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Dear Santa,

 I hope you and Mrs. Claus are well…and Rudolph too.  We have lots and lots of snow this year so it will be really easy to land your sleigh on my roof.  Can you please replace the wire cap on the top chimney after you leave or else my Dad will get mad again because the birds like to make their nest in there.  I don’t want to have to eat deep-fried robin ever again… 

I’ve tried to be very good this year…honest I have…but sometimes I know I was kind of naughty…I didn’t mean to be…but I hear all these different voices in my head and they keep telling me to do very naughty things.  Sometimes I say naughty words and write naughty things too…I don’t mean to…they just come blurting out…and well a girl has to make a living somehow.  And sometimes I think them too.  Being just a little naughty isn’t all that bad is it Santa?  I mean I haven’t shot anyone…well I did shoot that duck with the Airsoft gun but he was okay and flew away…albeit leaning a little to the left.

 And sometimes Santa, I drink too much.  Not often, just sometimes.  And then the voices inside of me come out and want to talk to everybody.  I try to keep them in…but it’s so hard.  Sometimes I try to get rid of all of them at once by throwing up in the toilet or on a nice soft piece of grass…but they always come back.

 If you can forgive me Santa, I do have a few items on my Christmas list:

  1. A drum set
  2. A keyboard
  3. World peace
  4. A 10 foot by 10 foot shed
  5. Hairless legs
  6. More manageable eyebrows
  7. A way to eat yogurt while driving without slopping it down my crotch
  8. A night with Orlando Bloom  (I just want to play Scrabble – honest)
  9. Increased flexibility (I have my reasons…Mrs. Claus will tell you)
  10. 10. The ability to do a perfect cartwheel just once…

 That’s all I want Santa and if it’s too much then maybe just focus on the even-numbered items.  I will leave you some cookies and Rudolph some carrots.  The other reindeer can fend for themselves.

 I love you Santa.

 Love,

Trish

DID THE GERMAN GOVERNMENT ALLOW TERRORISTS BAADER MEINHOFAND RAF TO ASSASSINATE ITS CHIEF PROSECUTOR?

 One decision.  That’s all it took.  One ill-advised, reckless decision and the course of his life changed forever…

 “I Was, I Am, I Will Be” released today in eBook format by BenBella Books offers remarkable evidence of a shocking cover-up by the German Government.  Written by John Coventry and Trish Faber, the book in part details the meeting of a British Intelligence officer and Verena Becker on April 7, 1977, the day of the fatal shooting.  How could she possibly be in two places at once? 

 There’s nothing more intriguing than a true-life thriller, where the protagonist manoeuvres through a world of high-stake drugs, espionage, and terror.  Along the way, he unwisely falls in love with a woman whose commitment to her cause is greater than the love she shares with him.  “I Was, I Am, I Will Be” chronicles the life of a young British man, born into wealth and prestige.  But this storied background isn’t enough to save John Coventry from the lure of easy money when the opportunity arises…

Some called him a liar.  More called him a thief.  In the end, it was all he could do to stay alive.  A remarkable and true story, “I Was, I Am, I Will Be” will engage your mind and pull at your heart.  You want him to do the right thing but sometimes even the right thing turns out wrong.  Life is about choices.  Will the good ever outweigh the bad?

It was the winter of my eighth year and I’d just settled down on the couch with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Too cold to play outside, I thought what better way to kill a lazy Sunday afternoon then to immerse myself in a good book, a special book, a book all about me. My baby book. A book chronicling my existence for the past eight years. My three older brothers had one, so did my sister. Surely my book would be the best, filled to the brim with exciting stories of my birth, first Christmas and every milestone in between.

I snuggled under a wool blanket and set the book on my lap. Funny, it still seemed quite new. The spine had hardly been broken. Probably my parents just being extra cautious, wanting the book to last a lifetime. I sighed and opened the first page. There I was, cute as a button, lying buck naked on a blanket. My name, date of birth, height and weight carefully printed underneath. I felt special. I turned the page. My Christening. The same white gown worn by all the babies in my family. Four different pictures of me again looking cute and lying on a blanket. The page filled in with dates and names of people who attended the ceremony, even the gifts. Satisfied, I flipped the page.

