Hello all!

It is with mixed feelings that I have decided to shut this blog down for the time being. WordPress alerted me that I was coming up for renewal at the end of July, and given the Covid 19 world and skipping the day tripping for the time being, I decided it was wise to focus myself elsewhere.

I wanted to thank all you readers — it has been great interacting with everyone and seeing the responses to my thoughts. If you are interested in continuing to follow me, please check out my website at On the homepage, there is a place where you can sign up for the monthly newsletter and there is also a blog attached to this site which you can follow. I will be moving some of my daytrippin articles over to that blog.

As well, you can check out my Instagram @leighmacfarlanecreates123. I have also recently started a YouTube channel — Leigh Macfarlane Writes — where I share thoughts and tips on writing.

Hope to see some of you on some of these other sites! Thanks again for all the love — stay happy and healthy, all.

Best wishes in the future,

Leigh Macfarlane


Road Map of Freckles

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Yesterday was Father’s Day. I’m fortunate to still have both my parents, and so my youngest and I spent yesterday on a socially distant patio visit at my parents place. While getting ready to go, I got sidetracked on my way to the shower and stood naked in front of the mirror in my bathroom tracking the freckles across my body.

I’ve gotten to the age where in the summer, I think about skin cancer. I’ve gotten to the age where this body, which once was a thing of beauty, has frankly seen better days. Yet, yesterday as I ensured that I have freckles not cancer, I found myself immensely thankful for this body where I reside. This body has been used. The marks of my life are a road map of my history.

There are the scars from my two surgeries. There is the tattoo I got to commemorate my University graduation. There are oodles of stretch marks, but as I’ve always said, the lives of four human beings for my figure seems a fair trade. There are my twin ear piercings and the bump of scar tissue where the third piercing closed over. That was at the top of my right ear, and I loved that piercing except that my long hair constantly ripped the earring from my flesh. This was a battle I eventually succeeded. Hair, one: piercing, zero.

My right front tooth is yellow because when I was eight, my brother and I were horsing around in a pool. I tried to jump out the side of the pool, and when he pulled me back in, I smashed my tooth on the cement edge. Well, in truth, that is why the tooth is fake. It is yellow because my dentist aunt was so good at her job that although I was told to get the cap replaced when I turned nineteen, it is still here many years later. Subsequent to this early dental work, I came to hate going to the dentist. That is why I still posses one of my wisdom teeth.

Currently, I have dark roots because for the first and only time in my life, I died my hair with a permanent colour. Mostly, I did this because it was corona-virus stay-cation, and I could. I didn’t think the dark roots thing through. Also currently, there is extra of me to love. That is because three years ago I had several people I cared about die, and I coped by sitting on my couch eating everything in the house and watching vampire shows. Hey, don’t judge me.

On my right knee, there is a tiny scar where I fell at the end of an escalator because I didn’t listen when my dad told me to stop fooling around. I also have his blue eyes, and according to my mother, his nice, firm skin. His white skin.

Yesterday, I stood in front of my mirror thinking about how I never asked to have white skin, but how my life would have been different if that one little detail about my body was different. The biggest difference — beyond the potential pipes of Beyonce or hoops of Jordan or unjust death of far too many — is the simple fact that I so rarely spend time thinking about the colour of my skin or its effect upon my life. Other than making sure the freckles are not skin cancer, I do not often have to think those thoughts.

This body is mine, and it has been used. I am proud of the living I have done in this body, and looking forward to more living yet to come. I can never fully exist outside of the reality of this body’s experiences. That is my road map of freckles, and that means this body is still a thing of beauty.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the hearing in this body. The mind it contains is interested in hearing about your map of freckles, too.

Shaking (Anger so Deep)

Black Lives Matter - Toronto - Black Lives Matter Protesters

There is a lot in the world to be angry about these days. Sometimes I think, on behalf of many Christians I know, what will it be like for them to stand back in years to come and realize they stood on the wrong side of history?

That’s right, I just said that.

I just blocked another Christian from my Facebook account. This happened after I read her most recent post about how Donald Trump is pro-life and pro-Israel and God’s appointed, and that there really isn’t that much racism in America, and people need to stop believing the news, and those Christians who believe in the news and disagree with Trump can kiss heaven goodbye. Okay, I’m paraphrasing. But that was the gist.

Here’s the thing — STOP CONFLATING MY GOD WITH YOUR IDOLATRY. Because I’m calling it like I see it — the way Christian’s blindly venerate Donald Trump is nothing less than idolatry.

