Rescue Me. Coco’s Story.

February 5, 2023 / boo king / Leave a comment

It’s no secret that I’m a dog lover. Always have been, always will be. I was born into a house of dog lovers. And other animals too – cats, birds, fish, gerbils. You name, we loved it. Domestic and wild.

I’ve written about the day my dog Andy died and how painful it was, especially for my daughter and me. But also, for our next-door neighbour, who unwittingly became the hero of the night. For which I am eternally grateful. Although Andy’s death was a sad story and broke my heart, the death of his partner Coco, seven years later, is one that I still cry over. Like this morning.

I was out walking my sweet sleepy Schneagle Simon and started thinking about my walks with little Coco, especially the precious ones towards the end of her life. This in turn got me thinking about her final days. Coco was one of those stoic characters. No matter how much pain she was in, she would soldier on.

Nothing stopped her. She was a tenacious stubborn bitch. In my mind, I always imagined she had a whiskey, chain-smoking voice like Marge Simpson’s twin sisters Patty and Selma. And that she was always snarling fuck you or fuck off under her breath. I loved her for that. We spoke the same language.

Her stoic nature was no more apparent than when she was pregnant with her litter of five. Despite her growing girth, she walked with me every morning right up to the day before she gave birth. (Rhyme, not intended.) The final stretch of our early morning walks included a steep hill, which on the best of days, utterly exhausted me. It had to have exhausted Coco too, given that her belly was full and almost dragging on the ground. But she just kept givin’ er. Head up, tail high, eyes alert, one ear up and forward and one bent, her little rear-end swaying from side to side.

But she would not quit. I always admired that about her. Wished I had more of that in me.

We rescued Coco when she was around two years old, maybe older. No one seemed to know for sure. She was a barn dog, one of many – twenty or so Jack Russell Terriers – at the stables. She was one of the two Mama dogs, used for breeding, who roamed the grounds freely, not kept in the outdoor pen like the others. She had this swagger, and fuck-you attitude that I really respected. I used to see her around on Saturday mornings. While my daughter took riding lessons, I kept one eye on my kid and one on Coco. She was adorable, feisty, fiercely independent and sassy as hell.

But life on the farm wasn’t good for Coco, despite her freedom to roam the property and chew on horse nails and other barnyard delicacies. Somehow, she had a run-in with a gang of escapee JRTs and was severely pulverized. Shit-kicking doesn’t begin to describe it. One on one, she could have taken any of those male furballs down, but this pack was too much, even for the toughest of broads.

She was removed from the scene by the mom of one the other riders after she found her at the entrance gate covered in blood and one ear mangled.

Their family couldn’t keep her because they already had two dogs. But we could. Coco was my kind of girl and I just had to have her as part of our family. For the next five years she was Andy’s cussing companion, and then she spent another seven years keeping Rusty in line. There was no messing with Coco.

Towards the end of her life, she was almost deaf and blind which made walking her a dream. Once a reactive dog, ready to go at it with anything on four legs, she grew into the most chill laid-back chick on the block. Our daily walks became stress-free, quiet, focused, pleasant and peaceful.

On her last week, she stopped eating including all her favorite things that we tempted her with. On her last day and night, she slept peacefully on the mat in our downstairs bathroom. We held vigil throughout the night. The next morning Eric took her to the Vet where she took her journey over the Rainbow Bridge. He was devastated. Shattered. And vowed never to do that again. It felt like murder. Completely irrational, we know. But that’s how it felt. Don’t judge. And please, no platitudes about putting an end to her suffering. We get that. We aren’t selfish morons. Just brokenhearted dog lovers.

It was completely different with Andy. I was with him when he died on the floor next to my bed. I got to stroke his back as he took his last breath. I got to walk him one last time. To the foot of the Rainbow Bridge. No bright lights. No needles. Just him and me. I got to whisper soothing, tenderhearted, loving things to him. I got tell him it was okay. Everything was going to be okay. I was with him. I loved him. Always would.

This morning, as I was walking Simon and weeping in the dark, I wished the same for Coco. I wished that I had laid next to her on that little mat on our bathroom floor, with her sweet head cradled on my chest, while I gently stroked her back. I wished I could have held her and whispered, “It’s okay, girl. You can let go, sweetheart. Your job is done now. You rescued me.”

And of course, she would have looked up at me one last time, and in that raspy, whiskey-voice of hers, told me to “fuck off.”

Complicated Love. Complicated Grief.

April 29, 2022April 29, 2022 / boo king / Leave a comment

It’s been twenty-one years since Ma and The Old Man checked out of Hotel Earth. They died five weeks apart in the dead of winter. Like many things in their life together, Ma took the lead.

Ma died in the middle of the night in an antiseptic hospital room in Victoria. Although it was wonderful to have her close during her final year, it was also heartbreaking knowing that she wanted to go home to 204 and The Old Man. Made even more painful by the knowledge, the plain ugly truth, that the odds were slim to none that it would happen. She was alone, medicated into eternal slumber. The last lethal dose clung to her tongue like a leech as her gaping mouth grasped for her final breath and taste of being human in this manifestation.

Five weeks later and two thousand miles east, The Old Man died in the evening of Saint Patrick’s Day in a human warehouse for seniors, an old folks home, in a room he shared with another old man. My Old Man spent the last year of his life accusing this other old man of stealing his shoes. He died shortly after enjoying his last supper, dozed off unassumingly, and kept on dozing into eternity. I hope he met Ma there. At least that has been my prayer for the last twenty-one years. It brings me comfort, especially on my dark days during the interminable hour of the wolf.

