I Am Grateful for him-Part 3

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I Am Grateful for him-Part 3

I would like to share with you a message my husband posted on his time line.

He has always been the most generous, giving man I have ever met.  He is world class to say the least, but has inspired me on so many levels to be who I AM today.  No one is built alone, we are built from our experiences with engaging in people.  And as I write you will notice all my experiences good and bad have shaped me into who I am based on those interactions with these individuals.

Yet, there is one person who rises to the occasion time and time again, and to be honest I don’t know why or how he is here.  How did I, a divorced mother of three with a history of hell have heaven enter my door?

I thank you Mr.Denny from every fibre of my being for being you, consistently and persistently.  It’s beautiful to read you feel the same, thank you again My King x

An excerpt from Denny Denholm: a Royal Marine, a War Veteran, a Father, a writer, a boxer, a Coach….My love

We all have pasts and we all have demons…that can never be denied.

Some of us have to fight our way through youth and adult life, and others sort of sail through, unaware of the pain and violence around them. We all suffer. I am witness to that, especially Veterans, like me. 

This is why we are doing 22 Push Ups for 22 days in support of Vets who still live and need to be inspired by community and FB does that well. 

BUT…REMEMBER…OR WAKE UP TO…DOMESTIC VIOLENCE KILLS!!

When I returned from war, it horrified me that I had been genuinely sacrificing my life for my country and the good of mankind. Willingly taking my body and mind into the end of times to become strong enough to withstand war as a Commando. Then living through a career of it, for my country, family and kin.

I was horrified because while I was gone there were rapists and child molesters running a muck in every community. The more I looked the more I was broken in my soul. Any fucker tells me war broke me I will punch them right on the nose. Finding out this shit after my career in war totally broke me. No fucking question.

While i was trying to sort out how the fuck I can change this shit I met my wife Lisa Denholm. We were both going through horrific divorces and child custody nonsense and decided to fight back to back together, preserving love at all costs. We fight on and my wife has the courage to tell these stories so bloody eloquently. Watch this space…this woman has talent.

Listen to Lisa Denholm‘s story in her blogs. She has lived through the most horrific of abuses and still remains strong, faithful and able to teach others how to be strong, confident and loyal. God knows, meeting a loyal person is a challenge in these days. When I met this woman I learned about loyalty, hope and compassion, everything she tries to teach everyone every day. 

A true warrior and a true Love Legend!

Strength to your courage and I pray you that you can touch millions of people’s hearts. Together, we unite to STOP DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!

STOP SUICIDE

Lxo

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I am wasting time

I am wasting time

I have been burning daylight a lot lately. And when I got down to the crux of why I had been dawdling the only precious commodity that one can never get back (time)I just hung my head in shame and thought, ‘I don’t know’ and the next response ‘What a waste of time’.

We could call it limbo for many reasons, or call this nothingness reorganizing myself, I know we are all guilty of it. Lollygagging on how we look, what people think, what we should say, as well as whiling away the time on people who you know deep down don’t care whether your around or not. You were given gut feelings, trust in them!

That’s the hard realization, when your life changes some people just can’t come with you and instead of them being happy for you, you become shunned like a bad member of the flock. But the very worst procrastinator of all for me has been self doubt on past destructive emotions like jealousy or frustration, not good enough. For the record these have absolutely no place in my life. And is not on my list of time dilly dallying anymore.

Somewhere I got it all backwards, talked myself into thinking that if I spent time on those that didn’t see me or wished they would give me their time,that maybe I would be enough. Maybe they could rise up and feel me, hell I even prayed for their kindness and love. That ended

I especially find myself losing a lot of time looking at the right hand screen on my Face Book page. You know the signal, where it shows who’s on line and who is not. The sad fact is, that that little green dot consumes a lot of my time, it represents someone I love dearly. I turn that Face crack on in the hope that the green dot is still glowing and my heart skips a beat to see that the light is still on. Like a ship lost at sea looking for the light house, when it flickers on I know they are there, waiting, watching and so for this, this is not a loss of time. This is a mother with her only contact to her blood by a dot on a screen.