If you don’t believe racism exists, you have a right to your blind stupidity. If you believe Donald Trump is truly a good leader who cares about his nation above himself, that is your right. Just stop bringing Jesus into it! Stop.

Just stop.

I am still so angry I am shaking. Today, of all days, on the day when George Floyd is being honored, when people at his funeral are standing for 8 minutes and 46 seconds — which illustrates what a bloody long time that actually is, by the way — do not go spouting your propaganda and calling it faith.

On her wall, I told her I sincerely hope God opens her eyes. I mean that. The irony, of course, is that she isn’t Caucasian. Filipino, I think, married to a Canadian man, so their three lovely children are also not white-skinned. If she and her family have not experienced racism directed their way, I am happy for her. That doesn’t mean it isn’t real. At the very least, what she could accurately say is that she has not experienced much racism here in Canada. Had she stated her beliefs that way, well, you can’t argue with personal experience, can you? But she didn’t.

And I am done listening to Christians express thoughts which denigrate the precepts of love thy neighbour as thyself, and if you’ve done it to the least of these, and the entire story of the Good Samaritan, while suggesting that such stances are an embodiment of any kind of Christian morality or faith. I am fed up.

When are the rest of you brothers and sisters gonna get fed up, too?

I am white – black lives matter is not my experience.


I am human – so black lives matter is my fight.

Gratefulness Therapy

Yesterday, Goodreads sent me an update on one of my favorite authors — Nora Roberts. From what I can tell, Nora keeps a blog through Goodreads, and yesterday, her post discussed all the things she is currently grateful for. She then told her readers to take turns posting their own lists. Most people posted in the comment sections. I thought I’d post mine here.

In these moments of uncertainty and actual physical jeopardy, I’m first grateful for my health and that of the people around me whom I love. I am fortunate to be able to say that no one in my family is currently ill, and although both my daughter and I were earlier this Spring, everyone is now healthy and (in my case) getting my pre-summer fat on in full swing.

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I’m thankful for the amazing place where I live, and the gorgeous Spring weather we have been having. There are few places more beautiful, in my opinion. Right now, with the reduction in traffic, I’ve also noticed that the air is incredibly crisp and clear, the lake cleaner than I remember it ever being.

I’m thankful that we live in a technological age so that while I’m home for an unknown period of time, I can take advantage of Zoom meetings so I have a reason to comb my hair and wear makeup, long drives in the car to keep us healthy but sane, social media communication to keep me in touch with the free world, telephone, music, microwaves, toilet paper, internet, laundry machines, electric lighting and plumbing… you name it. We are so fortunate at this time in history to have so many conveniences at our disposal.


I’m thankful I discovered Matt Harnacke and his gorgeous horse Emporio a few months back. Eye Candy for the quarantined soul.

I’m so thankful to have writing in my life. I absolutely love having the opportunity to tell stories, and right now, I’m very grateful that the novels I’ve been writing are being well-received. I’m thankful to the readers and to those of you good enough to leave your kind words of praise. You have no idea how inspiring that is, and how it keeps me going with the next project. Recently, I watched a Kenny Chesney video that spoke of the one thing you’d like to give the world. At different times in my life, that would have been differing things. Right now, I’d give stories. Story lets me take the world that is, imagine the world that could be, and link the two.

I’m grateful that my dog loves me unconditionally. She is my little buddy. She is loving this time with us home all the time. She is loving going for walks with my daughter. I’m also grateful that my soft, fluffy, uber-handsome cat has learned some personal boundaries and no longer sleeps on my head at night.

I’m grateful to have a teenage daughter who, although hating being stuck at home when she could be out with friends or playing volleyball or soccer or being at the mall or even being out finding a job, is doing her best to keep her spirits up, and her attitude positive.

I’m thankful for free Ebooks, and for reruns of The West Wing and Bones, and for other people’s music playlists, since I’m sort of sick of my own.

I am thankful to have time on my hands — probably for the first time since I was a teenager. I have finally had a chance to catch up with all the marketing I needed to get done, to update my website, to write some E-letters. I have finished writing one novel, and am 15,000 words into the new one. I also released a third earlier than planned. Next week I start editing the novel launching in July, and yesterday I started taking business courses through Linkedin learning. So far, I’ve had a quick info session on how to use Gmail better, a course on story telling for marketing, and a documentary on urban planning through technology. (That one is for a character in a book. I don’t have plans to tackle this myself any time soon). Soon, I’m going to buckle in to learn how to use Instagram for business.

