It is not a protest vote

Warning: rant ahead. 

I am a voter in the electorate of Higgins. Higgins, a (possibly formerly) safe Liberal seat, in previous terms boasting most recently an Assistant Treasurer (Kelly O’Dwyer) and formerly a Treasurer who would never be PM (Peter Costello).

In a shocking development for the LNP, Higgins has been polling strongly for the Greens. Obviously worried, the LNP have been bombarding the electorate. I have received, in the last week, letters from the state representative, Ms O’Dwyer and now Peter Costello.


I’m not really thrilled to be contacted by a former member (by 7 years, the better part of a decade, though Greg tells me that it is legal). However really got my goat in this letter was suggesting that not voting for the Liberals was a “protest vote”.

Let me make this clear for my member and for the Liberal Party, and any other party talking about “protest votes”: anyone in this electorate, or any other, choosing to vote for whoever they feel best represents their view is not casting a protest vote.

They are highly dissatisfied with (undifferentiated) two-party politics.

They are mortified by state-sanctioned cruelty.

They are unhappy that businesses, often overseas enterprises, are being represented before they are.

They are dissatisfied with their representatives appealing to the lowest common denominator and the rise of anti-intellectualism.

They have had it with elected officials outright lying and abusing their privileges at the cost to every Australian, with no one willing to take on a corrupt entitlement system that ultimately benefits them.

They are sick of having money wasted on non-issues, like a plebiscite on who consenting adults can marry, which the government will not regard as binding.

They are disgusted that money keeps being stripped from services that ensure safety, health and wellbeing for everyone.

They are destroyed that politicians seem to think that economic survival can only come at the destruction of our unique, natural wonders and not in innovation.

Not voting for Labor or Liberal in this election is not a “protest vote“. It’s the death knell of the two-party preferred system, at the hands of a public who would like to actually be represented by people who aren’t ok with corruption and don’t want to take away everything that makes Australia great.

And talking down to your highly educated, highly literate electorate is not doing you any favours.

Image saga update

This post relates to my previous posting on being an internet sensation.

As of today, I’ve had one response from to say that they are looking into it after my post–no doubt after it started to garner some wider attention from people who were friends of friends (we all know how that can go). It’s been another two days since their response to my post on their wall.

I’ve sent two online queries under two different sections, unsure of to which category my query related.

So, to upping the ante, which is apparently the only way to get a response out of anyone…

There’s this post over on the Facebook Page (where I got my response):
(Update 01/07/2020: This post has now been deleted. Not by me, as far as I can recall)

And also this post on Twitter:

I even posted it on Google+.

If anyone wants to help me get answers, please comment on the Facebook post or like it. Twitter users, retweet or write a tweet of your own while sharing the original tweet as a retweet. Resharing or commenting on the Google+ would be cool too, if anyone has the time.

Blood donation: other ways you might not know you’re helping

I’m a big believer in blood donation. My grandfather had an aggressive leukaemia and in the course of his treatments received bucket loads of blood. I’m sympathetic to haemophiliacs and burns victims, cancer patients, mothers and babies in distress childbirth, or those in surgery who need our blood. I try to donate as often as I can, but mostly donate plasma these days, as I feel less fatigued afterward.

I made a discovery when I came back for my first donation since I returned to Australia. When I had to sign to update my new release form, I noticed it now recorded my cytomegalovirus (CMV) status.

CMV is a herpes virus. It manifests for most as no more than a low-level cold. Around half of us have already contracted it without knowing. The largest risk is to immuncompromised people, more so for those who haven’t had it, and pregnant women in their first trimester. It can be a congenital condition, infecting 33% of babies and causing a myriad of problems where the mother has contracted CMV for the first time while pregnant. There’s less risk when the mother has had an infection.

The Red Cross Blood Service screens for it because they don’t want to give CMV to someone who hasn’t had it, or to a baby or to someone immunocompromised (like my grandfather fighting leukaemia), in the same way they screen for ABO (blood type) and Rheusus groups (that good old positive or negative next to your blood type).

But, apart from identifying those who’ve had the virus, they also use blood products to treat the mothers, by using hyperimmune globulin, which is a blood component created by our bodies in an immune response. These immunoglobulins are collected from the donors blood to be bottled and given to  Receiving this immune product allows for a passive immunisation, where someone else’s immunoglobulins fight the disease, like your own would if you had the antibodies. In the same way, nursing mothers protect their baby with the colostrum and antibodies in their milk; another great example of passive immunisation.