So I made a promise a few weeks ago. I am choosing to spend my time on the following . Albeit I had to go thru some hoops to get to these realizations, and with any change comes some heated discussions, some goal posts moved and moments of reflection to make hard decisions. And as always there was the usual toss between being my usual pig headed strong self and the other being the humble eyes wide opened character. With all that emotion out of the way, I have no time to waste…here is where you will find me wasting light in 2016.IMG_0236.jpg

I am going to waste time on my husband and love him like it was my last day on earth…everyday. I am going to waste time with my friends and drink red wine and eat fabulous food while the sun goes down on our tropical island we all call home. I am going to waste time motivating people. I am especially going to waste time having a lingering kiss on the lips of my King. I am going to waste your time to, I will waste it by giving you a hug, or winking at you. I am going to be the biggest time waster by listening to you, and enjoying our time we waste together.

 

While I am at it I am going to waste time boxing, staying fit, having massages, loving my job, meeting people from all over the world. I am going to waste time learning two new languages-concurrently ( I didn’t say successfully), I am going to waste time learning how to dive. I am going to waste time having dinner parties and paddle boarding. I am going to waste time making art again and writing like I can recapture time again. I hope I have encouraged you to waste time also. Life is too damn short.

And If it so happens we get wasted together, then mission accompolished, because we didn’t while our time away , instead we embraced our moments in the presence of everything. Like good time wasters do xxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am writing fearlessly

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I am writing fearlessly

Actually,I am living fearlessly and then writing it down. A year ago I was at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood while the Oscars were being held just a block down the street.
The whole street was cordoned off, and police and limousines were everywhere. It was such an eclectic mix of hobo’s and hairstyles, long gowns and beggars.
It was utterly surreal, at one point a tall gentleman stood beside us and started asking questions about where we were from. He was engaging, wanting to know why we were there, how we got here, what did we do.

We all swapped stories, and when we asked him if he was going to the Oscars (jokingly off hand), he replied,’ my song is up for the Oscar for best song in a film.’

Now this IS Hollywood, and anyone can be anyone. He was however dressed in a tux and looking smart. He was also incredibly humble and was genuinely interested in the couple in front of him of Scottish, Canadian and Australian descent.

At one point he looked up at the hotel movie screen which was showing the presentations live from the red carpet, he suddenly went,’Oh no, that’s me, I’ve got to go’. Graciously we swapped FB accounts (as you do) took a photo of the 3 of us together and then he was off headed towards the Chinese Theatre. His song won. His name is Rhymefest (El Che)
Oscar & Multiple-Grammy Award winning artist & songwriter. Co-Founder of Donda’s House, Inc., Kenneth Cole Courageous Class Model & Subject of In My Father’s House, currently showing on Showtime.
So what has this to do with writing fearlessly. Or the chance meeting with Che. Everything. Because if you have followed my story, you will know that I had to give everything up, to lose everything and to do this I had to live fearlessly first.
It also meant that I had to start showing up to my emotions and write them down. Being fearless showed me the world and the people in it who are making a genuine change, are touching people’s lives because they, as scared as they may be, had to become fearless people in their passion for teaching and showing the world the beauty within it.
If I can give any advice, any at all…live. Live it all. Be present to your moment whether it be amazing or gut-wrenching, be there. For the lessons, those hard ones that knock you around are the ones that make you fearless. They make you aware of what it means to be alive.
It’s been a week since I heard of the passing of my cousin. In that time, I have gotten sick. Here I suppose my opportunity to feel real this loss. To set the record straight we were not close cousins, but we were blood and family. And just because of that alone I feel this loss.
So fearlessly I write this down. Here is the rub, to live fearlessly I have met amazing people all over the world, it has been an absolute honor. But to live fearlessly, I have also lost. In the end, it all comes down to how you want to live and how you can live with all that comes with it…good or bad.

I am inspired by the hobos, the eclectic, the writers and their muse, the musicians, the artists, even the players in between. I am inspired by my husband, my children, my framily(family not of blood),these are my  heroes, We need these people in our lives. We need to see their fight; it makes us all one at that moment. I am inspired where passion is about. And you know when someone is passionate at what they do because they make it look easy, and they are humble in its creation.

I am writing fearlessly, watch this space x

I am that Woman with the Flu

Woman-Flu vs. Man-Flu. Which one is you?

Woman flu is a dreadful disease, which causes seriously ill women to pretend to be well and relentlessly come to work.

The opposite of man flu

Man 1: Gosh, her nose is streaming dreadfully… why doesn’t she take a day off?