I’m also thankful to own my own home and have low associated costs of living in this time of financial uncertainty. I’ve been making plans for low-cost home improvements I can tackle these next few weeks. I started hacking away at the overgrown bushes in my yard, and also plan to create a garden area. I am going to re-purpose a pair of truck rims left over from when my son sold his beater truck and turn them into summer planters for flower gardening. I’m going to repaint the peeling paint on my front patio, get the staple gun out and fix some spots where the patio carpet is coming up, and fix the screen door so that if we are still quarantined here once summer hits, we can get a breeze flowing through the house without letting the dog get out.

I’m also going to have a go at fixing the roofing on the patio. The corrugated roofing panel blew off in a wind storm awhile back, so I’m going to have a go at replacing that. I’m going to get some inexpensive patio furniture and a new barbeque and set up a little outdoor eating nook.

I’m thankful because I haven’t had the time to even catalogue all the things needing to be repaired around here, let alone tackle them, and now, for the next few weeks, I actually have time to start attending to them. As well, I’m thankful that I work for a company which prioritizes the health of its staff, so my needs are being provided for during this crisis.


I’ve been thankful to have the time to cook proper meals, although with just myself and Sheena here, they sure do stretch a lot longer. So, I have a freezer stocked with leftovers — and I’m thankful for that, too. I’m also thankful for this book of muffin recipes that I get to try.

I’m very grateful to have people who are still working while I am home. On the flip side, I’m thankful to finally feel rested after a long time of working one job, then coming home and working a second.

I’m thankful for all the health care workers and the essential service workers, and I am so glad to be Canadian. We live in a great country with universal health care, and a government who has been proactive and also has been reflective enough to re-work assistance which has been incomplete or inadequate. I live in a country that is taking care of its citizens, with a leader who is taking this virus seriously. I am thankful for Canada, and for the job Trudeau and our other leaders are doing.

I know there are people who are grieving, and I know there are tough times ahead as the economic engines of our world start to reignite. For now, all my needs are met, I am healthy, I have time to accomplish so many things, and I live in a wonderful part of the globe.

So, that is me. What, in the middle of these stressful times, are you thankful for?



How To Make America Great Again

  1. Tell the truth, no matter the personal (5)
  2. Take care of the people under your command, no matter the personal cost. download (4)
  3. Tell your story, no matter how hard. images (2)
  4. Don’t be like this guy. download (8)
  5. One word: accountability. images (8)
  6. Ask the tough questions in the face of (10)
  7. Care as much as this guy. Work as tirelessly as this guy. images (7)
  8. Work together. 5e87c0e1ee36b.imageScreenshot 2020-04-07 14.55.13
  9. Say thank you. Screenshot 2020-04-07 14.55.59
  10. Go into battle with courage — even at great personal cost. images (5)images (4)
  11. Remember the sacrifice of the fallen. No greater love…images (3)
  12. Stand up to corruption, even at great personal risk. download (9)download (6)


Today, listening to Nicole Wallace, I heard her say something about Chicken Soup for her tired and battered soul. (I probably butchered her exact quote). But it made me think, yes, I imagine that is how you feel. It is rough enough watching the oddity which is the United States in 2020 from my nice, safe home in British Columbia. It must be absolutely heartbreaking to be in it. For all the news stories where blatant corruption seems to win the day, today I am reminded that there are heroes among us. Maybe this past year I have forgotten, to some extent, that the real story isn’t that there is corruption and incompetence in the White House at present, the story is all the people of virtue which that corruption has revealed.

I get to sit at home and ride this virus out in self-isolation while others fight on the front lines, while some fall, others are weary and battered. But, so much of life is in the framing. Yes, they fired the Vindmans, but the Vindmans showed that there are people out there who tell the truth. Yes, they fired Captain Crozier, but… Captain Crozier! Yes, the conservative leaders who purport to being Christians showed blatant and callous disregard for human life and for human decency all the way up to the level of the Supreme Court yesterday, but the heroes of Wisconsin are VOTING TODAY!

I am reminded that you can only recognize the light because it shines out of the darkness. Sometimes you have to get good and angry before you are ready to fight. Be, as the Bible says, angry and sin not.

Today, I stand with my American neighbors to the South. God be with you, may His greatness shine through your dark time. May your country be the great example of never surrendering the fight for who you know yourselves to truly be. May light stand up to darkness. And, may virtue triumph.

Writer’s Block Sucks


I’ve always felt like the key to writing is an 80% happiness quotient. Any less, and you’re too messed up to think, any more, and you’ve got nothing to write about. Cynical? Maybe. True? Oh yeah. For me, at least.

