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sushi

Why I Ate Sushi (and I hate fish)

It lay there, beautiful displayed. The setting was perfection. I had been having a wonderful, just-the-two-of-us-vacation. It was our 15th Anniversary. We were alone, at the back of the restaurant, in a traditional Japanese private room. I like sushi…vegetarian sushi…I don’t like fish. Hate it. I’ve tried and tried again, but I still hate it. I knew what was in it – BBQ eel. Yep…I said eel. And raw salmon and banana of all things…

sushi

Why did I do it?

I am 43 years old. I have been married for 15 years. Not all good years. In fact, some were really shitty, my heart broken beyond repair. I have been “Mom of the Year” and yet close to strangling my own off-spring. I have changed careers (not jobs – careers) 4 times and gone back to school twice. Some days were easy and on some I thought of pulling the plug – literally, on those darkest days. I have been afraid. Heart pounding, gut wrenching afraid. And I have stood still, paralyzed and unable to move.

I have lived to tell the tale. I have grown stronger with each jagged heartbreak. I have chosen to love anyway because it’s what I do best. I have yelled and screamed and crumpled in a heap in despair. My tears have filled an ocean and my knees are bruised from falling down so often. Each time, I get back up and clear the rubble once again.

There’s been help. Shoulders to lean on, tearful wits-end conversations with people who still love me for some crazy reason. Banks renegotiate loans, parents give support and windfalls come in the nick of time. Someone comes to the rescue before I commit a crime on my own kids. Yes, there has been help and I am so grateful.

Through it all though, one thing was constant. One thing.

There were many, many times I could have let the darkness take me. Times when I could have just said, fuck it. I came so close. But one person would not let me. She was there, she knew that just one more step would move me forward. She pushed me and I took the step, sometimes unwillingly, but I did.

And that is why I ate the damn sushi. I was in the moment. In the perfect spot on a perfect day with the man I love with every part of my soul who actually loves me back.

Really, what other choice was there? Sitting there, wondering what it would be like? How gross it could be? Wishing we had chosen a different restaurant? Resenting him for all the mistakes he’s made? Beating myself up for all the times I’ve been less than awesome? Thinking of the what-if-I’d-done-that-instead-of-this scenarios? Oh, there were a lot of choices I could have made. But…I chose the fish…the raw freaking fish

I smiled, I chop-stick-handled, I dipped and I stuffed it in my mouth. But…I savored the moment. I chewed and tasted the flavors and the textures. I gave it the “old college try”…

…And I absolutely loved it. LOVED it! I couldn’t believe it. I had more, I ate it without the sauce, I ate it with the banana. Another plate came and it was better than the last. Delicious. I was ecstatic! And I am alive and I am blessed and I am grateful. I wanted to shout from the roof tops, “Sushi rules!” We laughed, we enjoyed, we loved every precious, perfect moment.

…but there will also be many, more days of glorious Sushi and I will savor each and every bite.

….

I would love to hear your sushi story. We are the same, you and I. Let’s chat! Email Shawna: shawna@simplelifecelebrations.com

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Light_Painted_Acoustic_Guitar

The Blister

He’s a quiet one, my youngest. So much the opposite of his sister. He’s easily ignored, well, maybe that’s not the right word…overlooked. It’s not that we mean to. It just happens. We get so involved in what she is doing that we miss what he is doing. I’ve noticed that it happens all too often.

My feelings of guilt then take over. I immediately think about compensating with money – we spend a lot on her activities and he gets nothing or very little as far as dollars spent goes. I try to think of ways that I can spend money on him. Money that we don’t really have as “extra”. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t complain. It’s not something I want to teach him either. I don’t want him to think that he’s less “worthy” or that he’s missing out just because I don’t spend the money on him. It’s not a message I want to send. Their “value” to me is not related in any way to how much I spend on them. I don’t ever want them to feel that.

So…then what do I do? How do I stop overlooking him? He doesn’t speak up, so I need to see it without him saying so. Or, maybe he doesn’t need it as much as I think he does. Here I am, again, projecting how my feelings work onto someone else. Not everyone feels like me! Sheesh! Not everyone needs constant feedback to feel connected. Maybe he’s content! Have I asked? Yes, I have and he says he’s fine. He says he’s happy. He certainly acts happy. So why don’t I believe him? It’s my usual way. I keep thinking that there must be something wrong, even when there isn’t. Always trying to fix things that aren’t broken. 🙂 I’m working on that. A lot…

Last night, I listened. I left the phone in the truck and I stayed in the moment. And I listened to him play.

