Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I know it has been awhile since I’ve written anything. Busy at work with the end of year and entering the new budget, I am trying to get caught up on new policies, contracts, and updates. Before I know it, the Adult Learning Program will have their fall classes ready to publish and the phones will be non-stop. I ordered new phones for the staff as we head into this new fiscal year of changes. And I admit, am WAY to excited to receive them in the mail!

I haven’t been sleeping as I am consumed with work and family concerns. Diving into both my art and the backyard, I have found my connection again.

Once lost, I realize my art completely relaxes me. Also, on the note of relaxation, we have a new volunteer in the office, a masseuse, who comes a couple times a month with her equipment to provide the staff with massages. Oh………gosh. Much needed after 50 hour work weeks.

Anyway, I am taking all of my free time AND what little energy I have and thrusting it into my art. Since my preference is chalk pastels, it is too difficult to clean up a dusty mess in our home and my hubby says, “nope, not in the house” so I have been dappling in watercolor as you all may have seen.

Image by Robin Moreau

We have so many fawns around our work and this is the first attempt of watercolor, I have painted of any animal. Poor thing.

Loving baby animals, I have been painting all sorts of creatures. Some turn out okay, while others? Well….

Image by Robin Moreau
Image by Robin Moreau

Like I said, some are “eh” but I am not complaining because they are what they are.

Image by Robin Moreau

What I can say, is I am not sure how much longer I will keep this blog. It is not that I don’t enjoy writing, but honestly, I don’t enjoy writing as much as I thought I would. I love, love, LOVE painting and my newest, gardening. I think I will stick with that. My subscription is up here at the end of August. I started my blog for a couple different reasons.

The first was to grieve my father. He will be gone one full year August 8th, 2019. And I just cannot believe it has been a year. The second reason was my bucket list. I wanted a blog, to try it. And I did. So now what? My father is gone and I have tried the blog. Moving on? I simply do…not…know.

However, I do have a few weeks to write and this will give me the opportunity to re-hash my thoughts.

Until then…..


Art and Tears

I’ve been doing it a lot, you know. Thinking about my dad. I am burying myself in my art, practicing in watercolor rather than pastel.

My dad would have enjoyed my mini paintings. He loved to sketch, to build, to paint. Oh how I miss him.

August 8th will be the one year anniversary of his death. I can feel it. I haven’t felt well for a couple of weeks now. I have been nauseated, anxious. Could it be this? Or something else?

I had a panic attack early the other morning at work. My folder for Tuesday morning of things to do was thick and I cried. What the heck is going in? Stupidity. This is not me, I love the busy work.

Lately I feel as though I am being swallowed whole. I can’t explain it, nor can I figure it out. I’ve given up trying. I have dove into my art, exploring new possibilities, new media.

I miss working in pastels but my gosh, talk about messy. My husband would have a fit. So I am resorting to watercolor. It is easy to clean up and there is no dust for the dogs to walk through and track throughout the house.

But the truth? I love this! Look at these beautiful colors.

Image by Robin Moreau

I have started my Christmas cards.

Here is a sneak peek:

Image by Robin Moreau

They are all different. Sigh. I hope to get through the next month.

I know dad would not want me to worry. I can see him shaking his head.

Miss you dad, love you ❤

Pretty Little Pills

If I had a dollar for every time I sneezed this past week I could retire.

Image by Robin Moreau

Thank goodness for these little pink pills. The only allergy medication that actually works for me. Although I aimlessly wander around like a lost buoy in the fog, at least I quit sneezing for a couple of hours. I would rather my brain be clouded with the attitude of a dodo bird than deal with the never ending sneezing and water faucet drippings of my ever-so-sore nose.

I should have invested in toilet paper companies. Forget kleenex companies. I need 2 ply, 150 feet of paper bliss.

This is how I roll.

No Bird, No Worm

I have been getting up at 4 am for years now. It was a mindset I had to be in when I was going to college and needed to get my homework done before I went to work for the day.

But now, I’m questioning it.

Yesterday I came home from work early because I was suddenly sick at my stomach and I felt “off”. I was dizzy, and the muscles in my chest hurt. I had come home and I laid like broccoli on the couch for the rest of the day.

This morning, my coffee is questionable. I know this is stress. Or grief because I am really missing my dad this last few days. April 12th was exactly 8 months since he’s been gone. 8 months. And all of the things that have come up, that I have questioned, he would have had an answer.

But he’s not here.

I question everything lately. And I am without answer. Maybe I am not suppose to have an answer or maybe I am not ready to hear the answer. Either way, I’m unsettled with many things and I’m annoyed.

This pattern needs to be broken. I have been locked into this weird transition of life and I can’t find the key.

I’ve graduated, why am I still getting up so early? It’s exhausting. My father has passed away, why do I still seek answers from him? He’s never coming back.

I need to slow it down. Why do I allow little things I cannot control, control me? Control my emotions? My behavior?


I need to seek life again and breathe it in. Focus, and take control.

The early bird does not get the worm. The early bird simply gets a first glance of the day. A bird’s eye view, no doubt.

The worms are still sleeping.