This week, though, I’ve realized that another impediment to writing can be too many unfocused thoughts vying for attention. That’s where I find myself today.

Last night, as those of you who saw my rant on Facebook this morning already know, I fell into a Twitter wormhole. I’ve been doing that all too often lately. Last night it was over racism directed at China. The post was a news post about Andrew Cuomo thanking China for donating ventilators to New York. If I’d left it right there, it would have been a feel-good story moment, but no, I’m not smart enough and/or disciplined enough to do that. I have to proceed to the comments.

And they were vile. Why is he thanking China and not our government? Uh, your government hasn’t delivered? They probably won’t work anyhow. Uh, like the ones that were sitting in the warehouse your government left unattended? China started this virus, anyhow. Uh, I got nuthin. You’re just dumb and racist and I don’t like you. By the time I got to the one quoting the scripture verse, Faithful are the wounds of a friend but the kisses of the enemy are deceitful, I was out of control, full rant. And like always happens when I vent like that, I felt better immediately, then ashamed.

I want to be a loving person. I want to be kind. I don’t want to be out of control and rising to twitter bait. I also don’t want to be afraid to speak the truth. Doing it in love, though, now that’s the catch. So, I deleted Twitter. Not my whole account, but the app on my phone that lets me access the crazy way too easily. Until I find the self-control to use social media responsibly, I shall not participate. I could be gone awhile.  So, that was last night. Well, 2:30 ish this morning.

I actually set an alarm this morning — trying to mend my nocturnal ways before they are too entrenched to ever remedy — and even got up when it went off. One of the first things I did was check on my Facebook rant. I’d left it up, see, which I generally don’t. Somewhere inside me, I am aware that I am not a politician, and that is not my fight. This view wars with the view that I am a global citizen, and my responsibility to foster and promote human decency occasionally gets the best of my self-censoring survivalist ways. So last night, I left my rant up, fully expecting to be taken to account. Instead, there were a lot of hearts and even a nice reply. The likes came from some unexpected sources. Conclusion: I am not the only Christian frustrated with some of the behaviors being termed Christian these days.

I had a list in mind of today’s activities. I was going to start with yoga. The dog put the kibbutz on that before ten minutes was up as she constantly dropped her wet-from-doggy-mouth toy on my face every time I bent over.

I was actually going to listen to online church, too, because I refuse to allow myself to be robbed of faith just because some have weaponized it to substantiate their ungodly, disgusting, racist world views. Except, I flipped through several different sermons before finding one that wasn’t all about coronavirus, and avoiding coronavirus was kind of the point. I finally chose one by Ravi Zacharias — who my older sister introduced me to — only to have my son settle in for a chat.

I love chatting with Brian. When he’s in the right mood, he can talk and philosophize for hours. We covered drugs: illegal and prescription, religion versus faith, God versus man, relationships, familial history, the history and future of the world… etc. Amazing chat. Not originally on today’s agenda. At one point as we talked, I decided this highly theological conversation was clearly the sermon of the day. Which reminded me of a time when I used to start my day saying, what do You want me to do today, God? I don’t really roll like that so much anymore. I some days feel the loss more acutely than other days.

This week, I’ve been posting a song of the day on Instagram. After my chat with Bri, I decided that in honour of Sunday, I’d post a faith-themed song. I tried to find a gooder. I wanted something upbeat, something positive and uplifting but not overtly, don’t-worry-God-will-save-you. ‘Cuz, sure, the ultimate destination’s covered, but when you’re going to arrive is up in the air, in my opinion. Some days it is good to say God will save you. Other times, like when people are dying from a global pandemic, maybe it is arrogant and insensitive and presumes facts not yet in evidence. Only God knows who God is going to save. – Just sayin. And there’s this pale horse in the book of Revelation I’ve been thinking about lately… All this to say, ultimately I posted a song I had recorded myself, in 2016, shortly before my band broke up.

The song I posted, which I called Hand, was an acoustic arrangement of Put Your Hand in the Hand by Gene MacLellan. One afternoon, I was sitting at the beach with my guitar in hand, and next thing you know, I was strumming the chords to MacLellan’s song. I don’t know why. I mean, I grew up with the song in the house, but it’s not like it is on any playlist I’ve created ever. It was just in my mind. And as I played around on my guitar, I ended up creating this little ultra-simple chorus to go with MacLellan’s, and then I fooled around with my version (not good, really bad, actually) of rhythm guitar. I bang on the face and tap the strings and generally have a whole bunch of silly good fun. It sounds, eh, but whatever. It was fun.