I ask again. “Do you want me to sit in on your lesson?” He says yes. And so I listen,. I catch myself tearing up as he plays. I had thought he hadn’t been practicing because I never hear it (because I’m always with her). But he has – on his own, in the quiet house. It’s only his third lesson and I can see his concentration. I can hear his practice. I can feel his love for that little guitar I got when I was his age and never learned to play. Now he learns instead. I hear music already. The quiet gentle tones of an acoustic guitar. So much like him. Quiet and gentle. The tear sits in the corner of my eye. This, I can do. I can be here, right here where he wants me to be. Listening to him play.

He doesn’t ask for much. He doesn’t want an electric guitar or a new acoustic – he is content with what he has. And yet I worry. For no reason. He is good; he is great. He is not the same as her and that’s OK. He is himself and I am so blessed to have him.

He proudly shows me his blister from playing and asks me about blisters. I give him medical mumbo jumbo and I offer to help him put something on it. He thinks about it and then declines. He asks about when his Dad will be home and I let him stay up; knowing that this is the moment he wants to share with his father. The pride of an earned blister. My boy is growing up in his own way, at his own speed. A tear again as I realize this and vow to let him be him. Blisters and all. I love you my little guitar man.

Light_Painted_Acoustic_Guitar

Doing what I can, when I can, the only way I know how.

That’s all they ask of you. Isn’t it time you allowed it for yourself?

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applesauce

Practice Makes Perfect

applesauceI love spending time learning to cook traditional foods with my Mom. This weekend, we spent a warm Sunday afternoon making applesauce with apples from her two apple trees. It was just Mom & I because my kids & hubby had other things to do and Dad was doing stuff outside. We experimented with the applesauce last year and loved it so much, we decided to do it again.

One of the reasons I love spending time with her is the stories we share. We talk a lot about different things from when I was growing up. We talk about the way things are today. We talk about healthy and frugal living. Mom comes from a long line of women who could make something from nothing and know what hard work means. She also comes from a long line of women who are always sacrificing themselves for the sake of others. It’s hard for my mom to relax; to do something that is just for pleasure. There’s always more work to be done.

My Mom’s house is beautiful. It’s perfectly clean and organized. Always has been. I can’t remember it ever being messy. If you needed something, there was always an exact place to find it. She still finds teaching moments for me to learn how to clean properly. I caught her doing it several times as we did the applesauce (it’s a messy job!) It made me smile every time – I’m 43 years old and my mom is still teaching me how to clean a stove!

Just a few years ago, I would have resented the teaching. I would have felt like a failure, thinking she assumed that I don’t know what I’m doing. I would have felt small and childish. I would have drummed up that old attitude of thinking I’m never good enough for her. I would have been hurt and upset that she thought so little of me. I would have put all kinds of thoughts in my head about what she was thinking as she showed me these things.

I’m older and wiser now. I’ve come to terms with that kind of thinking. My Mom does not tell me these things because she thinks I’m not good enough. It’s not about me at all. In fact, I know my Mom thinks I’m pretty damn awesome. She may not say so, but the fact that she wants to do these things with me is the best indicator I know that she cares. She does these things because it’s what makes her feel good. She feels important and respected when she is able to teach me something new or show me something she is good at. And she is great at taking care of her family and her house. No one can clean like she can.

She was teasing me about how I talk about organization here on Simple Life Celebrations and she knows just how disorganized I can be. Oh yeah, she’s seen some pretty messy days at my house. She’s seen me forget things, burn muffins, indulge my kids, change careers, cry about my relationships, and have a lot of dirt on my window sills. She doesn’t understand any of these things. It’s not her way at all (and certainly not the way she taught me).

Oh yeah, she’s called me out on these things. She’s my Mom, it’s her job. Yep, I’m 43 years old and my Mom is still telling me I need to wash my walls. If she didn’t, I’d wonder what was wrong.

My Mom has also seen me get, not one, but two diplomas from SAIT (with honors) while being a single mom. She’s seen me raise thousands of dollars for causes I believe in. She’s seen me fall in love with someone who is my best friend. She’s seen my kid still hug me even when he’s 22 years old. She’s seen the wonderful people my children are becoming. She’s seen me write the stories of our lives. She’s seen me try and try again.