Quote by Winston Churchill

Oh Canada

I love Canada. It’s where my dad was from and when my husband and I travel there, I feel I’m in a magical world. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s because I know it was my father’s home place, or maybe it’s because I know he wanted desperately to get back there before he died but was never able to.

Image by Robin Moreau

There is so much beauty. Beauty I find in the smallest of things; the architecture…I get weak in the knees for architecture. My dad was a contractor and I think he bestowed in me the true beauty of it, the wood, bricks and stone, and the final outcome.

Image by Robin Moreau

I find beauty in the decor, design and color.

A year or so ago, my family traveled to Victoria and Bear Mountain. I never wanted to leave. Between the beauty of Butchard Gardens, the resort and the city, I was in Heaven. Even the rain didn’t let me down, despite the outcome of my hair. The beauty was far too grand.

Image by Robin Moreau

I believe I have permanently absorbed it into my brain, preserving it until my return.

Image by Robin Moreau

Someday. We will return. And for the love of my father, knowing he would have loved to have had the moment to experience once more the place he loved and had such fond memories.

Image by Robin Moreau

He lives through me, I am his spiritual tour guide, bringing joy to my heart. It may sound silly to you, but to me, it is another memory, a way of never letting go.

Image by Robin Moreau
Image by Robin Moreau

The picture below is one of my favorite pictures of my father. I don’t know how old I was when this picture was taken, I may not even had been born yet. Either way, it’s my favorite and it is one of many pictures I have, framed in my office.

Image by Robin Moreau

The Dying Heart

A tiny glimpse in the very beginning stages of a new piece of art I’m working on. The Dying Heart.

The Dying Heart – Image by Robin Moreau

I don’t believe following your heart is always best. I have heard this expression for many years and the older I get I am unsure of if it has meaning anymore. I think it can sometimes lead us to heartbreak, deception, and pain. Sometimes following our hearts is a long road that feels like a slow death.

The dying heart cannot tell you when its last beat will be. It can only tell you the pain and exhaustion it feels.

The heart tells us so much more than we realize. It tells us when we find love and with that love our heart swells. Swells for the one we cannot live without. Swells for the newborn we hold in our arms. A love thought never to be understood, until that moment.

Our heart breaks when we lose a loved one, or a friend. Losing someone doesnt necessarily mean death, loss has many variables at different levels. When loss occurs, the heart starts to slowly die. A loss we are never able to prepare for, whether it’s sudden, or over time. And the pain, so fierce it feels as though the depths of the ocean have grasped it tightly and squeezes until we surrender our last breath.

And surrendering means letting go.

And letting go is forgetting.

And forgetting is fear.

Our heart realizes it is only the beginning, until the end. And it patiently waits.

We lack the realization our heart needs rest. When we love our heart is content. When we cry, our heart is relieved, despite the pain. It rests.

As we age, our heart bursts with love and breaks with loss; enduring the most significant impact of waves that grows stronger, every year passing.

We fight the depths of its beats until the battle is mottled and we feel discolored. We grow weary, our heart fatigues. What battles, were once wars, are now nearly bickering until we froth no more.

No warning. No goodbye. It simply gives up. Flooded with love, it’s demise, broken hearted.


Fertilizer Heart – Image by Robin Moreau

We are over the half way mark in January and stores have already stocked their shelves with a color array of reds, pinks and white. Googly eyes stare back at me as I walk past the card aisle with all hope to be chosen for my Valentine. As the years go by, I’ve noticed the decor, cards and cheap gift trinkets are getting uglier and lack any class whatsoever.

I hate Valentine’s day. For retail businesses, it is a smart but overrated, fish hook marketing strategy that pulls the wool over many consumer’s eyes and pick pockets their wallets. The price of flowers triple, and restaurants are booked with reservations and for what? Loved ones scramble to show their significant other how much they love them by going into debt in a matter of minutes. Nope, not me. I best be getting (and showing) lovin’ ALL year round. Don’t be saving it up for one day and feel obligated to follow the overrated trendy suit of other blindsided consumers.

So where does this St. Valentine holiday come from? Certainly not from a day of romance. Valentine’s day origininated from the Roman festival Lupercalia, but it originally was held on the 15th and by far, NOT romantic! It was a day full of animal sacrifice, with bloody violence and sexual behaviors with the intenion of warding off evil spirits and infertility. Roman legend has it that King Amulius ordered to have the founders of Rome, his twin nephews thrown into the Tiber River to drown….all because of their mother’s broken vow of celibacy. Thankfully, a servant took pity and placed them in a basket, then cast down the river, where later they were found by a she-wolf and eventually adopted by a shephard and his wife (, 2017).


She Wolf – Sculpture at Capitolini Museum, Rome

The most common legend is from 3rd century A.D., a man named Valentine was executed by Roman Emperor Claudius II because while imprisoned, tried to convert Claudius to Christianity. This didn’t go over so well with Claudius and Valentine was beheaded. Then Pope Gelasius from the late 5th century A.D. decided to eliminate the pagan celebration and have the “martyrdom of Saint Valentine instead” (para. 12-13).

How romantic do you feel now? So for this upcoming Valentine’s day, I think I will opt out yet again, to pass on the retail love quorum of madness and stick with the year round deed of showing my love to my loved ones. No beheading or throwing anyone into the river to drown.