If there is an upside to having Atrial Fibrillation it is that you don’t just jump out of bed in the morning. You get up slowly so that your heart finds its day rhythm and the blood starts moving to all the right areas of your body.

Once up its dress, leash dogs and out the door. I keep my brain in a comfortable neutral only allowing certain thoughts in. Not those meaning of life ones that I probably should have instead I muse on the creative side of my business; finding the right words for an article, website touch-up ideas or fresh business concepts. Like so many entrepreneurs it is hard finding the time to create instead of running a business so 5:15am…ish is that time .

The energy is different when Chris comes with us; he is one of those people who gets up with his all his mental stuff front and centre. While I don’t mind Duke’s and Mia’s lingering sniffs over blades of grass mixed with multiple bathroom stops he is impatient to keep moving. Their excitement over every smell, sight and sound enhances my own awareness of the awakening day.

At that early hour we only share the streets with fellow dog walkers, a few joggers and runners. Some are withdrawn, huddled into their jackets and thoughts, others merely nod. It is usually the dog people who call out a cheery hello.

Then it’s home, make coffee and shower while channel surfing between The Today Show, a Calgary Breakfast Show and the BBC because I like their international news and knowing what kind of weather people in Hong Kong and Palermo are walking their dog in.

Put succinctly I had a love/hate relationship with Julie Powell’s book Julie & Julia.  Unlike some of her critics I do applaud Powell’s leap from the world of blogging into that of a published author. Many of her detractors have made it all about the food but that wasn’t why she embarked on 524 Recipes in 365 days; Jennie Yabroff in her Newsweek article Stop Hating Julie Powell, Please covers this well.

What Ms. Powell did need was someone to remind her that when people stop reading your words for free and start laying down money for your book, you then have an obligation to give them a reasonably professional product and that is where she just doesn’t deliver. Some of her word choices and phrasing were barely at a high school grammar 101 level. Attempts to be avant guard through drawing on sexual encounters (hers and those of her friends), a preoccupation with her own body odors and the ad nauseum descriptions about the grunge and filth of her apartment were imitations of twenty-something writers who had gone before her and who have done it so much better.

When she isn’t trying so hard and returns to the realness of her life the book improves. I enjoyed reading about the bona fide world of Julie Powell. This is also where she stops being a blogger and remembers that she is an author as her prose takes us through the drudgery of her day job, her escalating enthusiasm for cooking, to her growing obsession with completing the project Mastering the Art of French Cooking  and even her feelings for Julia Child.

It was a stark contrast indeed that while reading Julie & Julia I came across a piece of work by Elizabeth McCracken.  After years and years and years of reading it is not often that one can still stumble on an author who really draws you in,  This Does Not Have to Be a Secret from her book An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination does just that.

She has a wonderful style that never slips into some of the slickness that so many writers do. She writes about life events and emotions with a refreshing clarity and where I really felt a connection was her sense of humor; the dwarves of grief that she refers to will forever have a place in my imagination  and I will definitely be ordering one of her books for my winter reading

Authors such as Elizabeth McCracken provide a quality source of reading pleasure, and while pop culture figures such as Julie Powell may stretch their 15 minutes of fame into 30; I for one won’t be finding the time to read any more of her books.

When it comes to how we live with our furniture Chris and I are definitely at different ends of the lifestyle spectrum

He comes from the ancestry where the front room is for guests only and the good china  is saved for special occasions; while my descendants were more the “Oh, dear the new puppy just chewed one the legs of the 18th century Hepplewhite mahogany dining table.”

As I am responsible for the care and feeding of the furniture we live in the relax and appreciate it environment. If you are a guest I’ll round up the dust bunnies but all in all you take the house as you find it. And don’t get me started on the concept of preserving something so that we can pass it on after we have died. I enjoy living with and using nice things; so after I have gone whomever can decide to keep it or put it in a garage sale but rest assured every scratch, dent and scuff will have a story or memory behind it.