My grief for Ma followed the classic seven stages. But it actually began eighteen months prior to her death when she suffered a heart attack so severe it was a miracle she survived at all, much less a year and half. Of course this is a testament to the feisty will and sheer grit of this formidable little woman. My grief was a slow and steady letting go, of releasing, of holding vigil, of saying goodbyes with kisses on the cheek, of laughter and tears, games of I spy. In the wee hours of the morning, when I received the news that she was gone, my initial reaction was one of shock and disbelief. Crazy, I know. We all knew this day, or night, was coming. And that it was soon upon us. But the heart often rejects what the head knows. To say I was in a severe state of denial is putting it mildly. Part of me sincerely believed that she would linger in this semi-life state forever, or for as long as I needed her to do so, until I was good and ready to follow her into the dark.

My grief for Ma was like my love. Plain and simple. Abiding. Uncomplicated.

My grief for The Old Man was the polar opposite. It was like my love for him. Complicated. Messy. A broiling brew of unhealthy emotions. They encompassed a gamut of the usual suspects — hatred, pity, indifference, frustration, embarrassment, anger, disappointment, sadness, sorrow, shame, confusion, bitterness.

But inside all that chaos and cacophony of consciousness, there was this other big thing. Love.

I loved him. And trust me, he was a hard man to love. Not always, but a lot of the time. Especially as he aged into being the proverbial grumpy old man. And as I age into the grumpy old woman, I have a different perspective towards him — as a man, a husband, a father. I’ve also acquired a deeper understanding of him and my complicated love. One of us has grown and evolved over the past twenty-one years. And since he’s dead, it’s safe to assume it’s me.

I’ve written a lot about The Old Man since March 17, 2001. I’ve explored his alcoholism and its devastating affects on our family; his love/hate relationship with his job as a Breadman; his love of sports, in particular baseball; his unfulfilled dreams of being a drummer or an umpire; his uncanny talent for playing the spoons; his volunteerism; his kindness towards the elderly spinster Jennie; his love of animals and birds; his obsession with shoes or kicks as he called them; his superb fashion sense; his capacity to laugh or cry at the drop of a hat; his faith in God; his ability to speak Finnish fluently; his hatred of his father and his devotion to his mother; his cursing and swearing at everything from wrestlers on TV to teenagers in souped up cars speeding past 204; his compulsion to purchase lottery tickets and chase get-rich-quick schemes; his love of a good joke, in particular those found in Reader’s Digest; his love of gardening and raking leaves; his depression, sadness and melancholy; his undying love for Ma, his fiery Italian girl.

It was through the telling of all these family stories, and our life at 204, that I processed all the emotions, all the things I felt towards him. At first I thought it was very simple. After all he was difficult, a nuisance, a pain in the ass, frightening and ill tempered, bigoted at times, a loser. His words and actions were unforgivable. I was rid of him. No missing this guy. I no longer had to wrestle with the polarization of my contradictory feelings. Hating him and wishing him dead every time he came home drunk, ranting and raving incoherently. And loving the good side of him — the kind, sensitive, shy, tender, generous, smart, funny, compassionate, caring and devoted guy. All the good things revealed in so many expressions of love over the years. The way he cradled our dead parakeet Petey in his hands and wept. Or the two-week, first-light ritual of spitting on my warts because he read somewhere that the first spittle of the day would get rid of them (and it did.) His extraordinary patience while teaching me to drive. His pride in his intelligent daughter after the annual meet-the-teacher nights. The way he hugged me when my heart was broken. And the wonder in his face as he held my son for the first time. How he ran selflessly to the aid of anyone in need. His inability to say no to me.

As the years have passed I have come to understand the full depth and breadth of this man. Yes, he possessed a dark side. He carried a backpack full of demons that haunted him all the days of his life. Demons so frightening that he self-medicated with booze and sugar. Depression so deep he hid himself away in shame and sorrow. In many ways he was typical of his generation. He didn’t talk about his feelings. No one knew about depression or anxiety back then. You didn’t go into therapy, at least not in our small northern town. That would be like admitting you were crazy or unhinged and needed to be institutionalized. It was a lock-the-door-and-throw-away-the-key mentality. No one wanted that. We chalked it all up to his drinking. It was the source of all our family woes, and our deepest darkest secret. What happened at 204, stayed at 204.

Eventually The Old Man did quit drinking. But by then it was too late. He became a dry drunk. Defiant. Obstinate. Hostile. Belligerent. Cranky all the time. Because the truth was, he still felt like shit. And there was nothing to silence the fear, pain and anguish. No crutches. Nothing to soften the edge. Reality bit him hard and it pissed him off. And in addition to his emotional pain, he suffered from a host of physical ailments. By the time he died, both of his legs had been amputated at the knees, as a direct result of diabetes and his unwillingness — or inability — to adhere to dietary rules.

This was where my complicated journey of grief began.

The thing about complicated grief is that it takes way longer to process. There were so many intricate and tangled feelings towards him that I needed to sort out. Thoroughly and exhaustively. And until I did, I was stuck. There was no moving on.

Writing, and the telling of our story, not only revealed the truth about him, but also about me.

Through this process, my compassion muscle grew and grew. Story by story, the layers were peeled away and the lens became clearer, sharper, more in focus. I began to see him for who he really was. Not just a grumpy old jerk. Or a pathetic excuse for a man. But a human being who struggled. Just like me. A human being who was broken. Just like me. A human being who tried to be courageous. Just like me. A human being who was overwhelmed by the world. Just like me. A human being who went to work every day at a job he didn’t always love. Just like me. A human being who was afraid to take risks. Just like me. A human being who was impatient. Just like me. A human being filled with self-doubt and self-loathing. Just like me. A human being who didn’t truly understand his worth. Just like me. A human being with weaknesses and addictions. Just like me. A human being who tried his best. Just like me. A human being who loved his family unconditionally but didn’t know how to express it in a way that was meaningful. Just like me. A human being who thought God had forsaken him. Just like me. A human being who was too sensitive for the world. Just like me.