I was one year old. One picture of me with cake on my face and in my hair. Five pictures of me flopped in the middle of my siblings, a note scribbled underneath, “Danny (my older brother) was sick, canceled the big party and had just the family. Tricia had fun smearing cake in her hair.” Of course I laughed. I scanned the page for a list of my presents or any other documentation of the day. Nothing there. Just empty lines where the information was supposed to go. Mom and Dad must have forgotten. I’m sure they meant to go back and fill in the blanks. My second birthday would be better.

Apparently I never turned two or three or four for that matter. The pages were all blank save for a few scribbles here and there about me getting the measles or the chicken pox. What could have happened? I checked Danny’s book. His was packed with pictures, hair clippings and certificates; there was even extra writing in the margins. The other books were just as full. The pages practically ripped from their spines from overuse. I was confused. I hopped off the couch and headed to find my Mother for answers.

As soon as she saw the book in my hand and the tears forming in my eyes, she knew the gig was up. “Honey I’m so sorry. I wanted to fill everything in. I really did but I just…” “Is it because you don’t love me as much?” I asked. “Don’t love you as much? Come here.” I crawled onto her lap and burrowed my head in her chest soaking her shirt with my tears. “Sometimes Mommy and Daddy get really busy taking care of you and your brothers and sister and they forget to do important things like write things down in your baby book. They don’t mean to but it happens. Next time I have a minute; I’ll go back and fill in all the blanks. How does that sound?” I nodded okay and ran off to play.

To this day my baby book lies unfinished. The result of being the youngest of five busy kids. It’s alright though. I’ve dealt with the trauma and moved on. It’s only a book and my memories of my own childhood are so vivid, I could probably go back and fill in the blanks myself. But I don’t have to.

See my Mom did keep her promise. On my twenty-third birthday, she gave me fifteen detailed, double-sided, handwritten pages filled with stories and moments about my life. Turned out being better then all the baby books put together. And to think I’d once asked her if she didn’t love me enough. Shame on me.

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I meant to post this last week but didn’t have a chance.  I was honoured to write his obituary.  Miss you always Captain Stevie! 

PHILLIPS, Steve – On Thursday, September 30, 2010 – The curtains fell and the lights dimmed on the wonderful life of Stephen Phillips. Steve passed away peacefully at home in Union, at the age of 45. He was a man who defined the true meaning of ‘Living life to the fullest’, whether it was his outgoing personality exploding on the stage in song, or his laid-back chillin, as he cruised the lake in his boat – no shirt, flip flops, and a pair of designer shades. That’s just the type of guy Steve was. He had charisma, the type of person who would welcome you with a genuine smile and an ice-cold beer, especially if you shared his love of the Montreal Canadiens or the Washington Redskins.

As the lead singer for several different bands, such as ‘Justice Priest’ and ‘Damn Pigeon’, Steve was a warrior on the stage. Ripping through the lyrics with power and energy, he put every ounce of his soul into each rock and roll performance. Faced with the devastating diagnosis of cancer, Steve donned his battle gear, reminding himself, ‘it isn’t how many times the warrior gets knocked down . . . it’s how many times he gets back up’. Steve faced the struggle with vigor and tenacity, never backing down from the endless challenges the disease threw his way. He fought for his wife, his children, his family, his friends, and his future. And while he didn’t get the chance to do that final victory dance, his strength gave us the courage to always keep the hope alive.

Steve started working for Mackies at the tender age of 12, helping Grandpa Phillips pick up the garbage from the beach in Port Stanley. From there, he graduated into master orangeade maker and fervent protector of the Mackies secret sauce recipe, continuing the task until May 2009. He was forever proud to wear the Mackies blue and orange. A beloved member of the community, Steve had the privilege of giving many different people the keys to their new homes. He took pride in his work as a Real Estate Agent, and went out of his way to ensure his clients had complete satisfaction.