Mom is perfect. She is able to do things I never will. I’ll never have a house that clean or everything perfectly placed. She will always be teaching me how to make a bed or organize a pantry, hopefully when I’m 86 years old. To me, she’ll always be perfect. Teaching equals helping others. She comes from a long line of women who teach the next generation. Who accept that times change and that’s OK. There are new ways of doing things and they are open to learn too. My Gramma learned how to use a computer and how to make the BEST pizza you’ve ever had. These were not skills she grew up with. My Mom can install a printer for my Aunt and can drive a tractor as good as my Dad. Again, she didn’t grow up with this. She learned. They practiced until they got it right. Practice Makes Perfect.

To my Mom, I am perfect. I may forget to call or forget about so-and-so’s wedding shower. I may have a dusty bookshelf. I may have laundry piled in the kids’ rooms. I may not know where my stapler is. I may have given away my mother-in-law’s china. But to her, I am trying, I am learning and I am teaching others as I go. That is all she’s ever asked for. That is her most important lesson: Practice Makes Perfect. Sharing what I’ve learned here with you makes her proud to say, “That’s my daughter. She learned that from me.”

What lessons are you learning? What ways can you teach others? Share in the comments or over on our Facebook page: Simple Life Gals

Firsts

It was a day of firsts yesterday for the Cevraini’s.

  • First day of high school for my girl
  • First day of flying solo at the middle school for my boy
  • First time the 3 of them went to the grocery store to pickup our groceries
  • First email for our biz sent with our new tool

A day of firsts to be proud of, that’s for sure. But I have to admit that I have also had so many worries along with these firsts:

  • She is so excited for high school, but I worry about the pressures she will have there. I still have a lot of reservations surrounding that high school and it’s location, it’s methods and whether it’s the right “fit” for someone as special as my daughter. I picked her up from an after school volleyball meeting and she was standing alone. I worry about her “fitting in”; yet at the same time, I don’t want her to be part of the “in” crowd. I know what it was like being on the outside looking in when I was in high school. Yet I am so glad that I wasn’t. Besides, she’s much stronger than me at that age.
  • She has another group meeting that she wants to attend this morning. And volleyball after school tonight, and work on Thursday and a hike on Saturday…it goes on…already. She wants to be involved in so many things – this is why high school is so exciting for her. She is not yet 14, and I worry about her becoming overwhelmed with doing too many things. I fear for how much she is like me in that. How it’s so hard to say no when you want to experience everything. I’ve done that so many times. I fear for her. What if she has to learn the hard way that she can’t do it all? What if she can? What will that mean?
  • My youngest is a quiet one and content to just be. I worry about him not getting involved enough! And then he spoke up yesterday and told me he wants to go into the boxing club. What did I do? My initial reaction was that it would interfere with Cadets – which he’s half-heartedly into. I know what Cadets did for my oldest son, I want the same for my youngest. But I worry that I’m not letting him be HIM. He is not his brother. I worry that I shelter him too much because he is they youngest and we all protect him. We forget that he doesn’t need protecting. He may be quiet, but he is determined and quite capable of anything – mostly because he watches and learns and doesn’t make the same mistakes that everyone else does. He pays attention to the details. Yet, I still worry and I still cast him in the same mold as his brother.
  • It was a big deal sending them for groceries. I had to release control that I cannot do it all. I had to release responsibility onto them to make good choices and follow the list that we came up with. I had to allow them to make mistakes. That’s really hard for the Martyr Mom who I can often be. If I don’t do it, then it won’t be done right. I had to trust my 23 year old with my credit card. That was really weird. I worried about that, though he’s never shown ANY sort of issue with handling money from me before. He’s never given me cause to worry or distrust. It was still very strange and made me a little anxious. But I had work to get done and I needed their help. Then I beat myself up that I should have enabled them to be more helpful in that past. Why had I waited so long to trust them to help me?
  • He’s moving out today, and that has made me worry all the more. It has been great to have him here – most days, but I’m torn between wanting him here and wanting him to move out. He doesn’t cause trouble here, but at the same time, I know that I have been an over-protective mom and he needs to fly the coop. I have not taught him much of anything for how to look after himself. Last night was the first time he’d gone grocery shopping by himself! Not good. I should have let him do that a long time ago. How will he manage on his own? Will he know what to do? I feel so often like I’ve failed him. Especially on days like this when I realize what I haven’t taught him yet. I feel like I’ve left him unprepared for the ways of the world. What if the world is tough on him? What if he fails? What if he doesn’t?
  • I’ve invested a lot of money in the new tool we’re using for our business. I want so much to take it to the next level. I want to help thousands of people. I made the decision without really talking to Krystal or to my husband (both of whom the money affects directly) and I have a tremendous amount of guilt feelings surrounding that. I am trying so hard to make it work so that they won’t be disappointed in me. Mostly to justify what I’ve done. Like it’s some horrible thing to be ashamed of. Yet those feelings keep popping up for me. Both of them say it’s OK, but I am my own worst critic. I am so scared sometimes of what success will mean for me. What if I am suddenly helping thousands of people? What if I can’t handle it all? What if I don’t – what if I’ve got nothing to offer? What if I’m just full of crap and I help no one? It goes around and around sometimes.