This realisation is important to me for one reason. My best friend caught CMV in her first trimester. We didn’t know much about it at the time because it’s not really talked about. And there’s not much in the way of treatment to allay some of the worse problems it can cause in a baby’s development.

Image supplied; copyright to photographer.
Happy little girl who is a congenital CMV survivor

Because of the generosity of many Australians who rolled up their sleeves, my friend was able to be treated and her unborn child was able to be protected.

Baby is here now, and she’s still on her journey, which will no doubt still have some ups and downs. But blood donors like you and me gave a little girl a fighting chance to beat the effects of CMV.

So I’d like to thank you if you donate, and for having tried even if you don’t fit the very strict Red Cross standards. I’d like to encourage people who haven’t thought to donate for a while, for whom it has just fallen off the radar, to ring 13 14 95 or visit to see if you qualify.

Spring adventures in Canada: Part 6

Bay of Fundy and Annapolis Valley


It was a glorious day as we wound through the south-eastern coast of the Bay of Fundy. The area is replete with wineries but the one we stopped at for lunch, Luckett Vineyard, was perfect. It had a simple and delicious menu, we sat in toasty sunshine overlooking the vines and shared a bottle of white. We had a few tastings and walked out with quite a few bottles of wine, including one blueberry wine. Delicious. I wish the interstate laws didn’t still prohibit transport of alcohol across state line so I could get them here. The fun little quirk about this winery is that they have a red telephone box in between the vines, and you can call anywhere in Canada for free. One of the wines is even named after it.

We stopped at Burnt Coast Lighthouse, which was full of blooming flowers and bright red cliffs. The sand is swirled with reflective metallic particles of some sort. As the lighthouse itself was closed, we wandered down on the flats in the hope of exploring and maybe seeing the impressive Bay of Fundy tide, which is renown for changing visibly. The whole bay is extremely shallow, so the changing of the tides can be quite dramatic.

Our home for a few days was a renovated church in Annapolis Royal, which was the most beautiful place I have stayed to date, and quite potentially my dream home. It had a reading nook upstairs, big bedrooms and a lovely deep bath, with the shower tucked away in a little stone corner. The owners had done an amazing renovation and it was so peaceful. All the smallest touches were present; old glass bottles embossed with crosses, a matching dining and lounge theme, a bookshelf full of books.


Part of the attraction of Bay of Fundy was that it was supposed to be another great area for whale watching, particularly an area called Digby Neck, a finger of land jutting out toward the mouth of the bay. When we went, the ocean was grey and stormy, and the incessant rain put everyone off. My brother Duncan and his partner Phoebe went back later in their trip and tell me that it is quaint and lovely on sunny days.

We did find, in a little tucked away cove, the story of a sailor dumped in the 1900s I believe with his legs cut off. He was known never to speak and only once to ever be visited. The mysteries you discover!

Hitting up a little fishmonger in town, we had the best scallops of our stay. Nova Scotia does seem to have a corner on the seafood market. Nothing compares to the freshness you get locally.


Our journey took us to southern coast of Nova Scotia. The seascape is really interesting here. In some places, particularly a little place called Blue Rocks, there’s barely any distance between the ocean and the road, approximately 2 meters and very little elevation. Undoubtedly, the road must be cut off often by rough or high seas. Pier pilings are built into the rocks and I even saw an elegantly designed boat ramp of one large, continuous piece of what I would think was shale. The rocks either dark and angular, or round with a rusty colour, and dramatic beside the iron-grey stormy seas. I must say, I was sad not to see it in the summer sunshine but the area had austere and aloof beauty that was not diminished by the turbulent weather.

20130629-IMG_1386-1We stopped at the famous lighthouse at Peggy’s Cove, which was crawling with tourists even before the high season. It’s a first world photographer problem when you can’t get a shot of what you want to without randoms walking in. There were signs everywhere reminding people that this was a lighthouse and water did wash up on to the large raft of rocks beneath the lighthouse. It may function very little, but it’s there because its close to rocks and treacherous seas! What stole our attention was the village below, brimming with dilapidated old boats, little shops with glass buoys and sweet little cottages on the rocks, all reflected in a dark glassy sea.

It was from here that we headed to the Nova Scotia state capital.