Now, twenty-one years later, my grief for him is plain and simple. Just like my grief for Ma. It never really goes away. I’ve learned it’s never truly done and dusted. It washes over me in sweet gentle waves. Always unexpected but welcome. I weep for him now, in the same way that I do for Ma. Tears that are healing and restorative.

There is nothing left. But my love for him.

Pet Lessons

April 27, 2022 / boo king / Leave a comment

One of the hardest things for a pet owner to do is to say goodbye. This is something I know intimately. I’ve had to say the final farewell a few times over the years. It’s heartbreaking. Gut wrenching. Agonizing. But also, it is inevitable. And it’s the inevitability that’s the hardest part. It’s the looming specter that haunts our relationship. From adorable new arrival to grey-muzzled senior.

Impossible to let go.

But I do. I must. It’s part of our life together. The closing of the circle. This final honoring of the brief time we shared here on earth, during a particular season in the history of my life, and an integral part of the telling of our full family story. The different stages are marked by the pets that occupied our home, and most importantly, our hearts. For the large part dogs, but there have been a menagerie over the years. Cats, birds, gerbils, fish, hamsters, and all the wild creatures that I’ve loved from afar.

But dogs are my spirit animals. I relate best to them.

Dogs have taught me so much over the years. Unconditional love being the predominant theme but there are all the other virtues as well. Loyalty, faithfulness, devotion, dependability, trustworthiness, dedication, good humor, playfulness, compassion, empathy, forgiveness, perseverance, appreciation, gratitude, being of service, and doggone doggedness.

The most important lesson I learned from a lifetime of loving dogs has been to live in the moment. It’s been a hard lesson and I’m still not entirely certain that I have mastered it. If you’re going to love a creature with a life expectancy between ten and twenty years it’s best to come to terms with the fleeting nature of the relationship. One minute you’re cradling a playful pup with enormous soulful eyes and the next your resting your head beside a tired elder who is on the cusp of drifting away into the great hereafter. It’s that fast. A blink of your eye. A wag of his tail.

Every time I’ve brought a new puppy home I effortlessly slip into those rosy early stages of falling helplessly and hopelessly, head over heels in love. Denial is my default state of mind in the blissful beginning. It’s so easy to tell myself that it will always be like this. Forever best friends. We’ll spend our entire lives together. It’s easy because in the beginning, the end seems so far away.

But even then, deep down I know the truth. We won’t. It won’t last. In some ways, it’s the absolute worst kind of love affair. But it’s also the best. The purest. That’s why I continue to pursue it.

Somewhere in the middle years of your dog’s life you start to see the signs. The little “tells” that their puppy years are long gone. So are their hyper teens and the energetic robust years. Their pace is slowing a bit on your daily walks, their jump is a little closer to the ground, they don’t retrieve the ball as quickly, their back may even take on an arthritic sway. There are lots of little signs that things are starting to change. That’s when I’m sucker-punched with my first dose of reality. My puppy is on his way to being a senior. There is no time to squander. No more basking in the sea of denial. Every second with them must be savored. Cherished. Breathed in and held.

I must live in the moment.

This is the big life lesson each and every dog has whispered in my ear. Be here in “the now.” Appreciate this time. Stay focused. Remain in the present. This is all that truly matters. All we have. All any of us have, truthfully.

Don’t wander off. Don’t head on down the road of sadness before it’s time. Stay put. Stay, girl. Stay.

Embrace Your Inner Weirdo.

January 19, 2020January 19, 2020 / boo king / Leave a comment

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Go beyond your IQ Girl Warrior and embrace your IW. Your Inner Weirdo is the most glorious and incomparable thing about you. The best. The thing that makes you uniquely you. Beautifully unorthodox. Boldly unconventional. Brilliantly rare. And yes, sometimes even odd.

Oddly extraordinary. Oddly surprising. Oddly awe-inspiring. And most importantly, oddly original. There’s no one else like you in the whole wide world. Wow to that girl.

Let your gorgeous IW out of the box. Set her free.

But first, you must break through the barriers of fear, insecurity and doubt. None of these are real. They merely dwell in the dark side of your big imagination and are fabricated to keep you small and contained. Posers, Phonies and Pretenders. Kick them aside, step right through and march on. Then put your imagination, and all the gifts your IW brings to the table, to better use.

Your IW will bring a fresh perspective to the way you interact and interface with all the people, places and things in your cosmos. Everything changes when you emancipate your IW. New insights. Deeper understanding. Increased clarity. Profound appreciation. Greater gratitude.

More love. More laughter. More joy. More silliness. More spontaneity. More creativity.

More of all the things. From the ridiculous to the sublime. Your IW has a knack for bringing out “the more.” The everyday is transformed, the common is inspired, the ordinary becomes extraordinary. Your IW has the power to open your eyes so wide that the world around you is suddenly and profoundly illuminated, hopeful, promising and acutely reassuring.

Girl Warrior, you have not only found your place on Earth, you have found your people. Let that settle in for a moment. These are your courageous and crazy-sweet tribe of weirdos who have opened their arms and hearts with acceptance, unconditional love and grace. And remember, they may be weirdos but they are your weirdos.

Wow and wow to that girl.

Once a weirdo. Always a weirdo.

https://girlwarriorproductions.com/

Rumbling with Disappointment.