I have had a lot of questions these past few weeks. I get like that sometimes. I am so grateful that I have my husband, my BFF and my family for support. Good God! I could never do this alone! My poor hubby has held me as I’ve cried soooo many times. He’s reassured and contradicted my negativity as I try to sabotage myself. K has spent hours texting or talking to me to bring me back down from my anxious flights of insanity.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we constantly critique and belittle the beautiful people we are? Everyone else has the same firsts. The same worries. The same fears.

I guess if we didn’t do that, we wouldn’t be human. To be human is to strive for – not perfection – but for contentment. For happiness. To truly matter to someone else. We fear that we won’t matter or that we’ll make too many mistakes so that they will turn their backs on us and we won’t be important in their lives. I, for one, have given them plenty of reasons to leave me. Yet, here they still remain. Not in spite of my mistakes, but because of them. It makes them feel like it is ok to make them and that it is so important to be afraid because it is in overcoming those fears that makes us grow. I am an example to them, in all my imperfections, that it is possible to rise above, fall down, and then rise again. Each time a little higher.

double rainbow

And so, I will continue to strive for Firsts. I will continue to fail. I will continue to worry about those failures. But I will also find that sometimes I won’t fail. I will celebrate both.

 

 

You are the woman we love…regardless of the firsts or the lasts. Just for the way you show up today.

The Hug

calvin-hobbes hug

I was never much of a “hugger” – it just wasn’t something we did growing up. We showed affection in other ways, and I was OK with that. I always felt loved.

Then there was a blind date… We both belonged to a dating service – which, back then, was done for you by interviewers, pages of questions and some big computer in the back somewhere that sent a letter (in the MAIL) to you to invite you to call each other. He called me. I was ready to give up on this dating service thing and I was his first “letter”. After I heard his voice, I had to meet him.

We agreed to meet in a local pub we both knew. He was surprised to find me drinking a beer because he’d never met a woman who drank beer before. That city boy had never met a farm girl before ;P We talked like we were old friends. About everything. All too soon, the evening wore on and I had to leave (I was a single mom and I had to work in the morning!) He walked me to my car…and then it happened….

He HUGGED me.

His height made it perfect for me to “fit” into his chest. His leather jacket smelled so good, with just a hint of cologne somewhere in there. I completely melted into his embrace.

I went to work the next day, exclaiming to all my friends; “He hugged me! He hugged me!” Eyes rolled, especially when they heard that the hug was the only physical contact we had. My nurse friends had been hoping for much more for me! LOL! The older & wiser office manager smiled, knowing that there was much more to the hug than the physical. And she was right….I married that man who became my friend who hugged me first before anything else.

I hug a lot more these days. I hug him all the time. My kids, as many times as I can get them to let me.

These are some hugs I wish for:

  1. My Gramma – I was always in too much of a rush to get going to pause at the door of her welcoming home and give her a hug. She would have let me.  I will see you again
  2. My sisters – because I just don’t see them often enough. Our time together in Mexico was so awesome. Like when we were kids.
  3. My friend Kristi – she needed one yesterday, and I missed it
  4. My best friend Krystal – we are so comfortable with each other, but it’s not something we do. Maybe we should.
  5. My brother-in-law – to show him that he was loved and that there IS hope.
  6. My friend Lindsay – around her big pregnant belly to wish her well as she journeys toward motherhood for the first time
  7. Another friend Stacy – as she struggles to let go of her oldest son as he flies off away from the nest so far away across the country
  8. My aunt – as she bravely faces cancer treatments and a new reality
  9. My friends Lori and Kristen – just because I miss them
  10. My friend Shauna – I got to hug her the other day, but today, especially, I would like to hug her again
  11. That stranger I forgot to smile at – as she wondered if anyone loved her. I should have shown her that I do

What hugs are you wishing for? What’s stopping you?
We all know someone who needs a hug. Love them through it.
.

