The first of many. . .

If you've made it this far, I would like to officially welcome you! Many have been subjected to my status updates that should have been notes on Facebook for years. This is not meant to replace that but to give me another outlet of sorts.

I've always wanted to blog. Futile attempts were made when Emily and Liam were little. The years have passed and here I am once again with this insatiable desire to write. I guess it's one that has been with me since I was a little girl. In addition to my little navy blue painting smock with the striped trim, burgundy t-strap shoes, Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox, and friends I can still recall the names of, some of my clearest Kindergarten memories are of my time spent with a little plastic typewriter. While the wooden kitchen centre and the creepy baby dolls provided endless hours of entertainment, the typewriter at which  I could sit and pretend to "do the news" like my idol Barbara Frum is where the magic unfolded. It was on more than one occasion when my teacher Mrs. Varma had to gently remind me about the importance of sharing after I had told some classmate or another the typewriter was mine while we were at school. I still have recollections of watching Frum on "The Journal" on the CBC on our old floor model television as well as in later years of my childhood how her persona was parodied on "The Raccoons". Quiet tears were shed when she passed away in the Spring of 1992 when I was in 10th grade.

Some have asked me if I ever regretted not pursuing journalism as a career. I am grateful that I am a teacher and a Mom. I am not one to complain as I stand near the edge and see the next seventy-something days lay ahead of me. Amazing holiday schedule aside, I take pride in my work and the number of lives I have impacted whether it be in the classroom, on the stage, or in the gym. I would not change the past seventeen years for anything. My forty-one year old self has NO regrets about anything really. However, there is still a part of me that has hung on to a childhood dream that has not been an easy one to put to rest. My time spent as a reporter with the former 53 North allowed me to make that dream a reality if only for a while. I grew so much as a writer, as a person, and truly enjoyed every moment of my days spent there. My short lived column with The Aurora enabled me to share my reflections and do much of the same that this blog will offer. Though I wrote professionally without the official paperwork, I honestly would love to see my name on a journalism diploma or a certificate from some accredited school.  

All of that said, I can't help but ask if I would I still love to write and report if I had pursued that route? Who knows? Teaching English in no way has diminished my love for reading and writing. In my heart of hearts, I am confident in saying that I would have exhibited a passion for journalism that would have equaled and on some days surpassed that I have shown for teaching. And if I were to sit and converse with my six year old self, I'm sure that quirky little girl with the vibrant brown eyes and long dark hair would be pleased with how life has unfolded.