Unfortunately though a mahogany dining table doesn’t fit in with our habits; as we eat, talk, laugh, plan and sometimes argue around this focal feature in the house. Instead we have a big Pier One table with a glass top. A squirt of Windex and it is ready to go for the next round of bill paying, newspaper reading, me on my laptop, deep discussion, wine drinking while dinner cooks and yes, actually eating a  meal.

Our home is also a reflection of eclectic tastes; old with new, expensive with not so much. I love to mix things up; to position an ultra modern chocolate coloured couch in between two turn of the century tables. According to many interior designers an eclectic look is rarely done well and should not be attempted. I don’t listen to them either.

This past weekend was the 40th anniversary of Woodstock and my Saturday morning tweet read -  This Sat 40 years ago I was 15 and driving through Cape Cod with parents listening to Woodstock news reports on car radio.

It only took that 123 character post and the fact that it was a grey and rainy Saturday to leave me with a mantle of sadness; as my mind went back to the August weekend in one of my favorite places, shared with two people that I still miss today. Unlike many writers who like to present themselves as having risen from the dregs of dreadful childhoods, I had a good relationship with my parents. On the surface they may have been stereotypical of the distant English parents; in private they were supportive and loving giving me little fodder for even a mild case of teenage angst.

That evening Chris and I ate pasta, drank wine and caught up on the conversations that we didn’t have time for in the week.  We then watched the movie Defiance. I had originally wanted to rent it because it starred Daniel Craig, who is on my short list of men I would have an affair with but the story proved to be so much more than I expected.

It is a World War II movie that looks at the Holocaust from a unique perspective. Telling the true story of a group of Jews in Eastern Europe who fought back from there home deep in the forest and the Bielski brothers who led them. While not a perfect movie the story itself is remarkable.

Saturday ended with me thinking that the type of person we become is not only the result of the family we are born into but also the time in history. For me is was about being a teenager growing up in the sixties. One thing I realized is that I want to start having the right conversations and asking the pertinent questions. From the hindsight of the person that I am today what talks I would have with my parents!

Relationships must be so much more than mere everyday words. Remember that a really sick friend is not just her disease; part of her still wants to talk about clothes, grumble about her husband and laugh over the funny parts of 30 Rock.  Realizing that a grumpy co-worker or colleague might be troubled by something in her life and responding accordingly. It’s about asking parents and grandparents to share the early years of their lives and seeing how they intertwined with the events of the time.

And ultimately never forgetting that everyone has a story.

For many of us the book that we choose to read at any given time is determined by any number of factors.

It could be seasonal. Summer is the time for the blended and frothy type of book. In the spring and fall I tend to be restless so I like the story to take place somewhere other than North America. Winter is for those big cozy works of historical fiction and memoirs

Then we check our mood, do I need to find myself or lose myself?

Finally, there is the time of day; business books and research are great for day time but by the evening I want something with which to as Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot might say “turn off the little grey cells”.

Age doesn’t really enter into the equation; think of the number of adults reading Harry Potter.

So here we are the summer of ‘09. My Amazon book wish list is pages long and I have groaning piles of yet to be read books, newspaper business sections, Time, Vogue, Marie Claire, O and More magazines in the living room, office and bedroom.

I have just finished My Sister’s Keeper which was no great feat; it is to literature what The Young and the Restless is to PBS. I will say though that the ending was unexpected. Next on my pureed summer book diet is Julie & Julia which led me to Julie Powell’s blog What Could Happen.

In the way of a little brain fiber I am reading three business books that have been recommended to me -

“Coolhunting: Chasing Down the Next Big Thing” Peter Gloor

“Tribes” Seth Godin

“Change Your Questions, Change Your Life: 7 Powerful Tools for Life and Work”
Marilee G. Adams Ph.D.