I take the song up through three key changes, which is how we always played it live. On the album, which I recorded in just over a week (as I recall) I do all the vocals — three part plus a freestyle echo in one spot. I also had met this guy who played the spoons, and he agreed to come out and play them on the song. Then Luke played some slide guitar and some banjo, and all in all it’s a right hillbilly good time. So much so that at the end of the recording I laugh and say Yeehaw, and we kept it in the track. Every time I listen to it, I laugh. Every. Single. Time. And that was the vibe I wanted for today.

When I listen to my old recordings — which occasionally I will do — I don’t hear just the song. I go back to when I wrote it, what was going on in my life that day, who sang and played it, where we did it live, where we recorded it, the process of making a video (for the songs that are on youtube), the fights or laughs within the group of band members on that given day. I hear every cringe worthy moment; I hear every perfect note. I know exactly where my skill level rested and what it had grown from that day. I know all my musical history, from piano lessons as a child, to singing in the car with my family, to high school ensemble, to choir at Vernon Alliance with Shelley’s dad leading, to dropping out of college to sing with my first band, to Perry playing Van Halen licks instead of helping me learn the keyboard parts, to Andy breaking my heart on tour, to starting all over, to forming bands, to writing songs, recording songs, to fundraising concerts, to people who the music touched, to the ending, refrain, out…

So, as you might expect, once I whipped off the Instagram post about Hand, I didn’t stop there — I kept listening to old songs I had written, we had done. From there, Facebook sent me a memory — a picture of three of us leading an outdoor Easter service five years ago. That picture reminded me that the week prior, I had broken off an engagement. After we sang for the people that Easter, everyone else went inside for food. I stayed outside in the park, alone — and bawled. The show must go on. You don’t get to break until you are off the stage.

Which, now I am.

With all of these various stimuli coming my direction this morning, how am I supposed to bear down and focus on the novel I am writing?

I stopped going to church in 2016. I mean, I’ve been back, but nothing regular. My mom told my sister it was because people were mean to me, but that simply isn’t true. Church is like any other place — some people are good, some suck. Some have been amazingly kind, loving and generous to my family and myself. Some have been competitive and have started ridiculous rumours about me. Status quo for human interaction, I guess. Is what it is.

I stopped going because in three of the four churches where I did a significant amount of singing, there was adultery in the leadership at each church within a three year period. That’s what started my exit, at least. I mean, people are human, I get that, but church association is voluntary, and it’s supposed to make you a better person. If it’s not doing that, there are other places I can be. Like, my warm and comfy bed with my dog curled into my hip. So, I was well out the door, and then Donald Trump was elected and the evangelical community backed him. One of the most immoral, incompetent human beings of all time, and you all said God told you he was His guy. Well, hey, you do you. Things is, I just stopped relating to what you all were telling me it meant to be Christian. I don’t recognize my faith in yours. And I can only be responsible for mine. So, I left. And I can’t seem to find my way back. Not that I’ve particularly tried. Every time I’ve thought about it, somebody posts on Twitter, and I’m like, nah, JK.

Now, I find a firm distinction in my mind between faith and church, or as I put it to my son today, faith and religion. Faith, to me, is a precious gift not everybody has, and it gets me through bad times and motivates me to try, at least, to be a better human being. Religion misappropriates scripture to mask fear and hatred — and it makes me think of the illustrated Children’s Bible I had as a kid and the picture of a white-robed, long-haired Jesus furiously overturning the money lender’s tables on the steps of the Synagogue. Man, I relate to that Jesus.

When I was singing and leading worship, I always felt I was part of something bigger than myself. I felt a sense of purpose and solidarity that extended beyond my own selfish interests. I miss that feeling some days. Just, not enough.

And now I am a writer. I look at a blank page and think, what will I fill it with today? Why will I fill it today? Am I a moralist? A historian? An educator, semonizer, blasphemer, prophet? Or am I merely an entertainer? and if so, is that enough?

My thoughts on faith, on spirituality, on God are a huge part of who I am, who I have been, who I want to be, choose to be. Yet, those thoughts aren’t represented often in my current writing. I’d like to, though, at some point. I’d like to write the stories of people in the 21st century working through the hurts religion imposes on them. Stories of people separating that pain from the love of God. Stories of 21st Century men and women working through the intricacies of relationships contextualized by faith and ethics. Stories of what it feels like to be gay — and believe in a Christian God. Stories of what it is like to be or not be sexually active in the Christian dating pool. Stories of what it feels like to be a Muslim in a society which considers itself, at least, Christian. Okay, that last one I am working on. The rest, though, might be beyond me right now. I might not have Christianity figured out, but I do believe in God. I can’t write these stories unless I can do them authentically without doing a disservice to Him. I haven’t even got that balance figured out for myself, let alone for my characters.