Man 2: Must be a case of woman flu

I googled Woman-Flu and to be honest felt the Urban dictionary hit the nail on the head, and I didn’t realize how much of that above statement was true, until I proceeded to do the following:

After said Husband finally realized I was quite ill and demanded complete bed rest, I proceeded to clean the house as I can’t possibly do sick well if surrounded in clutter. WTF

Clear cut and dry case of Woman-Flu symptoms

Urban Dictionary goes on to say this about Man-Flu

 A rare strain of flu so powerful and so deadly it can only be matched by the Bubonic Plague and Aids.

An incurable virus which has adapted to only effect the “XY” gene found in men.

The virus attacks the immune system 10,000 times harder than the average flu virus, causing excruciating pain for the victim. Man Flu has no cure and prayers can save the forsaken life of the infected. The often deadly virus is mostly laughed at by women who sadly cannot contract “Man Flu”

Woman: Is he ok?

Doctor: I’m afraid not, I’m sad to say he has Man Flu

I took a leaflet out of the Man-Flu pamphlet today and in my exhaustion copy pasted all of these rhetoric’s word for word.

This Man-Flu thing could really catch on.

Woman:

Did she just copy the Urban Dictionary.

Other Woman:

Yes, I’m afraid she has Man-Flu.

I am that Woman with the Flu and I have decided to be a man about it. I would like to thank Urban Dictionary for clearing the debate up for me and allowing me to justify why I am sleeping under my Doona all day…Guilt free(after all the house is now clutter free)

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I am Choosing

We have choices, some are harder than others…Do you choose you?

 

I am choosing

What empowers you? What gives you the strength to go on? What is the difference between you and I that makes one of us want to keep going and the other to jump off a balcony?12471538_10153741778843971_3389353174543910040_o

There was a study done years ago on two teenage boys, identical twins. They had come from a poor background, their Father was in and out of prison and their Mother had died after being beaten by their Father. In their adult years the boys lives were to be very different. One followed in his Father’s steps and became the alcoholic, abusive criminal he was always meant to be and the other? Well he became a Harvard graduate specializing in… heart surgery! When asked why did they become who they were, both their responses were to be the same, ‘What choice did I have.’

Exactly, What choice did they have? Choice. What choices do we have? What choices do you have? As in the study above, the response was perfect. One felt that he had no other option because of how horrible it was for him growing up and yet his identical twin had the same answer and thru that felt he had to do the opposite. Right here is where I get empowered, because we all have that same choice.

If I can be of any help in regards to bad choices, please feel free to gather some from my endless supply, lord knows there are hundreds to pick from my list. But without those decisions I wouldn’t have had Wisdom, Grace or Love.

Personally what I learned from those mysterious identical boys was that you can choose to live your life based on your circumstances and poor me mentality or you can choose to turn that into something glorious, peaceful, engaging and if that includes others on the way then good for you.

And this is where you come in. What empowers you, what choices are you making today that are going to make you either a bitter, miserable empty shell of a person or an inspired, loved and cherished individual.

I KNOW what I am choosing xxx

I am Back

I am back

It’s been four months since I started my blog. And 2 months since I have written anything. I kind of lost my mojo, or rather found it. Let me explain, we are back in Thailand. Surrounded by amazing, inspiring, creatives, who I love so much. And what happens in environments like this is that you are continually creative in so many other areas that finding time to take it all in, stop the merry go round and write about it proves to be harder than one would expect.

This is just one of my days…Training in our MC with brave and fit warriors who only improve everyday. Dinner at our best mates 5 star restaurant and wine bar, The Gallery, where we are spoiled rotten with the best Thai food on this planet. An evening of listening to Simon Wright and Andy V from Australia, mesmerise us with their talents on Loop, Guitar and Sax while the ocean laps gently across the shore. An invite to the amazing Cape Shark, a 7 star villa sanctuary that has been designed fit enough for the Princess of Thailand.

And to top it all off, an evening cruise home with the love of my life on the back our bike, while the full moon lights are way home to our Jungle Fever Dollhouse.

So I apologise for not writing for awhile, actually I want to say sorry not sorry. My posts have always been filled with sadness, loss and complete tragedy and as much as I needed to express that pain, I no longer feel that. I thank you for all of your support and strength, believe me when I say, your love has been felt and without you in it I could not be here in this mindset.

I would like to share with you instead how from all of that, I have found myself again. How I don’t wake up anymore feeling lost, sad or confused… How I don’t feel like a victim…anymore.

