The Bra Street Rambler

The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and if you're a northerner, you're relieved to see the colour green sprouting up after seven long months hidden beneath a heavy duvet of white snow. Spring is here!! Aside from the weather, what does that mean? Well for starters, it means a much needed dose of Vitamin D to boost our moods. For some of you it means tanning is now in session, and for the rest of us, it means our transformation into red lobsters is once more inevitable, no matter how much sunblock we arm ourselves with. The arrival of spring might also mean a heavy dose of motivation. A second chance, if you will, at a new years resolution that was denied us while our convictions battled snow storms with oh so cozy pajamas and taking shelter indoors. Either way, to this Bra Street Rambler, it has always felt much more like the beginning of the year than January 1st ever has. The rain comes in and washes the remnants of a desolate winter away, seemingly dead plan...

Last week, I wrote about my joy in moving back to the small town I was from. Why do I love living in a small town instead of a city? Because there are so many aspects about the life I grew up knowing that are still present here. There is still the presence of values that are often only ever seen in small towns anymore. What am I referring to? Remember when we all knew our neighbours? When you knew the person who lived across the street, down the road, and on the next block? When they all took turns asking how your mother was, if you father managed to fix that thing he was working on, what your brother or sister was up to, how things were going with that sport you played or that hobby you enjoyed? When we went out and did things together rather than staying home and watching tv or playing video games? Remember when people helped people, and looked out for one another? Do you remember the days when a loose dogs owner could easily be identified, if not by you th...

Returning Ramblers are by now well aware of the fact that I have recently moved. What they may not be aware of is that this move has involved a lot of puzzled faces from those around me. See, I moved from an apartment that was a short twelve minute walk to work, to one that is anywhere between a forty to sixty minute commute. Again and again, I have found myself explaining to people that the commute doesn't bother me because I'm in a much happier and healthier environment. Reluctantly, they would accept my explanation wanting to show support for my happiness. I was content to repeat my explanations in this way, further explaining that I am also much closer to family, friends, and weekly family gatherings. Until this week, when a long conversation with a nice cab driver caused me to further explore my reasoning for being happy with this move. Something clicked. In making this move I had shifted from living to work, to working to live. Don't get me wrong, I love m...

Those who know me, or have read my latest blogs, may know that for the past year and especially of late, I had been going through a rather tough time. The reality is that I was in a pretty bad living environment, and it was affecting both my physical and mental health. It was changing my behaviour and I did not like who I was becoming. I was being woken all hours of the night and unable to rest or recharge during the days and evenings, I was bitter and resigned to the constant yelling, and persistent noise and odours from the tenants above and their dogs. It was time for a change. But lo and behold right before it was time to move, right when I had begun to pack, I injured myself to the point of even being unable to pack my belongings. It was looking like I wasn't going to be able to move as soon as I had hoped, and this was a rather large blow to an already broken spirit. Or so I thought. Friends and family who knew of my living situation quickly began showing up ...