If I ever do get it all figured out, you’ll be first to know. In the meantime, it appears I may have voided enough of the distractions in my mind to now return to Cassidy and Ian, and the love story they are just beginning to walk. So, thanks for listening to me ramble. Wishing you all good health and love — and a faith that gets you through.




Local News: Local Setting in the novel Sunflowers and Sweet Peas




Last night I finished the first chapter in book two of a series set in the town of Peachland, British Columbia — Sunflowers and Sweet Peas. I’m excited to be working on this new series, and am excited to start publishing them in 2021. Mind you, when  I do, disclaimers will seriously apply. I’ve been excited to feature local events, local locations to some extent, actual local bands, local concerns, and today, Castanet gave me ideas for local news. When using real names, I’ve gotten consent — such as with my friend, Lowell’s band, VonReason ( ), and everything else is pretty much made up or embellished for the sake of fiction.

My goal with this series is not only to showcase a town I love, but also to discuss on a very micro, fictional level, real issues in the Okanagan, where I live. Subjects such as homelessness, forest fires, housing costs, urban planning and development, resource management, as well as recreation, arts, small business ownership, health and wellness are all fair game for within these novels. So, when it happens, is real local news.

This afternoon on Castanet there appeared an article about vandalism in Peachland. This is the sort of thing which builds a novel. First, I get some characters, some basic themes, then I fill in the details. This tagger just added one to Sunflowers and Sweet Peas — you will have to read the book when it comes out next year in order to get my assessment on what he did here.

News stories like these also focus the research I do with a novel. I hadn’t particularly planned to talk about murals — well, actually, I had, just not in this book — but now that I will be, I need to learn how to deal with removing paint from a mural. And so, I found this link, which, although technically a commercial, is also pretty cool.


Rock Bottom Ranch – eBook 5 days free no

Ebook FREE on Amazon March 30,2020 - April 3, 2020



Originally scheduled for a January 2021 launch, I have decided to release the stand alone romance Rock Bottom Ranch early. I decided to release it in eBook format on Amazon only, and wanted to offer it for free as my little way of contributing in these difficult times. I’m not a doctor or even a grocery clerk, I’m a writer — this is what I have to bring.

I don’t generally launch straight to Amazon, though, and so learned that I can only do a five day free promo. With that said, Rock Bottom Ranch is now available in eBook form on Amazon. It will be free to download from March 30, 2020 until April 3, 2020. Enjoy!

Former Rodeo queen Pearl Robinson made one mistake in life — she married the wrong man. Now, divorced and barren, she is returning to her hometown of Armstrong, BC. She has a new job as an instructor and wrangler at Rock Bottom Ranch — owned and operated by former town bod boy, Tim Wenger. Rock Bottom is a place where troubled teens can find help and comfort through equine therapy. It doesn’t take long for Pearl to catch the vision of Rock Bottom. She has fallen in love with her new job, her new students — and possibly her new employer, as well.

Check out the youtube promo video at or at my website

Stay well everyone!

Leigh Macfarlane


Sunshine and Staying Inside

Today, I am having an odd reaction to self-isolation — I am feeling an intense sense of gratefulness and love which I can’t seem to shake.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t felt that way everyday, but today, the sun is out, and even if I am sitting inside, my heart feels as bright as the sky outside my window. I’m going to enjoy this feeling while it lasts. I know it might not.

My elder daughter turned 23 on February 23, and that morning  a group of us all went out for breakfast at Denny’s. My younger daughter woke up that morning with a serious headache a sore throat and no appetite. She was annoyed, because she’d been looking forward to the breakfast. We didn’t really think much of it beyond that. She’d been to a volleyball match down at the Coast and I figured she picked up the flu at the tournament. I knew she was really sick when she voluntarily stayed home from the afternoon’s practice.

She missed several days of school and another practice mid-way through the week, and I played nursemaid. Even after she got better, she was exhausted and finding it hard to keep up with the volleyball training. With her being an A-type personality, I reminded her she had been sick — she should expect to be dragging a bit until her energy fully returned. It took her over a week. Eventually, though, she was back at full-power.