This post was inspired by the people in my list above and prompted by This Week’s Writing Prompts

Mama’s Losin’ It

School Daze

Snuggle Bugs

It’s early. I’m sipping my luscious latte (I love that word…luscious…I’ve used it several times this weekend…oh dear, distracted again! LOL! Like I said, it’s early. 5:30 and I’ve been up for an hour.)

As I sip, I’ve checked the schedule and plans for the week. Thought about priorities and things that need to get done. I smile at the remembrance of a very “luscious” weekend of connection and being with people I love. August draws to a close, with warmer weather and for me, a little bit of sadness and a little bit of pride.

Each year, they change so much. We measured yesterday and both of the “little guys” have grown over 1 1/2 inches since their winter birthdays! She is much taller than me, and he isn’t far away. And my oldest tells me he’s starting to look for a place of his own and he’s got a few job ideas and plans in mind. She’s excited about high school and the youngest is ready too. I didn’t have to stress at all about getting them ready; we’ve done all that. They mostly did it themselves.

They are happy and content for the most part. In fact, yesterday, she posted a pic on FB and said, “Click like if you’re having an awesome day like me”. She has been watching apparently. Learning to appreciate the good days and accepting and moving through the not so good ones. My boys don’t stress about anything much really. They are happy if the women in their lives are happy. LOL! I’ve trained them well 😉 Seriously though, they are just so good at going with the flow. I am grateful for healthy, happy children. I’d like to believe that I’ve had some part in that.

I do reminisce this time of year. I no longer regret the years passing by though. I am more “in the moment” most days, so I remember more and feel like I’ve really lived. I feel like I’ve been a part of my kids’ lives and for that I am grateful. I have no regrets about school days passing. The rush of the school year can make that difficult, I know because I’ve been a mom for almost 23 years.

Each year, I let them bloom a little more; relaxing my grip on their childhood. Some days, this is easy and some days I want to hold so tightly to a moment that takes my breath away. I pause, I take a mental picture, I say thanks, and I let the moment be. Sometimes I write down those moments, sometimes I don’t. But I remember and I smile each time I tell the story.

School begins again and another year is passing quickly. No regrets, my friends. This is a new year, a new chance to make changes. Breathe, love and LIVE these moments. Don’t be in a SCHOOL DAZE and miss out on the what is right in front of you.

I swear that this year will be different….
And every year, it’s the same thing:
    • Over-scheduled extracurricular activities
    • Homework incomplete
    • Too many late nights
    • School paper overwhelm
    • and I can’t wait for summer…and it’s only October!
Yep, we feel the same way you do! This year WILL be different!
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3 Ways to Stay Sane this School Year

 

Comparison and Vulnerability

After my run yesterday, during my cool down walk, I decided to record my thoughts. It’s out of breath, raw and vulnerable.

The Thinker

Thank you all for being here, being part of this community. Who do you compare yourself to? Why? Do you struggle to remember how far you’ve come? I’d love to “hear” your answers in the comments below or on our FB page: www.facebook.com/simplelifecelebrations

Transcript:

“My biggest issue right now is comparing myself to others. Why can’t I be as fast as my husband or my girlfriends. Go as far as they are. I mean, it’s silly. We all have our own goals, our own demons to run from but I keep comparing myself to them and I forget how awesome things are. I mean, I never thought I’d ever be a runner in the first place for crying out loud and here I am running 12 kilometers today in the hot sun. I may be out of breath but I frickin’ did it.

It’s pretty amazing really, if you look back at those things. My husband thinks I’m the love of his life. My kids think I’m mom of the year, most days. Some days they hate me, but so does everybody’s kids. My mom is still, mom and dad are still my biggest fans. They don’t understand a lot of the things I do, but, whatever I do, they support it.

So, I need to let go of this comparison thing. You know, judging myself. It’s bad enough I judge others, but I judge myself the most harshly. I need to back off on that. You know, how can I be successful if I keep forgetting how far I’ve come. I need to be grateful for all that I’ve done, where I’ve been, who I’m friends with, who I love. That’s the most important thing.

Anyway, those are my random after-run thoughts. Bye”

Please feel free to send this along to anyone you think needs to hear it. We are not alone with our “comparing” thoughts. We all do it. It’s nice to know that we can be grateful for all that we have.

We love our fans! Join us on our Facebook page for ideas for simplifying and enjoying life.