August 19, 2018August 19, 2018 / boo king / Leave a comment

This week I’ve been listening to Brene Brown’s book Rising Strong in the little red Ford Escape to and from work. Risking criticism for excessive use of alliteration, Brene Brown is a brave beautiful brilliant writer. And her book is bringing me to my knees. I am face down in the arena Brene. Get the book and you’ll understand the reference.

The book is making me think. And more importantly it is making me feel. Lots of feels. More feels than I can process in the twenty-minute drive to work. So I’m doing it here, in my safe space, and I’m sharing it with you, which doesn’t feel safe at all. Wearing my vulnerability on my sleeve, risking emotional exposure and shame is scary. I’m feeling the fear and doing it anyway.

One of the biggest feelings that Rising Strong has brought me face-to-face with this week is that of disappointment. Raw, unvarnished, unrestrained and intense, really fucking big disappointment. It sucks. I’ve been rumbling with this feeling all week but in truth, it’s been lurking in every single landscape of my life for years. I just couldn’t properly identify it until now. The hardest part is how personal it is. I can’t blame or point the finger at any other person, place or thing. It’s pointing directly at me. I am the bullseye. Me. Me. Me.

At the top of the list of disappointments – Summer in a Red Mustang with Cookies, a novel by boo king.

This is particularly grim because it was a story I was born to tell. The first draft was written back in the Toronto days when my oldest daughter was a wee one. For three or four years during her afternoon naps, I cranked out the first draft to three novels. Back then, naively, I thought writing a novel was just in the telling, which is what draft one is all about. I was not interested in going back in and doing the really hard work of editing and re-writing and re-writing and re-writing until I got it right. I just wanted to tell the stories and express myself creatively. And then move on. Kind of like my feelings. Move on from any of them that make me the least bit uncomfortable. True story.

Those three novels didn’t get past draft one. Eventually after twelve years, a modest career in Advertising as a copywriter, and one life-altering separation, I moved away from Toronto. I left with my two older kids, three cats, about a thousand bucks in cash that I made at a garage sale, overdrawn on my overdraft, no husband, no partner in crime, no job prospects, no security, no nothing, and headed west to Victoria looking for a brighter future and my happily ever after.

I got that. Well, sort of. I got a job in a small boutique design firm, found an apartment in the top floor of a house owned by a newlywed couple, met a man who didn’t fit, met another man who I fell in love with, got pregnant, declared bankruptcy, moved a few times, changed jobs, but kept working and working and working. Not as a writer but as a Production Manager/Producer. The writing stopped when I left Toronto. And it was killing me.

Since childhood, writing has always been my thing. The painfully shy girl’s voice, the saving grace, the outlet, means of expression, the avenue and channel for all my feelings, thoughts and emotions. I learned to read and then I started to write. Not doing it, felt wrong. I was ill at ease for years. Not right in my skin. I didn’t feel like me.

At the direction, and wise counsel of my best friend, who simply would not tolerate my whining about not writing, I began as she advised: one word at a time. Best advice ever and just one of the many reasons why I love her and why we’re lifelong friends.

Of the three first drafts I had written in Toronto, one of the stories haunted me, demanding that I pay attention and do something with it. I blushed with secret embarrassment reading the earnest and unbridled words of a much younger me, and then I immediately went to work flushing out the story. New characters emerged, old ones fell away but the main character, Jo survived and then magic happened. A completely new story was born around Jo. The “Summer” novel bore very little resemblance to the original first draft but that first draft was the impetus that lit the fire.

Because I was working full time, had three kids and little free time, I mapped out my daily writing time before the rest of the family got up. For almost four years I got up at 4:00 am and wrote before I did anything else. It was that important to me. At first, one word at a time, then one sentence and then one paragraph, page, chapter, entire novel. This time, I wrote, and re-wrote, and re-wrote, and re-wrote again and again and again. I was a ruthless, unsentimental and detached editor of my own work, a skill I had learned as a copywriter in Toronto. Then in February and March of 2001, within five weeks of each other, both my parents died. The novel was getting close to completion but not nearly ready for anyone other than me to read it.

I worked through my grief by writing. I became obsessed with completing the novel, with creating something that Ma and The Old Man would have been proud of. I stepped up my writing to include evenings and weekends. It was my passion, my magnificent obsession, my channel for dealing with sorrow and loss, and a tribute to my parents. It was a fictionalized version of our story. And in that frame of mind, I was determined to publish it. No one was going to stand in my way. No one.

By then, wrongly or rightly, I believed I wouldn’t be able to cope with, nor bear, any form of rejection or further loss. I also believed I didn’t have the strength, courage or wherewithal to jump through the hoops necessary to acquire a traditional publisher. The mere thought of receiving rejection letters was beyond endurable. I just could not do it. At least the story I told myself.

I decided to publish the novel myself. By this time I was a seasoned Production Manager and I knew how to pull a creative team together to get it done. To put it in perspective, in Canada self-publishing was in its infancy, so was blogging and social media, and there were very few Indie producers and artists. Nothing like it is today.

Fragile complicated emotions aside, the thought of undertaking a project of this scope intrigued and excited me. I hooked up with Trafford Publishing who handled all the publishing and legal stuff, hired my own talented crew of design and production professionals, proofreaders and beta readers, and solicited the feedback and candor of my best friend and editorial sounding board. Shortly before Christmas 2001, the book was published. With the exception of my children, it was my greatest accomplishment.

Seventeen years later, it is my greatest disappointment. It is at the very top of a long list of huge commercial failures – the novel, the book for girl warriors, the speaking engagements, the storytelling, the website, the girl warrior productions, the interviews, the t-shirts, the blogging, the poetry writing, the songwriting, the social media, the recordings and the guided meditations. Personal and professional flops each and every one. It’s exhausting just thinking about it. But Summer in a Red Mustang with Cookies hurts the most. The palpable pain of that disappointment is the worst, the fucking worst.