To read about our journey from the beginning, start here, or you can go on to Halifax.

Spring adventures in Canada: Part 1


Vancouver and Ontario

Lionsgate Bridge
My partner and I  stepped off the 16 hour flight from Sydney into Vancouver’s nippy Spring. Typical West Coast weather for the first week: alternating drizzling rain and sunshine. Even though our hotel for the first week was on the party strip (we’re not clubbing enthusiasts…) we really didn’t notice. Granville Street is bustling and a bit dingy during the day (it boasts a host of homeless people in the doorsteps of closed clubs and pubs), but at night it really comes alive. I cannot fault the people in Vancouver though. One day while standing on a corner trying to figure out where the nearest VISA ATM might be, 2 people stopped in the space of 5 minutes to try to help us.
Coal Harbour


Vancouver itself is quite pretty; there’s lots of green spaces and one tiny park down the road was our first exposure to this. Stanley Park in the north east, and its start of the seawall walk at Coal Harbour is picturesque. There’s the stillness of the inlet of wharf, reflecting the dark green of the pines and the crisp outlines of white-capped mountains. The seawall along the waterways very much reminds me of the Tan (Botanical Gardens) in Melbourne; on a sunny day, it is covered in people getting their dose of vitamin D and fresh air. There’s many cyclists, some who strap speakers to their bike to share their music with you. Looking north-west across Burrard Inlet to North Vancouver is quite scenic, even with the port and the sulphur piles glowing neon. I spent an age trying to get a decent photograph of a spotty Harbour Seal, but apparently they are shy and I had to be content with a distant head. We saw our first squirrels, the Black Squirrels (apparently introduced in 1914 Wikipedia tells me) and what I think may be Eastern Grey squirrels (they were much shyer). We walked right around (approximately 11 kilometers) to English Bay Beach, which has a beautiful outlook too. This is where we started to see piles of rocks in interesting shapes. I think this might be related to the Inukshuk, which as I understand were once landmarks and cairns for food stores used by the Inuits.
Rock sculptures
Granville Island was also a treat.  There’s a cute little ferry across False Creek, which is almost a floating platform. There’s markets with lovely fresh food, artists, a theatre, music and a great vibe. It once was an industrial area, I think, but is certainly affluent with the markets and a great university (Emily Carr, an arts school).
We’ve caught up with our Norfolk friends, who really have been invaluable for all the help they’ve given us. As well as being our local tour guides, taking us to funky artisan Kitsilano. Had the best vegetarian/vegan food of our life there.
We met my brother and his girlfriend in Toronto early in June. After the loveliness of Vancouver, I found Toronto a very impersonal city, all bright lights and glitz to distract from the general lack of upkeep. It rained constantly, so that might not have helped. I regret not getting a look at Toronto Island, but otherwise, was a bit underwhelmed.
America Falls, Niagara Falls
Niagara was our next destination. Everywhere outside of the immediate township was incredible. Phoebe, Duncan and I particularly liked the tidy, Victorian/Queen-Anne style homes of Niagara on the lake, a township on the northern end of Niagara River towards Lake Ontario. It was lush and green, pretty even in the rain. We wound down Niagara Parkway, looking at the powerful steely blue-grey river, and the many walkers and cyclists. If you are going to the falls, I would recommend staying here, and taking a bright morning/afternoon to explore the Niagara Botanic Gardens, flush with the bright blooms of spring. It eases the grating of the township of Niagara, which is cheap and despoiled by flashing fluorescent lights and empty entertainments. If you can keep your distance from this and actually make it down to the Falls, the 200 meters of parkland along the riverbank is mostly serene. You are sharing (particularly at this time of year) with many other tourists, but we didn’t really get bothered, because the walk up to the falls is enchanting view after enchanting view. Some of the best photographs we took were from downriver.
Horseshoe Falls, Niagara Falls