Approximately two weeks later, I had an appointment to get my taxes done, and for no apparent reason, I couldn’t stop coughing all the way through that appointment. I didn’t feel sick at all, but as luck would have it, I’d been scheduled to have an interview for a promotion that afternoon before my shift at work. People had started to talk about Coronavirus — it was already significant in China and heading that way in Italy — so I called in to see if they still wanted to go ahead with the interview. She postponed.

But I wasn’t sick. So, I went to work. I kept going all that week. By Thursday, I felt like maybe I was coming down with something — achy, and my temperature regulator seemed off. But, I certainly didn’t seem to have any of the dramatic symptoms being described in the news. Friday the 13th, I woke up with a crazy headache, and nothing I threw at it helped. If you’ve read my previous blogs, you know that by the end of my shift that day, I knew I was sick. My throat was raw, felt a lot like strep throat. I got my shift covered for the following day.

And I really was sick. It felt like the flu — but different. I honestly don’t know what I had. But to make a long story short, I missed another shift, then another, and I was still coughing. By then, the virus had started to explode around us, and I really didn’t know what to do. Ultimately, I drove into work, then once I got there told my boss, I just don’t think I should be here. It felt socially irresponsible. She sent me home, 811 told me to stay there, and my company committed to paying two weeks of salary so I could self-isolate. Then, three days later, my store location closed completely. Which means, now instead of two weeks of salary, they have me covered for four weeks. After that, I suppose I am with the rest of unemployed Canada — thankful for Prime Minister Trudeau’s commitment to keeping the population cared for.

At first, I was too sick to do be anything but tired. Then, my appetite came back. Then my energy. Then I started to get productive.

My daughter’s volleyball league cancelled first one match, then another, then all of them. Season over. Her school, which is on spring break, is also on indefinite leave. The possibility exists that they might go online, but with libraries closed, this may not be a solution for everyone. Sheena is used to going mach ten at all times, and now she is home, no school, no sports, no friends — she has been amazing about it, but it is hard. Could be worse — we both recognize that — still, if I don’t find her something else to do other than bake, I am going to weigh 300 pounds before this is over.

Like everyone else, I spent way too much time watching news reports. Because of my novels, I recently joined Twitter, and that place is like a warzone — one I find myself too easily pulled into.  The Stupid Things People Say may just be my next book title, and it is going to be based on the anger all over the Internet.

I’ve kept in touch with a customer from work. I follow his photography on Instagram. He recently said to me, “I don’t think things are going to be the same after this.”

I think that might be true. I think after this, there is going to be a lot of grief and anger people are dealing with. Some people are going to lose a lot. That is going to be hard to accept. I mean, how do you get angry at a virus? Or a DNA sequencing glitch, or whatever this thing is. How do we get angry at something so small stripping us all of our facades of invulnerability, our vanity and arrogance, our beliefs in superiority and invincibility? How do we get angry at an illness when it shows us that the world is not what we thought it was and reminds us that our place in it is so insignificant?

It is so much easier to be angry at the guy who bought out all the meat, or the toilet paper hoarders, the politicians, Donald Trump. Not that there aren’t consequences to actions, not that people don’t say dumb and objectionable things on Twitter and Facebook, not that some leaders aren’t more adaptable than others, more wise than others. The thing is, as I’ve listened to the news, perused social media, stayed indoors despite the sunshine and have limited my social interactions with family to virtual ones, I keep realizing that we are all in this together. Some people are taking this more seriously than others, some are sick and some are not, some may lose and some may not, but I’ve realized, people say dumb things and do dumb things because they are human. Because underneath the bluster, they are afraid. No one knows how to handle this perfectly.

I’ve realized that underneath the hoarding, the bulk buying, the social media venting and cursing there is selfishness, yes, there is ugliness and frustration, also yes, but mostly there is fear. It is one thing we are all experiencing. It just looks differently on some of us than on others. Maybe not everyone is afraid of getting sick and dying, but everyone is wondering what it all means, what will our world look like after all of this ends.

We are the same.

There seems to have been the beginnings of a shift — or maybe today was just a good news day or I am more optimistic now that I am feeling healthy again — but I am reading more good news than bad today. People who have been fighting the illness are recovering. Others are finding creative virtual ways to connect through online arts groups, chat groups, etc. Whitespot had a drive-thru breakfast to raise funds for the food bank, someone organized a drive-by birthday party parade for children who are unable to have birthday parties — and complete strangers are parading their vehicles past birthday children with banners and balloons. Bauer is now making masks, a family run vineyard is teaching their children about business in their vineyard while they home school.