I didn’t have the courage and I wasn’t brave. Worse yet, I didn’t even try. And because I was unwilling to risk rejection by a traditional publisher, this funny heartbreaking little story, this homage to my parents, siblings, friends, neighbors and the redneck northwestern Ontario town where I grew up never took flight, never found its wings, and worst of all, never found its readers. And that’s all on me.

But it’s also on me that I acknowledge and accept that I feel this disappointment. It’s real and it’s okay, or it will be. It’s also on me that I am completely vulnerable, curious and have my heart wide open to all ‘the feels’ that will come. It’s also on me to keep rumbling with these feelings and to Rise Strong. And most importantly, it’s also on me to continue writing and storytelling no matter what.

Get Rising Strong here:

https://amzn.to/2w7FGTi

Learn more about Brene Brown here:

https://brenebrown.com/

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Interview with Girl Warrior Emily Braden.

July 16, 2017July 16, 2017 / boo king / Leave a comment

Today we raise our fists high and put our hands together in celebration of our Feature Girl Warrior, powerhouse singer Emily Braden, the big, bad beauty from Boise. Winner of New York City’s prestigious “Best of the Best” Jazzmobile Vocal Competition, Braden’s signature sound is an effortless blend of jazz and soul. Her debut album Soul Walk is composed of high-energy originals and “flipped-out” jazz standards. Braden has performed at notable NYC venues such as the Blue Note Jazz Club (Late Night Groove Series), Birdland Jazz Club, le poisson rouge, BAMCafe and as well as on international festival circuits. East coast residencies include Richard Bona’s Club Bonafide and Minton’s Playhouse in Harlem, the original home of bebop. Braden has traveled to Burkina Faso, West Africa as part of the US Embassy’s Arts Envoy program. She recently made her debut as a featured vocalist with Post Modern Jukebox. Her vocal versatility has earned her a place as a front woman with The Sketchy Orkestra, the Matt Parker Trio and Oliver Swain’s Big Machine. Her own group Double Bass, Double Voice released their debut album in the US and Japan in February 2017. See Braden live and she’ll make you a believer. This girl is smokin’, smokin’ hot.

What makes you a Girl Warrior?

I’d say continually putting myself “out there” and actively designing my life qualifies me a Girl Warrior. My belief that all people (that would include all self-identified women and, hey now, that would have to include me!) are worthy of being seen, heard and loved motivates me to trust and follow my own vision. I want to live a big life. That, and my ability to see an opportunity for growth in everything, everywhere, all the time.

You have a big bold brilliant career. Was music always “it” for you?

I am first and foremost a music lover. I’ve been a singin’ fool ever since I can remember but I didn’t necessarily see it as my career path early on. I would sing along with, imitate and study the greats for the sheer joy of it. It was out of that practice that I developed a voice. It wasn’t until high school when I went for a solo and felt a beautiful force and energy come through me – it was powerful. In that moment I realized that I not only had a voice but also had something to say.

From Boise to Manhattan … how’d that come about?

Boise, ID to Gresham, OR to Victoria, BC to Harlem USA. I’ve recently begun to embrace my unconventional beginnings as a jazz singer. I used to wish my story made more sense – that I had grown up in a place where jazz, soul and gospel flowed like water, or that my hometown had a little more musical “clout.” The truth is that my grandmother introduced me to some incredible music early on and I fell in love with it. I grabbed a hold, so to speak, and have since followed music wherever it has led me. I had great mentors in both Oregon and British Columbia. I packed two suitcases and moved to New York City in 2009 because I knew I needed to be immersed in the music I loved in order to begin to reach the level of artistry to which I still aspire.

You’ve sung in some amazing places in the world. If you could go back to one of those places to do it all again, where would it be? Why?   

My wanderlust runs deep. I’m crossing my fingers that my dream of having a great career effortlessly marries my desire to see the world. So far, so good. I’m currently in Bangkok for a month of music at a jazz club here and I already want to come back! I came over two weeks early to travel on my own in Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. There are so many places I have yet to see that I’m not sure I’d prioritize a trip back to anywhere over seeing someplace new. I loved Burkina Faso in West Africa, though I see myself visiting its musical neighbors, Mali and Ivory Coast, before returning. I also adored Cuba. I am bilingual and sing in Spanish as well so South America is also at the top of my list.

What has been your biggest challenge?

It’s cliché but I have to constantly fight against my own self-doubt and work to expand my understanding of what self-love really looks like. There is an undercurrent of negative self-beliefs that I am forever examining and pushing back against – the belief that I am not good enough, talented enough, that I am an imposter or somehow unworthy of the incredible things that I have been able to experience. What a buzz kill, really. There are also the very real challenges of being a woman in the music industry and a fat one at that. I rely on friends and fellow women artists for support and have also found strength in the body-positive, fat-positive and queer communities.

What obstacles have you overcome and walls have you broken down?

Moving to NYC within my twenties with no money and building a music career from the ground up! Being fat has shown me walls and barriers invisible to many. It could be seen as an obstacle but I choose to embrace my embodiment. It is one small part of who I am. If my size and shape hinders me from getting an opportunity, that opportunity was superficial and wasn’t for me – just on principle.

What would you say to your younger Girl Warrior?

Can I just hang out with her and shower her with buckets and buckets of validation? I would tell her that there is space in this world for her and for everything that she has to say and just – to go for it.

What would you say to future Girl Warriors looking for inspiration?

I would do my best to communicate the idea that they are already in possession of everything they need to find joy and live the life of their dreams. That can be a tough one though – how much time do we have together?

