed to be as equally miserable as I. Why men don’t pick up on this is beyond me, and unless its graffiti on stall wall, they don’t know how to proceed accordingly. But as luck would have it, his New Years was miserable, but I’ll save that story for another time. I respect his need for privacy, but lets just say it rhymes with SHMUSHROOMS. Needless to say, he had some ass kissing to do, and I figured that ass could be kissed better in a beautiful suite at the Hotel Arts in Downtown Calgary.
Admittedly a Staycation in Calgary during a Provincial Covid Lockdown whereby all the restaurants are closed for dining and streets baron seemed for a better term a waste of money. I wondered why book a suite only to be doing the same exact thing we do at home, except our Skip the Dishes options have changed geographically. But as I packed my little overnight bag, I began to appreciate even this historically daunting task. What was different this time was that I needed not to consider packing an array of “What if?” outfits in anticipation for impromptu adventures. How many times have we gone away for a weekend and packed 5 pairs of heels, a tiara, and maybe a pair of cleats just in case we play a game of soccer between going hiking and getting day drunk at a pool party. You can imagine the looming sense of “I’m forgetting something” that occurred when for the first time in history I managed to stuff all I needed in a carry on. By the way, those of you who travel like this regularly are bad ass risk takers and I solute you.
So since we were going nowhere, I imagined I’d probably be butt ass naked all day, cleaning ranch sauce off my breasts with my fingers, while eating chicken fingers in bed. All I needed was clothes to enter the hotel and clothes to leave the hotel. There was no need for hair tools, makeup, accessories, exfoliants or a kitchen-aid mixer. It was all so unsettling. That was until I stepped foot into the car and let out a gigantic breathe. I finally realized indeed this was not a waste of money. The feeling of release that I experienced just knowing I was leaving the confines of my house I had been bound too for the last 9 months was enough to make anyone around me uncomfortable by the noise I unleashed. Man, was I ready to get naked and order the FUCK out of Skip the Dishes next to my other half, who by the minute was inching further away from the doghouse shadows. We embarked on our journey and dipped into our favorite community Highlander Liquor Store to scoop up some fancy Champagne and assortment of fine wine to sip on.
It would be all of 15 minutes later we would arrive at Hotel Arts– Parking is is easy and underground which by the way is so very important when you live in a cold city and don’t plan on starting your car for two days. Having a dead battery can ruin your staycation quick and throw you into the devastating reality far quicker than need be when returning to the barbarous world again. I had been to Hotel Arts on many occasions as a guest and as a woman who loves their poolside lounge in the summer months. Hotel Arts has always been my favorite place to stay during The Calgary Stampede, as its fun to
experience the other side of stampede as a tourist and not as a begrudged local who typically flees the city during this time. I have fond memories of posting up all day on the loungers, ordering jugs of Sangria and munching on my favorite Grilled Cobb Wedge Salad while Deep House beats pulsate in the background. Sadly due to Covid-19 Restrictions the use of the pool was not an option, but consequently neither was my bathing suit body so it worked out for everyone.
The Hotel was like a ghost town. I imagined a scene from a little Podunk town motel where there was one lone Inn-Keeper who also lived in adjoined shack- except our Inn Keeper was a breathe of fresh air and this was a 4+ star hotel. The desk clerk assured us that this was the quietest time of year and given the circumstances, it was exceptionally dead; the floor was ours. I’m not sure where his head was at, but I dug it, especially after sharing a house with my mother, where privacy is contingent on when her Zopiclone kicks in.
The suite was a perfect nest that nurtured a good balance between Sleep, Soaking, Binge Watching and all of the Hanky Panky in between. We could see the Calgary Tower from our room, and despite the fact I drive by it on a weekly basis, it was a complimentary to the night skyline and the mood. City lights have always been invigorating for me, sending electric currents right through me, igniting hidden energy and passion. On countless occasions I’ve dragged my tired buttocks out the door to meet friends downtown, contemplating a Fast and the Furious U-turn the whole the down the Deer Foot. I was familiar with this inner tug-of-war and knew all I had to do was hold it together up until the Memorial Drive Fly-Over that unleashed the dancing lights of Calgary. I knew that within that gleeful spectrum laid the groundwork for yet another epic night, it was my visual Redbull. So as I gazed upon these lights that I’ve seen so many times before, and they renewed my hope and unearthed the nostalgia I’ve been longing for. I stood on the balcony and blew my beloved city a kiss and told her I’ll see you soon Honey!