In the past two months I have accepted my losses, picked myself and had an epiphany. I have lost 6 kilo’s, I train everday if not twice a day (except Sundays). I have grown, and from that lost one mojo in return for the other. I want you to know that you can do this too.

You don’t have to be on a tropical island, (although that does help) to adjust your glitch. Actually my glitch was on the matts one day, while my husband/coach was teaching me how to spar. Part of learning how to box is not only to know how to hit, but also how to be hit. How to, ‘roll with the punches’, and it really is a roll. We had started our 3 minute round, and in that time frame I was hit(gently but effectively) on the head or in the ribs or in the face….with each punch I found I couldn’t get out of the way. No matter how hard I tried to duck and weave, the punches kept landing. Tears started to roll down my face, memories started flooding back, I could feel the waves of regression sinking in on me as I struggled with my breathing. And this is where the epiphany came…this is what I had been doing all along. Ducking, weaving, resisting the cause but taking the pain.. I needed to grow and the only way was to take a deep breathe and walk into that punch, eyes wide open and ready to accept that I could get hurt.

That’s life for me, right there. In those 3 minutes I had the opportunity to either ride the crest of the past or walk into the ring with a plan, without fear or intimidation. I put my hands to my cheekbones, I opened my eyes and took a deep breathe. The tears stopped, the past melted and in front of me was me. My hardest opponent, and I won.

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I am that Chick

I am that Chick…

He was late, their first ‘coffee date’.

As Fleur started to close the studio and put the possibility of morning coffee on the back burner, she started to recall who he was.

They had met two years before, Fleur had needed to update her qualifications as her studio was busy and she was looking to increase her knowledge for her clients. He had been at that same course, and he was late then too, she remembered.

The thought of their conversations from that weekend two years before had started to flood back. He had just returned from War and he spoke of the other War he was now in …divorce. He spoke of his little boy and the love for him and his fight to be in his life. He also spoke of his love of writing and how he had been in the process of starting a book.

I am that chick from the course.jpgShe remembered he was funny, engaging and he spoke of finally enjoying his life and all the ladies that came with that. She remembered thinking then what a great friend to have met and they parted ways and that was that.

Fast forward two years, Fleur was in exactly the same War he had spoken of all those years ago.

And so that is how Fleur ended up here in her studio, recleaning the same floor pretending she wasn’t all that fussed if he was a no show. After all it was silly to be waiting for this man she couldn’t quite place.

As she turned off the lights at eleven past eleven, the studio door opened…She remembered him, he was that guy from the course.

I am that Chick from the course

I am that home…

an excerpt from I am this Woman…I am that home.

They say home is where the heart is, but, to be honest, I have been struggling with that phrase all of my life…

I have had many dwellings, in many countries, each one has been unique and was the space necessary for that period.

I was born and raised in British Columbia, Canada. Brought into this world in a little town called Salmon Arm. Born to young parents who divorced by my first birthday, I then had required two spaces. My Mother’s and my Father’s….

I discovered that although these were where my parents lived, they hadn’t included me in their environments, not on any reliable level. Just as the little girl who went to her Dad’s for the summer or her Mother’s for the school year. I may not be to quick on the uptake sometimes, but it did eventually rock home to me that whenever I drove into my Father’s ranch, the names of all my brothers and stepmother were on a sign by the edge of the driveway. My name never made the list….even when my youngest brother (RIP) was born, his name was put on with additional chains and proudly presented. Lisa never made the cut.

Over the years I stacked up 13 schools, one of them was even for the mentally challenged and blind, to this day I can sign the alphabet…so all things considering I learnt from each experience. My Mother moved what seemed like every two years, for whatever her reasons were, I still to this day can’t say which place was my childhood home. But through that I became adaptable, needing to survive in any situation that came my way…I was always the new kid on the block.

My graduating year my Mother entered me in a beauty pageant… I won. Every weekend I was away, and I was cool with that, as that was exactly how my life was any way. Packed, in a bag, waiting to head out.

I moved to Australia by the age of 24 and started a family. This was a family home that had many lives in it. All of my children were brought up here, Christmas, Birthdays Primary school, and then the fire. A 13-year-old boy one night decided to randomly pick my kids’s home and light it a flame. …that burnt everything I had collected within those 15 years of calling it my ‘home’ to the ground in 7 minutes. Those pictures that I had collected of the kids, art, children’s toy’s and their pets…all gone .

