Skip to main content

What If

The latest Mosaic Minds theme must be buzzing my head because I had a bit of a day-sleep-dream - for lack of a better word - this morning that had me thinking What If?

What If I moved back to my small town or the medium-sized city near it?

I had images of living in a nice little two story house, with a bulldog or golden retriever - (it depends, you see, on who wins the Type-of-Dog war - me or D).

I would wake up in the morning to see D off to his interesting and exciting marketing job, perhaps at Labatts or Kellogs. I would make him an egg white omlete or at least put out his vitamin in the morning before curling up back into bed for another half hour or so.

Or perhaps, I would stay awake, reading the paper and enjoying a good cup of Earl Grey tea in the sun room, watching out the back window into my well manicured garden - filled with sunflowers and gerbia daisies.

After I had fully woken up, I would head to the office upstairs, to begin my day. I would have a couple of stories on the go - one about the best resorts in Thailand, another about the city's tourism board's annual conference.

The morning would also be filled with phone calls - one from my book editor who had recieved the second draft of my Year in Leeds and wanted to suggest some changes.

Another from my event clients - because I would get bored just being a travel writer - I would also become an event planner for corporate events.

Around 1, I'd break for lunch. Some days, I would grab a salad or tuna sandwich. If I was busy, I wouldn't take a break in the day - simply going back to the computer to work or our for meetings to finalize party details or perhaps interviews with experts for my book.

Some afternoons I would head to my writer's group - all of us at different stages of the journey and - in my perfect fantasy world - there would be no competition between us. Simply supportive, innovative and hilarious people.

Other afternoons I would take an extended lunch to go visit friends. Hang out at the houses of my newly mothered friends - who would be in need of some help and adult company.

I would always try to get back before D was home and do some more work. By about 6, we'd be sitting on the couch, enjoying some wine and talking about our days.

After dinner - which we would both make - I would retire back to the office for a couple more hours of work, possibly most of my writing because of the quietness of night.

By 11, D and I would be in bed, reading our books, with our own little bedside lights on our bedside tables.

It wasn't just the one day I was picturing. It was the whole lifestyle package.

My parents would have moved back to Canada as well, to their little house on the Avon in Stratford. At least once a week, we would drive to see them for dinner. Sometimes, I would arrive early so that I could make them dinner. Or sometimes, they would simply come to our house.

My mom would be working for the theatre company while my dad would be a drummer in a band, his "retired job".

D's parents would still be in Oakville - not too far off - and we would usually go there for a Sunday dinner.

My sister C would be in Stratford as well, working for the festival and her and her husband K - for I'm sure when this story comes true they will be married - would come for dinner with our parents or sometimes, we'd go out for lunch during the week. We would also spend some time at K's cottage.

My other sister H would still be in the U.S. but would be a very successful professor and theatre school owner. During the summers, she would come and stay at my parents house, running acting and singing workshops for kids out of the local school in Stratford.

My film producing brother would fly in from time to time...on his own private jet...of which he would be a pilot.

At least once a month I would be gone "working", in some far away place. I would be exploring, observing, critiquing in places all over the globe - an African safari, a trek through Peru, the best spas in the Greek islands, the resorts of Fiji, the best cottages in the Muskokas.

And I would be so happy to come home, to D, who would have spent his evenings with friends playing ball hockey or watching sports or reading.

I would be happy to be settled in a place that had my bed, my chairs, my food, my dog.

I would be happy because I would not feel trapped. I would have all the people around me that I loved.

Talking to E yesterday, she asked me if "home" would ever inspire me again.

I really don't know. But imagining being there certainly stirred something.


Popular posts from this blog

I'm baaaack!

Hard to believe that last entry was almost three years ago!

Many moons ago, I set this blog up to chronicle our journeys. Once we were grounded a bit more, it kind of lost its way. I spent some time working on my writing offline, taking on different projects and working full time as a technical writer. It was difficult to keep this blog up. Not for any real reason I can articulate. Just had my words redirected to other avenues for awhile.
But, I'm pleased to say, after over a decade away, we are back in the UK, living and re-experiencing a place we enjoyed in the mid-2000s.
Social media has certainly changed the way we look at blogs. I'm excited to navigate this new world, explore just what people post, what people read. What's better on one of the many new platforms and what's still appropriate for good old fashioned blogosphere.
For now, here's a peek at where we're staying -- in a pretty little village just outside of Oxford. A temporary home for now but suc…

Room with a view

We've been in our new home for 10 weeks nos and it's feeling more like home than ever.Every day, I sit down at my desk to the most inspiring view.A collection of stories is building. This space makes it easy to gather my thoughts.I've been consumed with a few work projects and am looking forward to collecting my thoughts soon.Writers club is still going ... I was on a bit of a hiatus but hope to get into my routine for fall. For now, boat gazing is helping.


My regular journaling has significantly improved my mood.

I've been taking some time, twice a week, to polish existing content as well as develop my floating ideas into a more concrete outline.

I've felt this focus for the last 6 weeks that I can't really describe properly. It's as though I've shifted my thinking totally. Writing is my craft. It's what I do, who I am, how I exist. It's like my mojo.

So, I guess, I've gotten my mojo back. My focus, my purpose, my essence.

And it feels good. It feels right. And I am almost understanding more now why the best writing of the best writers happens when they are older, more polished, more experienced, more rough around the edges.

When all the youthful spark has been extinguished and what's left, is the determined embers, that will not go softly, that will not die out. That will continue, fervently glowing, creating warmth and not just drawing attention from its flicker, but pulling people in by it's so…