Live it up.

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Tomorrow is my birthday. Second to Halloween, it’s my favourite holiday, in fact so much so, I branded it an official month-long celebration called Patty Fest – running June 1st until the 30th.  It begins with a countdown several weeks in advance, along with an invitation to my annual Birthday Bashulation where I surround myself with my fave peeps, drink a lot of wine, munch on bowls of chips, crank the 80’s tunes and soak up the love!

Funnily, this year I wasn’t feeling it.  My usual WGAF*  (who gives a fuck) about getting older cause I’m too sexy, sassy and silly to even contemplate old, let alone start acting my age… wasn’t resonating with me and my molecules.  I wasn’t feeling like celebrating, donning my pink tutu, tiara or cutting any cake. I had landed myself in a full on anti-festive funk.  911 pull the pompoms! Clearly I needed a COME TO GEEZUS, kick in the butt and talk’in to, so I could shake this party pooper petulance off.

First of all why?  Why Miss Lowry?  Why? (Yes I talk to myself and quite often out loud). It didn’t take long to bubble to the surface…deep breath…I’m not where I want or expected to be at 55. Gulp.  OMG I KNOW I have an awesome life, filled with abundance, freedom, amazing friends, love, health, a wicked imagination, kittens, chips, wine; I know I’m luckier than most and I am grateful for my life; but this little energizer bunny wants more. More mustard on my hotdog, more muscles, marshmallows and much more meaning. And while I’m at it…I’ll have more money too, only to allow me more freedom to experience more life. I want more adventures of getting lost and found, more opportunities to be creative, more meetings of the minds, more encores, more spice, and a lot more love. And not to be greedy, but I’d also like more patience, more tolerance, more faith in the unknown and more insight into what’s behind door # 3. Yes I want more. I always have. It’s what propels me forward, what motivates me to never give up, to keep dreaming and working and believing everything will find its place in my life. It’s a lot and sometimes it’s exhausting being me. I’m always thinking, feeling, figuring, planning, dreaming, running, fixing, caring, doing cartwheels and so on and so on, and so much so that this bunny is pooped da party out.  I’ve been so busy doing I’ve lost track of feeling the moment and realizing how fricking awesome sauce it is.

So then I asked myself (out loud) – What did I expected at 55?  And I thought long and hard and was happily surprised that other than a little less love handles and speeding up my “in between boyfriend phase”, life is pretty damn good. Really damn good in fact.  I am healthy, I’m smart, I’m resourceful and I have great hair.  I also think I can address my wants and make them happen, all in good time.  It’s funny how sometimes a little dunk in a funk is exactly what you need to set things right.  Living life real, vulnerably and not always being “perfect patty” (said with insightful relinquishing) just means I’m learning, feeling and growing – which is all part of wanting more.

So fuck it!  I’m not old, I’m 5 and I’m going to throw myself a badass birthday party and celebrate this milestone with friends and a few gifts of newfound wisdom including self compassion and patience; permission to turn the Patty dial down just a notch and sit a while, smell the roses and trust 55 is awesomely saucy!

Happy today, tomorrow and the next day to ME!!!!

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I’m coming!

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In just 3 more sleeps it’s the official seasonal opening of Kamperslut!

Hello, my name is Patty and I am a Kamperslut.  Yes you heard that right. KAMPERSLUT! For those who don’t know me well and may not understand the name – allow me to explain. I love camping, I love nature, I also love buttertarts, squirrels, chips, red wine….love, love, love …is there not another word that can take this expression up a notch or ten?  Just simply “loving” something doesn’t really define my uber elevated expression of massive loviation for this place.  And so in search of a word…that could properly describe my desires – I thought I’d redefine the word “slut”. (Because it has a lot of chutzpah about it)

Slut. /slət|/ An extreme intensity of “vanting, needing, must having” that defies and over powers all previous levels defined by humankind and transcends existing degrees of yearning, coveting, impassion, craving, itching, lusting, hungering, thirsting and suspiring for to possess or have.

Example:       I am a nature slut.   I slut for nature.

To “slut” for something is a deep rooted and spiritual commitment to your inner being that resonates beyond the realm of antiquated language and laws.   It is the epiphanic divine manifestation of a moment – one of sudden revelation and supernatural essentiality of life.   And to make it even more slut-worthy … you can only slut for one thing…and hence I am a Kamperslut and named my cottage the same. (And now I am hoping you are all thinking about what one singular ultimate thing you “slut for”).

