There I was. Here I am! What now?

Christmas Eve, a glass of Scotch and a few pangs of homesickness. Thinking about my sisters. Yes, I said that I was an only child, and I am...biologically. But from the time I was 6, my life has been blessed with girlfriends who, to this day, are part of the fabric of my being. They helped to shape me, guide me, support me, get me out of jams...and sometimes into them. I would not be who I am today without them. I feel a bit guilty about singling out the ones I am going to mention here, but these 4 have been part of my life for over 20 years on the shortest end and 54 on the longest. Names I could add: Janet, Laurie, Betty, Bev, Suzana, Shelli, Marsha, Cindy Mc...all of whom were pivotal during various parts of my life. I love you all. But I am going to talk about 4 in chronological order: Pam, Cindy, Char and Shelley. In 1963, I moved from Ontario to Bridgewater, NS where I skipped Grade 1 and was put in with a group of similar students who became my "squad", as they s

I tell people that I do not have a lot of family, and, in numbers, that is true. I am an only child; Darren is an only child; Neal, my son is an only child as is Darren's daughter, Jocelyn. But I have learned through observation and experience over the years that numbers don't matter and blood does not a family make. Connection from the heart makes family, and I am a rich woman in the love of my family. People who love you do not hold you back; their love is not selfish. It weathers the storms and spans great distances. Now, to be honest, Facebook and Facetime makes this distance seem much less than it really is. But the reality is that both Darren and I are a long way from our family. I asked my son, Neal, "So, how do you feel about me moving to Panama?". His response? " It's cool! You have to live your life, and I can come visit! Now let's go get Sushi!" Neal has grown into a wonderful, young man. I was not always a stable fixture in his

"You complete me!" Jerry McGuire After almost 20 years, I have come home. Not home to place or a person, but to myself. Twenty years have passed since I gave up an essential part of who I am. It could not be helped, but it diminished me. There was a part of me missing which shaped me from the time I was two years old. My horses. People who do not share this love can not understand; they may try to, may want to, but it is a special feeling that exists in your very core. It is like breathing; if it is not nurtured, a part of you dies. My love of horses was born in me. My road to owning them was a rocky one. My mother would rather I had been a frilly little girl who dressed up and baked and sewed. I was a tomboy - the one who could milk a cow and squirt the barn cats. And "drove" my Grandpere's work horse, Queenie, every chance I got.  I can still remember feeding her oats, her huge, velvet muzzle could have swallowed my little hand whole, but she was ever so