Who is/are your Girl Warrior hero(s) and why?

I have role models and certainly look up to the vocal goddesses that have inspired the masses but I’m not so big on the idea of the “hero/ (s)hero.” I am in awe and fall into a kind of love with most people I meet.

What’s next?

I am working on a new album and it’s been a long time coming. Hopefully a month alone with a piano in a hotel room in Bangkok will result in the completion of some of these song ideas that have been floating around.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

I have no idea and I feel great about that! One of most important things I’ve learned as an artist is to do the work and detach from the outcome. I say, “yes” to things even if (or especially if) they scare me. I show up for opportunities and follow through. I create music. What comes from that is not really for me to say. At the same time, I am an avid daydreamer and carry within me an elaborate vision of what I want things to look like and how I want it to “feel.” I do my best to nurture that and give it my focus. In five years, I’d like to be making music with a killing band in beautiful clubs, theaters and music festivals around the room. And if I let myself be completely honest, I’d like to be playing Madison Square Garden.

If a song were written about your life, what would it be called?

Maybe “Songbody.”

You can learn more about Emily @ www.emilybraden.com

Preview Soul Walk on iTunes @ https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/soul-walk/id336528400

Follow Emily on Facebook @ https://www.facebook.com/emilybraden/ and Instagram @ https://www.instagram.com/songbody/

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Interview with Girl Warrior Mel Baird.

June 11, 2017 / boo king / Leave a comment

Today we raise our fists high and put our hands together in celebration of our Feature Girl Warrior, mobile makeup artist Melanie Baird, a woman of character and the quintessential example of what true beauty is. For over two decades, Mel has brought her unique style to over 1000 weddings; to popular television shows, including Canadian Idol, Canada’s Next Great Chef, and Kool Countdown; the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games Closing Ceremonies; countless magazine features, editorial and print ads, music videos, CD covers, movies and commercials; plus, a finalist on Canada’s Next Top Model; BITE Beauty Founder Susanne Langmuir’s Movember Sephora Video; and Lieutenant Governor Judy Guichon’s official photo.

What makes you a Girl Warrior?

As a female business owner, it’s my ability to connect with women. I love getting to the depths of our Souls with talking and healing. Spreading my light and helping make the world a better place however I can.

We love your Feel Good Campaign. How did that come about?

I have been doing makeup on women for years and helping them feel better. Many clients have gone through cancer treatments and I would teach them how to do makeup to look and feel better. It became my passion. As I did more and more I wanted to make this a staple. I get the most joy helping people, and this merged my two passions. So myself, and Danielle Bennett King, do hair and makeup every month for a woman going through treatment or hard times.

What has been your biggest challenge – personally or professionally?

Professionally I would say my self-doubt/anxiety! If I don’t know how to do something well I tend to not feel comfortable trying. I can be hard on myself because my personal standards are very high.

What obstacles have you overcome and walls have you broken down?

I would say my anxiety and fears; they can hold you back. I loved makeup and taught myself how to be a makeup artist the old fashioned way – through books!

What would you say to your younger Girl Warrior?

This question makes my eyes tear up. I have SO much I would of loved to say! But mainly to not worry and all of your hopes and dreams do come true. Keep being you and have an open heart and beautiful things will happen.

What would you say to future Girl Warriors looking for inspiration?

Be true to who you are. Listen to your Soul. Feed your Soul. Work on inner growth because that is the key to happiness and abundance. Everything in your life will get better when you love yourself. You will be a beam of light! I try to teach this to my 18- year old daughter, especially by leading by example.

Who is/are your Girl Warrior hero(s)?

I am constantly inspired by strong women who help others. Women are nurturers and are powerful. We teach love. Also, any woman who saves animals or run rescue organizations are my heroes too.

What’s next?

To continue doing what I love and makes me happy. To keep growing as a person. Doing makeup. Laugh, travel, enjoy life, animals and my family.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

That’s always a funny one for me. For my career I feel I am exactly where I want to be. So then I think of other areas. I am very happy in my marriage and being a mother. So maybe travel more, do more yoga, work a bit less and spend more time with my father who recently moved here.

What message would put on your t-shirt?

There are two I love:

“Character is built through adversity” – Unknown
“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s Soul remains unawakened” – Anatole France

If you have someone you would like to nominate for Mel’s “Feel Good Campaign” please connect with her. In her words, “We would love to beautify and empower them.”

Connect with Mel on Instagram @mel_baird_makeup; through her Facebook page Melanie Baird Makeup Artist or her website http://www.melaniebaird.ca

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Interview with Girl Warrior Karen Cooper.

May 21, 2017May 21, 2017 / boo king / 1 Comment

Today we raise our fists high and put our hands together in celebration of our Feature Girl Warrior, the wise and wonderful Karen Cooper, entrepreneur, artist, yoga teacher and spiritual guide. A courageous risk-taker, Karen first hit the local scene with her business On Canvas Art Gallery, which was the perfect setting for her Stretch Yoga Studio. It was here that she fostered a loyal, and ever-growing, following of wisdom seekers and creative devotees.

What makes you a Girl Warrior?

I have learned that if I fall I can and will get up and I do. I have found that I can choose, that I am strong, that I will find a way to get up no matter what happens, I have learned to trust myself. I can be flexible; I will make the best of whatever is. I know that there is help and support all around me.

You worked in the fast-paced competitive business world for years. How did you get from that to yoga teacher, spiritual guide and fine artist?