The next couple days I’d wear one of my two coming and leaving outfits. The air was still brisk, but the sun was out, and if you were strolling the streets you may have caught me hanging my head out the window like a dog taking in the abundance of alluring foreign scents. Those scents brought us all the way to the Cormery Block for some BBQ-To-Go! We have been loyal patrons to both The Cormery Block and Hayden Block, so it brought us much joy to continue supporting a local business that produces the most consistently delicious and mouth watering eats in Calgary. We ordered our favorites, and all the fixins’s, and were gifted an additional order of mouth watering ribs- God Bless You! Nothing jump starts a night of Staycation Romance, like a belly filling food coma that results alternatively in the best nights sleep I’ve had in ages. Chubby Girls & Boys worldwide I know are getting hot in the undercarriage!
Cruising 17th ave, the old “Red Mile” of Calgary was filled with other optimistic souls, aiming to get dose of sentimentality.
I had intended on doing some writing while holed up in our little love nest, but I struggled to tear myself away from being present with my other half. The time together stood still, and I would feel locked into his arms, a special space reserved for me. Cemented into a moment that if I was to die in that moment I’d be eternally at peace. It was in this room that I found reprieve from the unyielding weight of the outside world. The world for this weekend needed to carry its own weight for awhile, and while I knew it would be there when I returned, somehow this small getaway prepared me to face it again with a smile. The last time I had felt this at ease within myself was when I caught myself freely floating in the Caribbean waters off Runaway Bay in Jamaica. I underestimated the Staycation.
As we packed up I was anxious to get home- I missed my dog Geisha, but I also couldn’t wait to tackle the upcoming first work week of 2021 feeling optimistic, an emotion I had not felt for awhile. I felt a deeper sense of confidence even within my relationship that had encountered numerous hurdles throughout the previous year, weathered by the storm. I felt stronger than ever that perhaps we’d now write the book on how to survive a pandemic and not skin each other alive. But more importantly as the city skyline grew smaller in my rearview mirror, I promised I’d see it again. I’d pledge that I would give it my best over the coming year to extract every experience it had left in it- not to suck the life from it, but to keep it alive. Calgary’s intrinsic nature has always delivered no matter how shattered my soul was, it only honorable to repay the favor.
So I urge my fellow Calgarians to reflect on how they can give back to their city in honor of all the good times it has fostered for you. Where you once raised a glass to celebrate with friends, or the location you once watched your first burlesque show to the quaint bathroom you shared a drunken heart to heart with your best friend- these businesses need your support so we can get back to sharing moments again with one another. Experiencing them in different ways may unveil a new way to find hope in the coming year, whether it be in your relationships or your desire to reconnect with loved ones and friends.
I want to say Thank-You to Hotel Arts for providing us the opportunity to fall in love with not only my other half again, but myself, my city, and people that make it what it is.
I Created this Vlog For you- It was my first run at this so bare with the learning curve
By Mid-November the last of the fall colors here in Calgary have been covered by the frigid snow and ice, revealing a prism of deep and rich romance. Velvety navy blues and crimson reds paint the morning skies as our breath kisses the air; the warmth is transformed into a dimension of little crystalized diamonds. It is the time of year when wearing Satin and Sequins help emulate magic as they capture the glow from the twinkling lights that dance throughout our homes and city scape during the festive winter Months.
And as Christmas winds down, the next event many of us look forward too is New Years Eve, whereby we can drape ourselves in decadent sequins and Sexy Satins. This year was unlike any New Years we have ever endured, as many slept their way into the New Year, cloaked in cotton jammies. I on the other hand was working a night shift and can only remember wearing the drool that had dried on my cheek during a lapse of mid-shift narcolepsy.
Glamorous I know.
So you can imagine I missed the pomp and circumstance that I anticipate each year when I get to have my Cinderella Moment, glass slippers and all.
I can appreciate not everyone feels comfortable wearing something that demands the attention of a room, as we all have our own version of what we feel good in. For myself I don’t believe I can wait for another year to bust out my sequins, I need glamour, and I need it now.
Many shy away from wearing sequins and should not save these little textile gems for just the holiday season or for ones children’s dance recital costumes. According to Meghan Nesmith who wrote A HISTORY OF SEQUINS, FROM KING TUT’S TOMB TO YOUR NEW YEAR’S EVE OUTFIT, Sequins have been around since since Ancient Egypt. They have been unearthed in archeological sites from Pakistan to Egypt. The earliest versions were gold nuggets, hammered into thin circles and pierced through the center. Heaps of them were found scattered across Tutankhamun’s tomb, some deeply colored by iron deposits in shades of red and purple, or sewn in shapes of flowers along his ceremonial robe, both to indicate his importance and keep the king tricked out in the afterlife.
Like the sun god himself, King Tut literally beamed. He was the drag queen of his time in my opinion!
I figured there is no time like the now to still adorn yourself like Cleopatra, and unleash your inner queen. Here are some of my fave’s I came across:
So Lets not delay my friends, the Satin and Sequins are feeling neglected these days. Whether its a trip to the fridge, or your home office is tired of seeing you in the same dirty sweats- there is no wrong time to be glamorous!