The Horseshoe Falls are, as you would expect with this very imaginative naming, semi-circular, and the water roars over them at a great pace, filling the air with fine mist and white noise. The water is a lustrous blue-green under the foam, and it is very photogenic. A little awe is required when you consider the amount of water that pours through every second from Lake Erie. A little spout of mist pops up from the central point of the falls, and all day and night the birds (perhaps just seagulls, but there may be others) swoop through the clouds of mist. You do find little bugs about a bit so I assume this is what they feed on. They all roost on a little area on the American side of the Falls; it’s split right down the middle, and the Horseshoe Falls are the only ones that are part of Canada.
The American Falls are straight down, like a ruffled curtain. There is a small offset called the Bridal Veil Falls attached to them too. I like the likening to lace, even though they are not delicate in any way. I think the Canadian side is the best side to get a full view of all of the falls. If inclined, the Maid of the Mist is not a long journey crammed on a boat with many others, but you get reasonably close to the roaring waters and covered in the spray. Good fun. I think it was worth $20 each.
Maid of the Mist
Back around Lake Ontario and on towards Ottawa, we stopped at a little place called Smiths Falls, which my brother had heard was the prettiest town in Canada. We stayed in a lovely renovated church, but the real highlight of the area was Perth. It had lovely old stone buildings, including an old mill that we had breakfast in, with a burbling stream flowing through and some nicely tended gardens, completed with two little arched bridges over the water. We enjoyed our morning there very much. On our trip towards Ottawa, we saw our first marmot. Saw it just munching away on some grass. It’s the size of a little dog with puffy little cheeks that stands on its hind legs, and could be mistaken for a beaver by the over-excited and uninitiated!
Ottawa at sunset
Ottawa is the capital of Canada, and came into being much the same way Canberra did, being nominated as a spot to stop several cities being upset by being snubbed and indeed snubbing them all. When Queen Victoria chose it, many of the politicians thought it was the end of their lives, being forced into the backwaters of the country. Albeit, I have only seen it since it was reinvigorated by a French architect, but I have to say that it is stunning. It is what Canberra has never been. Lofty Gothic and Victorian architecture gives the official buildings resonance, softened by the deceptively serene waters of the Ottawa River (called Kitchissippi by the First Peoples, the Algoquin).
Parliament House, Ottawa
We were staying in the north of the city, over the Alexandra Bridge, near the Museum of Civilisations. Gorgeous little unit. We explored the city on foot the afternoon we arrived, taking many photographs. I even have a photograph with a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer, though disappointingly not in the full regalia. He was extremely friendly, giving us information about Parliament House. People were quite friendly, and we really knew we were in the French-speaking parts of the world as we were greeted bilingually wherever we went.
The city was buzzing and vibrant. We enjoyed the Byward market, which wasn’t nearly as good as those in Melbourne, but still interesting. They certainly have the art of pastry making there though – yum! We had a few drinks in a few different places. Unfortunately the bar Zaphod Beeblebrox was closed in the early week, so we could not go inside! Sunsets over the river were full of riotous colour and serenity. You can hire bikes numerous places in the city, a little like Melbourne, and it would be a great way to get around if you were game.
We went to the Museum of Civilisations. We got caught up in some smaller exhibitions of First Peoples (or Aboriginals as they call them here too), which were fascinating in their own right but not the main exhibit. The peoples cultures are so wide and varied that the hall dedicated to them is huge. You got to see the dresses, both older and contemporary, of the different Candian peoples. We didn’t have enough time to spend there, but I really enjoyed the recordings and written lore of individual peoples. What I was sad we didn’t get much time in was the top floor’s chronological depiction of the forces that shaped Canada. It went through the different groups that have laid claim on the country in some way or another, in full, life-sized wonder. We’re talking houses and workshops and pretend docks and saw mills. The ingenuity that went into creating it is a marvel. I do wish we had more time in this museum, and to see some others there too, which are highly recommended in travel guides. I could have spent a few more days here, but on to MontrĂ©al we went.
This is part of a series on travel in Canada. You can find the next instalment here.