The police, other front-line workers, doctors, nurses, grocery store clerks and other essential workers seem to be getting more veneration than I’ve personally seen at any other time in history. As is right. I’m sure people will be back to hating soon enough, but right now, I feel so much deep gratitude for these people who are continuing to work to keep us all safe and healthy and fed — even while their own lives are jeopardized and their own families are experiencing all the strains the rest of us face. Perhaps Americans experienced some of what I am feeling after 9-11, but this is a greater level of awareness of all the societal elements working to improve my personal well-being than I have personally experienced before. Within these moments of stress, I feel this undercurrent of gratefulness for the country where I live, the policies we live by, the politicians and others working to get us all to the other side of this pandemic. It is a warmth of feeling that supersedes the daily worries.

I had a video chat with my co-workers this morning, and it was great. I miss them all. Today was a moment of connection I didn’t even know I needed. Yesterday, one of the members of my book club sent out an email saying let’s go virtual, and one of the technologically inclined guys in the group suggested zoom — says it is easy.

This morning I felt a degree of appreciation for being part of these social groups that I normally overlook. I mean, I always like everybody, and I’m glad to know you. This morning, I just felt like I had to restrain myself from gushing out how much I love everyone — which seems to be my mood of the day. Hey, family, hey friends, hey complete strangers I’ve never met — I love you! We are all part of the same team — team beat the virus and team human and team Earth. I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced this sense of universal connectedness in quite the same way — and it took dismantling everyone’s daily lives and putting us all into isolation to make it happen.

I’ve spoken to my sister more this week than probably in the past month. Normally, we both live very busy lives. Right now, we get to check in everyday.

My eldest son’s wife called me for a soup recipe last night. They are stuck in a tiny bachelor suit apartment and there is a confirmed quarantine in their building, yet they seem happier than ever together — which is amazing to see.

My elder daughter’s boyfriend told me he loved me (you touched me, David – sob).

I learned something I didn’t even know about my younger son — he likes to do puzzles. What?? I hate puzzles, unless it is the puzzle of figuring out what happens next in the book I am writing. He does not get that from me.

He got it from my mom. She was sappily thrilled when I called her this morning to tell her about the mark she’s left on her grandson.

And my youngest? Last night when I was going to bed she was up making these amazing chocolate chip cookies. I had them for breakfast. Help. Somebody save me.

Last night I stayed up late playing on Canva and generally procrastinating on novel writing. I created a new release announcement — and seven bookmarks featuring the covers of seven different novels. They are my next series. I’ve only got one written so far, but I’ve got plans.

The night before that I was up until — well, I am not even going to tell you that. I started off researching the costs of hiring someone from Fiverr to read my books in order to create an audio book. When I realized how expensive it would be plus listened to a lot of really droning narrators, I decided, hey, I used to record songs, I have all the gear, I will just download Reaper and narrate the things myself. So, then I was up for hours recording myself narrating snipets of my novels onto my phone just to see how I sounded.

It is not the easiest thing to do, lemme just say. I speed up. I stumble over words. I add verbal stressors in places they don’t really belong — hats off all you actors! You make it look easy. And yet, after awhile, I thought, hmm, not too bad. I could do this. My favourite was the snippet I wrote for my art heist novel. Every third word was an f-bomb. Apparently, I make a decently convincing villain. Of course, then I thought, hey, why not call up my friends from the actor’s studio. Delphine. Jerome. I work with one of them. I watched the other grow up. They could do this…

I vibe on the creating. I get lost in the creating. I don’t even notice that it is two in the morning and I am still creating. I’ve informed my boss that I have reverted back to my preferred sleeping patterns and will need to be reintegrated gradually when that day comes.

I know that this pandemic fight isn’t over. There is a longer struggle ahead. I know I may not feel this cheerful tomorrow, and even by tonight I may be back to the unbearably snarky comments people who are afraid make to one another on twitter. Fear, I’ve realized, often looks a lot like hate. But right now, for today, I keep realizing another level and another of what is truly important and what is not. People are. Toys are not. Health is. A tan is not. Friendship is. Family is. Encouraging others is. Creativity — whether in innovative ways to fight this disease, in traditional ideas of writing, singing, painting, drama etc. (adapted to a virtual stage) is. Drive-by birthday parades definitely are.

Trying to love better and understand better and empathize instead of villainize — these all are. So, maybe Dan will be right.

Maybe, when this is all over we will remember what is and is not important.

And life as we know it will never be the same.


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