I cannot end this post on books without mentioning the one literary genre for all seasons and that is a good murder mystery. This past week coincidentally I was exchanging emails with mystery writer Roberta Isleib, who is currently on the other end of  the equation in that she is spending her summer putting the finishing touches on a new book.

No matter what the month is, all that you need to truly enjoy a mystery is a comfortable chair, no one home, a dark night, some fog rolling in, the sound of dogs howling over the moors ……………

We have made the decision to take a week off in August but not go away. A list of day trips to take, new restaurants to try, movies to see, gives our staycation the facade of a good idea. But I am wondering how will this really play out? It seems inevitable that already some home improvement projects are writing themselves onto the list.

As a Life Coach I have learned how to manage having an office at home. I balance in-office clients with remote coaching by using virtually any available media at my disposal. And I like the added benefit that I can sometimes squeeze in a few minutes of The View’s Hot Topics between morning sessions. Although I will take the usual steps to close my practice for that week I am somewhat leary of the fact that my work will be surrounding me in some form or other.

Then there is a bigger picture, that I don’t particularly care for where we live. I am most myself on a bustling city street or by the ocean and the fact that for now I call a rather rural part of Alberta home is difficult for me at the best of times.

I grew up a city girl; the art of hailing taxis and reading French menus was learned at young age. I know the secret of finding community & friends in your own corner of London, Brussels or Toronto. I thrive in the world of bistros, museums & the theater, city parks at lunch time and knowing when & where the best bargains are in otherwise expensive stores.

Living among all these flat fields feels well, claustrophobic. A vacation should include walks by the sea; that takes me into my own personal nirvana. Therefore the sensible decision to stay home this year is also compounding my personal frustration that by midlife I would be living in a place which truly felt like home.

I know that a better attitude might allow for some modicum of success.  Somehow though my psyche and midlife soul are just not feeling this turn of events. I don’t believe that a staycation can offer what a vacation does, I’ll let you know.

In an O magazine article Looking for Stillness author (Riding In Cars With Boys), Beverly Donofrio goes monastery-hopping (her words) and she discovers ‘peace, clarity, connection, grace and a kind of hush’.  At the end of the article she returns to the Nada Hermitage in Colorado “Where you can hear your own bare feet on the floor”.

When was the last time you heard your own bare feet on the floor?

If you are anything like me noise is embedded into your life. I get up, turn on the news so that I can hear what has transpired in the world while I slept.  Feed excited and hungry dogs/cats, water runs, the coffee pot beeps to let me know when the coffee is ready, the toaster dings, my computer says “Good morning, Jill”, a phone rings and the day is underway.

As the hours progress my heels will click on busy pavement or loafers connect with my office’s hardwood but somehow I missed that moment when my bare feet quietly set my life in motion.

….. a new book from a favourite author
….. the effortless ritual of making tea
….. old, comfy slippers on a cold winters’ morning
….. that bowl of pasta or home made soup when your soul is world weary

We all need those things that are comforting to us; they provide consistency and calmness in what can often be an overly stimulating existence.

Time spent with old friends is one of the ultimates in social comforts.  This past weekend we met up with just such friends in Banff to celebrate husband’s birthday. The familiarity of knowing each others lives, the flow of easy conversation and laughter were truly relaxing.

And sometimes comfort is only meant to be with us for a specific interval. Many years ago we bought a house in BC. While my girlfriend and I were sitting outside, taking a break from the pre-move cleaning this rather scruffy, wild looking young black cat emerged from the field behind the house. He was wary but hungry and the only thing that we had with us was water and a box of Ritz crackers. With time the newly named Ritz allowed himself to become a house cat. He grew into a sleek and handsome adult with a sweet and uncomplicated nature.  Sadly, 14 years later we have just put this beautiful boy to sleep. Old age, liver problems and a tumour under his neck all caught up with him.

His spirit is again free to roam the fields. However in the evening I miss his restful presence curled up on my lap until I go to bed.