25 things you need to know when in Canada

Since beginning my travels in Canada, I have been learning little bits and pieces about the culture and history that I was surprised not to read about before I got here. So for your reading pleasure, here’s 25 things I learnt while in Canada:

1. Provinces are all important here and the equivalent of our states. Ottawa is the capital and similar in origin to Australia’s capital, Canberra. It’s in a middle of nowhere place someone picked out to stop arguments and is not the name the uneducated (including me before we arrived!) would pick. But Ottawa is what Canberra only has dreams of being: it’s big and friendly, has some really interesting museums, and has an elegant gothic feel. On that note, Vancouver is not the capital of British Columbia. That fine title goes to Victoria, a smaller city on Vancouver Island, who negotiated it as part of their agreement for joining the province.

2. On that note, it is still illegal to take alcohol across the border, so you will find wine from home before you will get one from across a province line. Beer seems not to have as much of a problem though.

3. Canada is huge. In driving terms, it certainly owns Australia. In all likelihood, you have to head to the wilderness to see some real wildlife. For Vancouver, that means 2 – 3 hours from the city. Though, we saw a racoon in inner city Vancouver!

4. Dollar coins are bigger and in a move that makes no sense at all, 5c is bigger than 10c and in the coin part of your wallet looks almost identical to a quarter. And yes, the notes are a veritable rainbow.

5. Walk/drive/queue on the right side dammit.

6. There’s food markets and there’s pharmacies, and between them they sell everything that you need. The be-all supermarket chain that you get in Australia is a different beastie to these supermarkets. But, we just don’t have coffee shops and cafes inside ours.

7. Disappointment central. Despite having met a delightfully charming member of the RCMP in Ottawa, they no longer wear their gorgeous red jackets unless it’s a special occasion. I am told the Calgary Stampede is the place to see them. (Also, you cannot get baby Mountie outfits-bummer!)

8. Rent of an apartment in the downtown area, complete with cable television, gas and internet is less than just our rent in Melbourne, which is not the most expensive city in Australia (in comparison with Vancouver being the most expensive city to live in here in Canada). Hooray hydro power!

9. Taxes are added on top of advertised prices. In BC, that’s 10% national tax plus 5% provincial tax (more for alcohol). So you think you have an idea of what it is going to cost, and then realise you forgot to add taxes. Damn.

10. Tipping is optional, but waitresses are paid minimum wage here too. 15% of the pre-tax total is standard. Surprise them: no one here expects Australians to know how to tip.

11. I’ve only seen one place advertising a Canadian breakfast of eggs, bacon and pancakes. Though I have encountered them tucked away on menus but…

12. There is maple in oh so many things. We had maple bacon on the weekend. And there’s lots of bacon.

13. An entree is not what we Aussies call an entree. Expect a meal folks.

14. Weird names: cilantro=coriander, squash=pumpkin or that other squash, peppers=capsicum.

15. The water is damn cold. As cold as Victoria. In the warmest part of the country. During the summer.

16. If you look lost, someone will stop to help you. If you look like a beggar, most people will ignore you, but some will buy some really decent food for you.

17. That being said, I can attest to Canadian drivers being as angry as Australian drivers. Yes buddy, that’s a horn. You’ve let them know that they did wrong. Sure, keep leaning on the horn. What’s that? Folks actually live in those apartments around you, and funnily, are sleeping at 2am?

18. Those huge snow storms? They happen only on the interior or perhaps just not in Vancouver.

19. Despite searches for Vancouver inner city bringing up Whistler as a great place to live, it is not just within city bounds. It’s almost 2 hours from the city. I will however accept Burnaby and Surrey.

20. Phone calls and data are heinously expensive by Aussie standards, which I really don’t get.

21. The Seabus is not a bus. The Skytrain, sadly, does not fly. While the sun shines, Canadians bike everywhere. Be sure to wear your helmet when you are out though-the law is the same as Australia.

22. The seawall is a wall along the very extensive ocean frontage. Very imaginative naming, but everyone knows what you mean.

23. Aerosol deodorant, particularly for women, does not exist. They seem not to understand that I need it. Although, I am feeling better about less waste and no propellants that I have been using.

24. In Quebec, cars only need one numberplate. How does that even work? Also, everywhere but Quebec, you can turn right at a red light providing it is clear. And indicators might just be your brake lights flashing (really confusing!).

25. An unofficial addition to my list, by request of my partner Greg, is coffee. American filtered coffee is the norm here so be prepared to go looking for espresso. Tim Hortons is a perpetrator of this crime against coffee. Blenz is the Canadian version of Starbucks. Shop local!


I wouldn’t consider myself a completely unexperienced traveller, but maybe I should have done some more reading.

Have you travelled in Canada? Is there anything you would add to this list?

Coal Harbour, Vancouver




Health update: Junk food will kill you.



Yesterday Vancouver was overrun… With zombies!

The annual Vancouver zombie walk was a huge success, with lots of varied and imaginative costumes. There was people of all age groups, from little babies (well-taken care of by Mama zombies of course) and small children, all the way up to adults with a few greys that worked well into their costumes. Families abounded, and boy, was there some of the cutest zombies I have ever seen! One pregnant zombie’s unholy offspring also sprung straight through the abdominal wall, not wishing to wait for birth.