Do It Anyway

I heard him rummaging about in the kitchen (though he was trying to be quiet). He was making a quinoa meal for our lunch today. He was going for another run this morning.

Oh, those sheets were comfy. They were still warm where he’d been. I rolled over onto my belly. My body trying to convince me to just stay there.

I padded out to the kitchen and was wrapped in his warm arms.

“Good morning. How did you sleep”

“Good” – came my answer, muffled in his chest.

I slipped back to the bedroom. Collapsed on the bed and checked my phone for a couple minutes as my body woke up.

One more hug and then I pulled on my gear and kicked my butt into my workout.

He came down before he left for his run and asked me how it was going. I gasped out, “I suck!” and he just said, “Keep going”, and I did. Those last shoulder presses – I pushed through them. Reverse crunch? …grunt…O-N-E more!

Oh, I deserved that slow, methodical stretch at the end. Mmmmmmm, feels so good to stretch warm muscles.


I’ve been thinking about how I haven’t felt very motivated these past couple months. I’ve been kind of disheartened and afraid to push myself. What if I am successful? What will that mean? Where do I see myself in the next few years. Can I do all that I want to do? Do I have it in me? Am I ready for the work that will require?

sink

It’s waaaaay easier to just stay still, isn’t it?

It’s waaaaay easier to just stay in that warm bed, isn’t it?

It’s waaaaay easier to leave the dishes in the sink and watch TV, isn’t it?

It’s waaaaay easier to just eat the same food that I know isn’t good for me, isn’t it?

It’s waaaaay easier to just do it myself, rather than let the kids do it, isn’t it?

It’s waaaaay easier to do the same things every day, with the same people, isn’t it?

It’s waaaaay easier to stay in that job where I’m miserable, isn’t it?

It may be easier, but is it better? That’s the question I’m asking of me today. How about you?

Simple Joy

joy

I’m talking a lot about joy these days. I’ve been working on a few ebooks & workbooks and basically everything reminds me of the same thing: Practice Joy every day. It really is that simple. When we look for joy and do things that bring us joy, everything else just falls into place.

There was a time when I yelled and screamed…a lot…and at the wrong people. I looked in the mirror and despised the woman who looked back at me. If I could even look her in the eye. There was a time when headaches radiated from my neck all the way around to my forehead. I thought this was the way it was supposed to be.

I thought, if he just loved me more or if they would just listen! If I kept a better house, if I wore nicer clothes, if I put make-up on my face…then…yes, THEN…everything would be perfect. I went to work every day, dragging myself because that is what people do. I got “busy”; I drove kids this way and that, yelling at them to hurry up to go to a practice or even a game that they didn’t even want to go to any more.

But when I dared to look her in the eye, I did not see happiness. I did not see joy. I saw a lot of worry and I even saw pain. I remembered the girl who loved to draw. Who talked to her cows or her dog. Who loved to feel the grass between her toes and touch the sticky branches of the “climbing tree”. Who read books and wrote stories and poems by flash light when she was supposed to be asleep. Where did she go?

Slowly, but, indeed…surely…she is being reborn. That young woman is excited to go to work every day and help people feel better. She goes roller-skating or tobogganing or does something crazy whenever she can. She doesn’t yell as much, she “lets it go”. She reads books, she plays on the computer. She goes for a walk, barefoot on the lawn sometimes. She digs in the dirt and plays Lego long after the kids are done.

She is finding her joy. She notices the little things like the robins singing or the first ladybug there in the grass. She’ll put down the phone and listen to what you have to say. She makes time for friends and makes love like she’s twenty-something. She laughs more and cries lots too because it is OK to feel every emotion. To feel is to be alive and I certainly am…and for that…I am joyful.

 

Introducing Kristin!

Krystal and I will be “off the grid” for a little while with our families! We’re pretty excited! A joint vacation will be so much fun!

We have asked our adventurous friend, Kristin, to post for us while we are away. We adore her and we’re sure you will too! Be sure to leave a comment and say Hi!

kristin

 

Kristin Allan is a Pennsylvania native who migrated north to Alberta 9 years ago. She strives to live simply by minimizing the stuff and stress, while maximizing the love in her life.
For several years she operated a women’s consignment clothing store which she founded in central Alberta.  “Buy it used” is her motto.

She and her man half recently sold most of their belongings and purchased a 30 year old motorhome to live in for the warm season, until the bitter northern Alberta winter chases them into a warmer space.

Kristin loves to share her knowledge of minimalism, growing food, healthy communication and veggie cooking with curious folks.

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