My sister died of breast cancer, she was 40, and I was 39. That was when I chose to live life on my terms, for me, for those I love. As a result of that choice, I found the right books (which I think really saved my life), I quit smoking (that’s when I found out that I had strength), I spent a year in India (that changed my view of the world and, opened my mind), then I found yoga and spiritual practice (and that opened my heart my mind my body my spirit) and I have never looked back. It’s been a process, a journey, an amazing ride. It doesn’t mean that I don’t make mistakes or get scared, it just means that I find a new way to move. I will again take one step then one more and one more.

What has been your biggest challenge so far – personally or professionally?

I believe that my biggest challenge in life has been finding my self-worth, learning to believe in myself, to trust myself and finally to love myself unconditionally. It’s taken a long time with lots of experiences and just as many mistakes, the key is learning from them.

In my younger years I never forgave myself for any mistake that I ever made and I spent my energy and time trying desperately to never make another. I was so hard on myself. I remember thinking that if I quit or lost my job as a District Sales Manager that no one would ever hire me again, they would surely find out that I was a fake.

What obstacles have you overcome and misconceptions have you overthrown?

I have learned to breathe, to be still, and to listen to the whispers of my heart. This has been a huge undertaking. My Father (God bless him) believed that a knight in shining armor would come by, one for each one of his daughters, and care for them for life, that we need not worry. My Mother (God bless her) taught us girls how to be independent so we could rely on ourselves. As a result I had one foot in each thought process. Not to mention that I have lots of energy, and sitting still to listen long enough to hear the stirring of my own heart to find my own answers, to find my own truth, to see what is a misconception and let it go.

What would you say to your younger Girl Warrior?

Please sweetheart, be kind to yourself, don’t be so hard on yourself, you are worthy, you are lovable, you are enough.

What would you say to future Girl Warriors looking for inspiration?

Dear Girl Warriors, please above all else be kind to yourself, love yourself for all that you are with loving kindness and compassion, Live well, Love well, Be well. Find your gifts and give them, you do have gifts; remember this, with love.

Who is/are your Girl Warrior hero(s)?

My friend Karin, has survived 2 rounds of brutal cancer which has left her disabled and yet she is thriving with joy and gratitude.

Boo King, I have watched you over the years, get up from the fall, you do what needs to be done, you look after your loved ones and still manage to inspire us by living your passion. You do the work!

My sister Sandi and my girlfriends whose love and support never fail me, who make me want to be my best self, to stand tall in this life.

My friend and yoga student Elizabeth Wellburn who has stood by and supported me all these years and has done the same for so many, who gets up from all the falls and keeps going and lives her passions and supports her community living what she believes in.

What’s next?

In November I am going to Spain for 3 weeks with my sister and brother-in-law, a trip of a lifetime. When I get back I am planning my next big risk and challenge and adventure. I have no idea what that is at this moment but I trust it will come to me and I look forward to it. Food and shelter for all is a big deal for me, I’d like to do some work in that area. I believe there is a reason for everything and what we are doing in our lives right now is helping us to learn and prepare for whatever comes next.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

In 5 years I hope to still be alive, living my passion, walking my talk more deeply, continuing to learn and grow, to be curious and look up.

What’s your personal mantra?

My mantra, to walk more softly on this planet, to learn and grow all the days of my life, to be a light, to share my gifts. My favorite quote, by John O’Donohue sums it all up, “May you experience each day as a gift woven around the heart of wonder.”

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Interview with Girl Warrior Gina Hole.

April 30, 2017 / boo king / Leave a comment

Today we raise our fists high and put our hands together in celebration of our Feature Girl Warrior, a true Renaissance woman, Gina Hole. With more than 30 years of experience in the photography, film, video and commercials industries, Gina is the founder and Producer of THEY Produce in Vancouver Canada.

What makes you a Girl Warrior?

I’m a female entrepreneur, ex artist, business owner, agent, producer, director, volunteer, political voice, advocate and mother of four productive and independent teen & adult children.

Tell us a bit about THEY. How did that come about? Why THEY?

I began my career in 1981 as a professional makeup artist in fashion, film and celebrity. Before there were makeup schools we learned on the job and from magazines, but as well I learned from my Transvestite and Transgender friends, so really I learned from the best! Back then I would see and hear the news about hate crimes, homophobia and racism and it always dumbfounded me as, within our ‘fashion bubble’– a gay black man was considered iconic, like Andre Leon Talley, whom we were massive fans of and had huge respect for — and so I just could not comprehend that someone like Leon could walk down a street at night, even in ‘out’ Vancouver, and get beat up or even killed.

Skip to 2003 when I decided to open an agency representing professional artist, I began branding the agency I needed a good name. I had always found it interesting (and a bit irritating) that when I used to be working as a makeup artist on set, and the Creatives, directors or AD’s were talking about us the makeup/hair/wardrobe/etc. teams, and we would always be referred to as ‘They’, as in, “after They do the touch ups we’ll roll camera”…and I’d look around and think, “who is THEY? It’s only me, Gina here and I’m standing right here!”… This happened almost daily on jobs for over 2 decades, so it popped into my head instantly. Then I looked up the term in the dictionary and I was blown away to read that it was defined as, “an androgynous term for ‘he’ or ‘she’ “, as in “when THEY did my makeup…”. This was perfect, as it was an homage to my Trans friends in the 80’s that taught me to be a fearless artist (and attach lashes that do NOT fall off!) as well as it was my own personal inside joke and nod to my past career experiences. I am very proud of the gender-neutral name.

What has been your biggest challenge running your own company?