20130817-20130817-IMG_1724Keeping an orderly shuffle, respecting red lights (for blood!) and the policemen volunteering with the event, the hoards of the undead made their way from the Vancouver library down Robson Street, veering left at Denman, and finally congregating at English Bay Beach, clearly unsure what to do at the water’s edge. Some of the shuffle were obviously a bit hungry, biting out at the bystanders, sending little Asian girls shrieking away. The eerie screams of some zombies set the scene for the apocalypse to come.

A few survivors struggled amidst the zombie throng, some prepared against the airborne threat with gas masks, or armed with (water) guns and (Nerf) darts. However, the survival of humanity seemed unlikely given how few stood against the rising tide.



Hats off to the dedicated people who participated yesterday. It was great fun even just to watch, and everyone was so happy to have their photograph taken.


Best bit about this woman’s costume? The limb dragging behind (sadly not pictured).

This person creeped me out by watching me for ages as they passed me. Good job on the creepy factor!


Which of the photographs was your favourite? Have you ever taken part in a zombie walk? What was it like?










Old love is sexy

I know your last thought about being older is that it’s sexy. If you read my title and thought, “Sophie’s coming a bit out of left field today, where is her head at?”, then bear with me.

Newspapers appear occasionally with good news stories of those happily married for 30 or more years, whose hearts, lives and hands have belong to each other as long as they can almost remember.

These older couples are a hopeful contrast to the Australian divorce rates of around 50, 000 per year. A few couples that make it to this point give us all hope that perhaps we won’t be another statistic, a person alone when it comes to our twilight years.

But why sexy, I hear you asking? Sure, it’s not so sexy if it’s your grandparents or parents, or anyone you know really. But tell me, does your heart not lift a little when you see an older couple cuddle or hold hands? Thinking, that could be me one day.

But do you want to know the most attractive part of all? That there is still love when you’re grey and wrinkly as an elephant; when you wear pants well above what used to be your waist; when nothing works or looks as well as it once did. Loving someone’s wrinkles around their eyes (when you know the events that carved those lines), the changing curves of their body (those well travelled paths that are being mapped anew), the loss of colour in their hair (from those events that shaped your very lives together)… That is what real love is.

And damn, don’t you think that’s sexy?

LoveThis love will never, this old love will never die

The first man to steal my heart

I have been listening to the Hack broadcast on Triple J in this man week forum, and it has been quite thought provoking. Part of today’s discussion revolved around men who hadn’t known their fathers. It is a very relevant and distressing topic.

But what about the boys who never knew their mothers? Mothers generally help us to become tender, loving people. They guide us without words, offering their ears and their arms to relieve us of our troubles. They know when we’re happy or distraught or doing wrong. How do these motherless boys develop? Do they grow up without that rudder, that guide on how to love unconditionally?

This topic is particularly close to my heart. For those of you that don’t know me personally, my father lost his mother tragically at a young age. He was lucky, he came from a large family, with older siblings, and he was 15. My father is an exceptionally gentle, kind, caring and generous man. I know no tenderer man. I think this was always his nature, but I wonder how much of his family orientation was caused by the passing of his mother. I also know the loss still plagues him, as it does his brother and sisters.

Also, in my family, I believe my brother is closest to my mother. She is the only one he will open up to, discuss his troubles with. And believe me, this is important. My brother was a bit of a troubled child – tantrums, hyperactivity, a bit of misbehaviour and a whole lot of not understanding the dangers of the world. He doesn’t say alot (in fact, those friends of mine who know him, would verify he says very little). I attribute the work of both my parents in moulding him so he could become the quite lovely young man he is becoming today.

I know it doesn’t always happen, but I hope for all those boys without their mothers that they have role models who will help care for them, console them and guide them to their path. Maybe we should all think about our community impact and start volunteering for little brothers or sisters.. A worthwhile cause, and you help someone who might otherwise not get a good start in life. Please take a look at the Big Brothers Big Sisters website if you might be interested.

In the meantime, I might appreciate the men in my life this week, from my friends to my brother, my grandfather to the first man who stole my heart and will hold a piece of it always – my father.


Thanks Dad, for showing me what the meaning of “a good man” is,
and the sort of love I am capable and deserving of.
Love you always.