So it got me to thinking as I roam the earth over the past four years as a person with No Fixed Abode. I have travelled 3 Continents, lived in 11 countries and seen more of airports than most do in a lifetime. This, by the way, is not a complaint in fact the very opposite.

‘My home has always been within me.’

I am that home….
On first foot into my home, you would enter into an environment quite sterile, clinical and verging on OCD cleanliness. Please don’t feel awkward that you are the first to see this, as once inside my home you might be shown more than just the front landing.

After a few more visits, my door will open a little wider and as I invite you in you will start to notice slight changes, some subtleties that on your first visit were not there. Maybe a hint of color catches your eye or the smell of my favorite fragrance or even something yummy cooking on the stovetop. Enter into my home and cast your eyes down my hallway, what once looked to you like a cold and long descent, slowly starts to fill with pictures and art that I made myself and proudly placed on my walls. As you entered into the first room you might have felt at a Doctor’s office but wait on a little longer and you will start to notice the collections of my travels and the knicknacks that meant enough to me to pack across the globe.

Oh, please don’t open that door. That room has been locked for awhile, in there is pain and it has been dealt with for now. My home has it all, a room for pain, for laughter, but especially for love. This is my home, and my home is my heart and so I decorate it accordingly. You might not like my layout; that’s ok you probably only got to the front door. For those that have seen the colour and embraced the atmosphere, I hope you enjoyed my hospitatlity because I wanted you to see my house.

I am that home where the hearts of the people I have loved and embraced along the way decorate my halls and fill the pantry with the song, wine and laughter…they are my home, and I am there’s…one needn’t always a roof or a hanging picture to prove that you are home when hearts touch hearts and eyes lock.

I am that home….

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Miss Chase, 1986

Cupid

Cupid…

an excerpt from..I am this Woman by LXO

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I had Cupid in aisle nine at the grocery store. It was Valentines day, and he wasn’t due for another month. In full pregnant style, I dressed in a red and white striped jersey dress to show off my growing bump and headed to the local shop to appease my cravings with Valentine goody’s. As I headed down aisle 9 with my cake and ice cream, a weird and warm bloop dropped. Contractions happened almost immediately but now in shock I walked to the checkout to pay for my ice cream, I was worried it would melt!!

The cashier kept asking me to step outside; I found out later that was so they could help and not be sued. A phone was handed to me, people came from out of nowhere, and I was hemorrhaging so much now my red and white dress was now vibrant red from the waist down. By the time, I was at the hospital the blood was swishing on the floor, and I was ebbing out. I was in surgery for 2 hours to stop the blood and a clot the size of an orange was removed. So was my ability to have any more children. They had tied my tubes, a decision not without its weight but one that meant I would be around for my three kids rather than they are without a mother.

Right here one would declare, Ironic, life is full of them.

Cupid’s orginal name was SheKnows. I awoke to the tune of morphine and said husband informing me that he had already named our son. For the record we had never discussed SheKnows and it was on my first night home with my newborn that he had a terrible night, and all thru it I couldn’t bring myself to call his newly acquired name. The next day I walked into the registrar and changed his name to Cupid, the original name that we had decided on.

During the separation and the lead to my childrens father’s death, Cupid was taken from me three times. School holidays, a disappearance and search for him after his Dad’s death and then the final one from Thailand.

I am that Mother, who is watching her youngest son be taken as well. I am that Rebel, who refuses to be treated terribly by her children in the wake of all this madness. I am that Mother, who was told by her son that his Aunt was now more his mother.

A new word for empty is required because the battle has been so long that I need to protect myself, for I can’t afford to fall again. I am picking my battles, the war is just to big, to fierce and to long.

I am this woman saying enough is enough.

Hard choices and sad scenarios with each one interwoven with the other, overlapping like a scrapbook with too much glue. The lines on the pages have been blurred to the point I don’t even know where this one will end or if more glue will salvage it.

Cupid has been the glue for so long; I am not even sure how he has managed without now finally breaking. He lives with his brother and sister, the 3 of them stood in for each other, neither one able to face me or this pain. And because of this he is now tired, has lost who he is. Self-confidence shattered and the faith in his Mom gone.

At the ripe old age of 15, his words are in my head..This is so fucking sad Mom!

I am that Mother who now has stood down, who has been not asked, not needed and not wanted. Yet to look in from the outside, It can only be me who fixes them.

I am that Mother.

Sometimes that is not enough.