So farewell dear Steve. But know, this is not goodbye. Your spirit lives forever in our hearts, minds, and our souls. Thank you for your love, your kindness, and your laughter. You were a life force that couldn’t be denied. Thank you for being you. You will never be forgotten . . .

Steve was the much loved husband of Kathy (Quick) Phillips and dearly loved father of Emily and Nick. Dear son of Christina Phillips of St. Thomas and Mike Phillips (Demi) of British Columbia, and loved brother of Sondra Gantner of PEI, and brother Jed Phillips of BC. Dear son-in-law of Wayne and Joanne Quick of Port Stanley, and dear brother-in-law of Sandi Quick and Victoria Phillips. Sadly missed by a number of aunts, uncles and cousins. The family will receive friends at WILLIAMS FUNERAL HOME 45 Elgin Street, St. Thomas on Monday from 2-4 and 7-9 p.m. A service to celebrate Steve’s life will be held at Knox Presbyterian Church, Hincks Street, St. Thomas on Tuesday at 11 a.m. Cremation has taken place with entombment of ashes to follow the service, in Union Cemetery. Remembrances may be made to the London Regional Cancer Clinic.

Published: Oct 2, 2010 London Free Pree, St. Thomas Times Journal

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On the occasion of this being Thanksgiving Day weekend here in Canada, I thought it’d be appropriate to write about the things I’m most thankful for in my life…

I’m thankful…

  • I can walk into my kitchen, open the fridge and know I have food to eat – everyday
  • that at night I get to sleep in a nice warm, comfy, soft bed and not on the street
  • I have the freedom and right to do what I please as a woman and a human being
  • I have a job and a career I love and want to do for the rest of my life
  • I was able to have my mother in my life for 24 years – it could have been less
  • that even though I could be having the shittiest day ever, I know the sun will rise in the morning and everything will be okay
  • I can dance like nobody’s watching, anytime I want…
  • I don’t throw a baseball like a girl
  • I have opportunities that most people can only dream about
  • that I can laugh at myself…(it happens often)
  • for peanut butter and jam sandwiches, tomato soup, and homemade macaroni and cheese
  • rain storms/snow storms and a good book
  • for candlelight
  • that I have hopes and dreams…even if they don’t always materialize
  • that I rarely sweat the small stuff…just isn’t worth the effort
  • I live in a country that has four distinct seasons – change is good
  • I have a wonderful family and group of friends that support, encourage, and love me just the way I am

But most of all, I am thankful that so far in my lifetime, I’ve only had a bird shit on my head once…

I’m just saying….

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

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My Apologies…

So as you can probably tell, seeing this is just my second blog post since Feb…I am not the most dedicated blogger.  It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s just that by the time I’m done conversing with myself, I’m usually worn out.

But “they” (as in every other writer/agent/publisher) insist that in order to succeed in this profession, you need to be a diligent and profilic self-promoter…which doesn’t bode well for me, since I can’t seem to promote myself enough to even score a date…

So, in the interest of career (and personal) development, I will attempt to blog more often…maybe attract a small following or at least a stalker that will send me chocolate on Valentine’s Day.

…not that I need the chocolate.

I’m just saying…

An Introduction…

So here it is…my first real and true blog post.  I’m not sure I’ll be one of those people who blog everyday and I promise not to write in funny little coded poetry a la Rosie O’Donnell.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it just requires too much effort on my behalf.  That’s also not to say I won’t write any sort of poetry at all.  I seem to know many words that rhyme with pooh…and I have been known to put together a mean rap.  Boom-shak-a-lak-a-lak-a-boom.  I know…I’m quite sophisticated. 

 I like to dance like no one’s watching and model-walk through the park on a glorious summer’s eve.  That’s just who I am…and I don’t care if someone’s watching, just as long as they don’t take any pictures.  I’m not that photogenic and my ass always looks three times larger in photographs, despite the Spanx and the duct tape…

 I drink wine and yes, sometimes I drink wine while I write, but that doesn’t make me a drunk, and besides anyone who knows me, knows I can’t hold my liquor worth a damn.  Two and I’m out.  (Okay one and a half).  But on the bright side, it definitely keeps my calorie count in check! 

 I’m just saying…

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