There’s a way of the land at Kamperslut… unlike anywhere else on this planet.  Visible and invisible waves of soul dust that trigger and tease the nooks and crannies of your thoughts and dose them in the shower of joy and pure magic that is all around.  A peculiar psyche and transcendental vortex of sorts, a gale force of inspiration, an eddy of flow that spirals into the very chi that creates life. A place and a space where the time traveler’s key unlocks the mind’s door to the other realities.  A magically curious place where the manifestation of ideas and expressions are free and everything is a beautiful state of being.

There is magic in d’em dar woods!  I’ve felt it and I’ve seen it with my very own eyes.  From floating Faerie orbs and dragonfly soirees to rubbing whiskers with wild rabbits and sky clad river dipping under a full moon. So grab your drums, drop your sarongs, hold onto your chainsaws and crack that peanut because there is party about to happen and all the cool faeries will be there!

Ripples.

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Standing still.

Without a breath,

My footing solid for now.

Perfection in motionless silence,

Protected by a frozen moment.

Dare I step and break the paragon.  Will the future present the past?

A single toe and peace is interrupted.

Now it will never be the same.

The consequence of an action.

Make your move.

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Spring has sprung, buds are busting out, wee weeds are peeping their sunny little dandy lion faces out from the cracks of the sidewalk, the sun is radiating its omnipresent glow, flip flops are flopping, ice cream is screaming and oh it’s bikini season in about a month. DA DA DA DUM!!!!! Did someone say where’s my moo-moo?

Yes winter’s hibernation, comfort food marathon and general overall state of sloth have helped to add a few extra layers of warmth to my anatomy of being. Who said potato chips aren’t a vegetable? So what there’s just a little bit more of me to love!   And like I always say…one size – one love!

However, as much I adore my jiggly bits, I am inspired to fitten up my bodacious bod in preparation for doing mega cartwheels on the playa for Burning Man.  Yay me!!! Just one little issue – I HATE EXERCISING. Like an allergic, loathing, aversion to the whole concept of sweating, bending and stretching – are we done yet?   GRUNT.  I’ve tried joining a gym – I never went. I did hot yoga for a year, but after that terrifying toad attack last summer where I impaled myself on a tree branch and had a piece of lumber stuck in my shin …I haven’t been able to bend and sweat in that bacteria bowl of Zen. I even once hired a trainer…actually pay someone to yell at me…let’s just say I yelled back – “I QUIT”.

So I’ve had to get creative and come up with easy, enjoyable and doable ways to wiggle my jiggle and muscle up my mojo!  A means to create momentum, motivation and move my lazy ass moxie butt.  So I’ve declaring May MOVE YOUR LAZY ASS MOXIE BUTT MONTH.  My Dad always use to say “Patrick…you’ve got moxie girl…so move it”! By definition moxie is your force of character, determination or nerve…and I’m about to shake things up!

First and foremost I won’t call it “exercise” – cause it’s kinda too close to EXORCISE if you ask me and that’s just scary. Same with “working out”…who wants to WORK, I ALREADY WORK ALL DAY…how about we call it “make room for chips”!  I’ve also printed out a calendar on pink paper for May and purchased gold sparkly star stickers for every day that I accomplishment my goal of creating movement for 1 hour a day!

Here are a few other inspirations on busting my move!

  1. Every morning just before I head out I stomp my feet in defiance, wave my arms in subordination, roll my eyes in revolt and then bend down to tie my sneakers. It all burns calories.
  2. Baby steps. Like walking from my house to the subway (20 mins) of daydreaming, humming, people and animal watching, getting fresh air…instead of taking the TTC (which usually destroys my mood the moment I get on and have to scream at everyone to PLEASE MOVE BACK.)
  3. Enlist a Bust a Move partner in crime and walk the hood at lunch.
  4. SHOES MATTER! Bugs Bunny sneakers.
  5. Buy the fuchsia and white polka dot bikini with the ruffles, hang it on the fridge door.
  6. Some visualize the finish line…I imagine I am prepping for a date with Robert Downey Jr.