My biggest challenge at the very start was tackling an industry in Vancouver that had never had professional agency representation before for artists, models yes, but artists no, so in a way I pioneered representation of this nature, but it did not come without it stresses at the start! I am honored that all these pro’s in the city, all of the very best in Western Canada, put their portfolios in my hands and said, “okay Gina, rep me!” But I’m nervous as this has never been done and some photographers told me they’d “NEVER book me again if I join!” So these Pro’s that had been handling their own careers for 10+ years all of a sudden put their trust in me. When I think about it now, 14 years later, I am still blown away that they put their trust in me and I am forever thankful for that. To this day we still represent over half of these same artists that have been with us from day 1, or very shortly thereafter.

What obstacles have you overcome and walls have you broken down?

I feel as a strong, independent woman, I face obstacles everyday in business, even today in 2017. I see a few men still not being comfortable with a woman leader, I have sat in meetings in banks and with lawyers where they turn to my husband and start talking directly to him…this always makes me chuckle, as my husband stops that person and says, “you need to be talking to her”, and then I do all of the negotiating.

There are walls every day and obstacles, but the secret is to know who YOU are, keep your head held high and keep on going, or, my other favorite term, grow a set of women balls! That means be tough and believe in what you are doing’ even if no one else does, follow your heart.

Tell us about your passion project?

My passion project is my documentary I am producing and directing. I am following a young Transgender boy through his journey from transitioning from girl to boy. I am a year and a half into it, following him before he started his testosterone shots. I will be mostly likely another year and a half before I’m done and my hopes are the outcome is the documentary will help other trans or questioning kids.

What would you tell your younger Girl Warrior?

Oh soooo much! I suffered from so much anxiety as a child, was always fearful of the unknown and worried about being bullied because of my last name (“Hole”…can you imagine?), but somewhere deep down I always managed to find my power, I just always moved forward no matter how utterly terrified I was…and this theory has carried me through surviving a 35 year career in the business — even in Hollywood for 5 years — plus diving head first into directing a documentary. I NEVER set out to say, “I’m a director” but rather saw an opportunity that came to me and I didn’t say “no”, in fact, the basis to everything I do is never say ‘no’ (within reason and not illegal!), as you may loose out on something amazing. I have also learned that everything is “do-able”, everything!

What would you say to the next generation of Girl Warriors looking for inspiration?

I see anxiety rampant in teens and youth today, perhaps it is as simple as being over anxious to ‘instantly reply’ to every sort of social media ping and text that comes in. I’m not sure about that as I’m not an expert, but what I do try to say to my teen daughters and sons in their 20s is, ‘you do not have to answer immediately!”… and that advice is coming from someone whose whole career as an agent is to answer everything immediately so we don’t loose booking and money!

Who is/are your Girl Warrior hero(s)?

Gloria Steinem (who wrote a book about her own anxiety all the while being the face and leader of Feminism in the 70s)

Barbara Streisand (Another anxious woman who ignored that and pushed through to become an Academy Award winning actor, director, producer and of course, over coming her stage fright to be one of the best singers & performers in the world…we also have the same birthday!)

My Trans and LGBTQ friends and mentors from the 80s, the ones that taught me to be a perfectionist, and who we also lost to Aides, I am forever grateful.

What’s next?

Raising funds to finish my documentary so we can shoot in New York for the ending plus get my trans subjects into the studio to record their amazing music that we will use for the sound track.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Still welcoming projects that come in via email, text or land in my lap…and my answer to all of them is “yes, and how can we do this the very best it can be done!”

Also I’m not going to lie, I also see myself, and my husband, traveling more together and with our family, and having a great gin and tonic in as many different destinations that have gin!

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Finding My Voice.

April 9, 2017 / boo king / 1 Comment

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I found my voice. For many years I’ve suffered from writer’s laryngitis. My writer’s voice sounded sort of like me. But it wasn’t 100% authentic. Not really me. Close but no cigars.

When I first started writing I mimicked other writers. This wasn’t a conscious act on my part. I’ve always read a lot so when I started writing my own stuff I subconsciously channeled the authors that I liked to read. I learned to write novels by reading novels. I read for pleasure but part of me was always studying the technique, style and process the author used to tell their story. This was helpful. The hard part was erasing their voice from my head so mine could take over and tell my own stories.

The other hard part was shutting down my inner critic. The ugliest voice of all. The judge. Jury. And executioner of all things creative. The one who paralyzes. Punishes boldness. And pushes sweet dreams downward. Getting rid of that monster was essential.

It’s taken years to find my true voice. The one I’m using right now as I write this blog.

My authentic voice began to emerge in the writing of my first novel Summer in a Red Mustang with Cookies. Regrettable title. But for now I’m stuck with it. The challenge with writing a novel and creating fictional characters is creating authentic real voices for them. There’s your voice, which is the over-arching narrative. And there are the voices of the people you create. This was a fascinating journey of discovery. But only the beginning.

My real voice took a foothold in 2011 when I started this blog. Post by post. Bit by bit my real voice has surfaced. Manifested. Revealed itself. And it has been a joy.

For years I’ve felt like I was speaking through a blanket. Or many blankets on some days. Let the authentic honest voice out is frightening, intimidating, awkward, and at times disturbing. But it’s also liberating, empowering, profound, and the best thing that could ever happen to a writer. Or anyone.

We all have a voice. I learned that valuable lesson last fall.

I love to sing as much as I love to write. But I’ve always been self-conscious of my singing voice. So I reserved all singing to this room, the shower, along the quiet country road that I walk at lunch and church. Then there was that one cringe-worthy performance at our wedding where I sang the love song I wrote for E. Enough said.

That moment, recorded forever on our guests’ iPhones and posted to YouTube, has haunted me. I blush at the thought. But out of that experience came the next evolution in finding my voice. I spent four months exploring the physical voice with a wonderful teacher, who not only encouraged me to sing, but to do it fearlessly. Right from the gut.

You should too.

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