I was a guest presenter at the U of Guelph, Wellness Centre's breast health awareness meeting yesterday afternoon. It's an annual gig for me and one that I enjoy immensely. A part of me still feels as young and fresh as the students that I'm talking too. When in fact, I am the same age as their mothers.

Aging (now there's a subject for a Blog) is so......surprising.

It's always interesting for me to notice myself get animated when I start talking about breast health. For me, it is so much more than BSE's or mammograms or thermography or wearing pink ribbons. Practicing integrated breast health is essentially being confident with yourself on all levels and living a rich, rewarding, healthy lifestyle. The more I lean into this work, the better I feel about myself and my body. The more energy I have to be animated about my profession, which for me is woven seamlessly into my life as a whole.

I do find my vocation to be over the top stimulating. I've made a very good gig for myself.

Anyway, I showed The Breast of Times video...yes the same video that I presented at my Friday night gig....This time, it DID stimulate a discussion.

One question stood out. What would I suggest that young women do to become more comfortable with their breasts and bodies?

I answered, "Stand in front of a mirror naked and really look at yourself."

Later in the evening, more answers started to come to me and I realized, perhaps again, I do re-realize things all the time, that getting comfortable with your breasts and body is a process that will continue for your life time and will require diligence and courage.

Here's the rub. Our society does not really want you to be who you uniquely are. Ideally, and for the sake of easy management and manipulation, our social structure prefers to herd people into a giant, status quo group. All the easier and better to sell you group identifying stuff my dear. And a huge part of that stuff is 'an image' for you to adopt.

You can go with the flow and buy into the life being supplied for you. Or, you can stand up to this push. Which means, you will be you. This BTW is your natural calling. And you will stand out, every step of the way.

And it doesn't mean you have to renounce consumerism. Instead, you will purchase or create what resonates for you from a deep, internal level of your being. And interesting, you will likely buy less stuff because what you do buy will have so much more meaning for you. You will become satisfied. Less becomes more.

I obviously chose the latter life course and without hesitation, I highly recommend this route to anyone who asks. Personally, I find it easier. Besides, the BOX they herd you into made me feel claustrophobic.

Here's a list of suggestions, beyond standing in front of a mirror, that I've worked into my repertoire and that help make my life's trip move, tickity boo along, Jim Dandy like.

• Turn off your TV.
• Read literature instead of fashion magazines.
• Push your own envelope every other day.
• Lay down on a big piece of paper and get someone to trace the outside of your body. Then decorate your image.
• Dance.
• Look at Art.
• Make Art.
• Do a body or breast cast.
• Stop wearing a bra 50% of the time.
• Accept compliments.
• Study yoga.
• Be as generous to yourself as you are to your best friend.
• Learn to say "no thank you".
• Smile.
• Improve your posture, shoulders back, head up.
• Use eye contact.

SR

Let the Bells Ring and the Banners....damn....I never remember what the banners are suppose to do...Roll maybe??....whatever...banners, do what you're suppose to do.....and let me say with glee, "good news boys and girls! Phase one of the get the disturbing Bell Sympatico ad pulled effort has been successful." (italics seemed like the most gleeful form of typing I've clued into so far.)

Please pause and pat yourself on the back.

Okay, now....it's time for Phase Two, Operation: GREAT BIG APOLOGY!!

Rabble.ca, a feisty network of smart, no flies nowhere, folk have been helping to move Bell through the stages of recognizing their stupidity. They, Bell that is...thought the ad was funny. Hee, Hee. They were poking fun....at overprotective parents....poke, poke....parents who will go to any length to protect their children from inappropriate content on the web....like Grade Five Health textbooks....those suckers can break your toe if they fall on your foot.

And here I was thinking pornography, pedifiles and stalkers would be a more suitable source of concern on the web. Geez, can you imagine the impact a huge corporate entity would have if they took a stand against a very real and growing danger in our collective world. How highly ETHICAL, RESPONSIBLE and MATURE that would be. And no doubt incredibly good for their corporate image, bottom line and company moral.

Silly me. I’m much too serious.

My very lovely, efficient, does a perfect job, Google News Alert presented me with this Rabble report this morning. Tell Bell: We're not satisfied yet.

Do tell them.

Please.

SR

Friday night, I was a special guest at a lavish International Women's Day dinner, held in a fancy banquet hall in Guelph. Net proceeds from the event were being directed to the Breast of Canada Calendar.

From the minute I walked in the room, I was quite overwhelmed. This was the first time I was playing the role of benefactor. (Should there be a next time, I will be much better prepared.... I hope.)

I kind of live in a bubble with a bunch of artists here in G-Town. Which doesn't mean anything in particular and in this case, I only mention it to create some context. The dinner guests, based on their appearances only, were not from my creative world. At least none were recognizable to me. Which isn't a bad thing at all....I'm just saying...I was in unfamiliar, perhaps more conservative territory. And, I noticed that the women were not flocking over to see the calendar. Which is a sign of something, only I’m not sure what. So I concluded, based on past experience, that perhaps, I was about to be a Breast Health Ambassador.

You see, I was asked to make a 15 minute presentation. A few days prior to the dinner, I decided that rather than put myself through the public speaking wringer, I instead would show a documentary video that a group of women students from Seneca College had made about the calendar project. "The Breast of Times" ran a brisk 13 minutes. In my wisdom, I figured a 2 minute intro followed by the video would be the perfect 'show and tell' and save me from sweating bullets at the podium.

The videographers chose to focus on the ‘sexuality of the breast’. Video clips included one of our topfree photo shoots, lots of interviews and several minutes of face time with me. All in all, the tone was serious and edgy, but also brave and honest. They gals got top marks in their class for their revealing take on breasts.

All my prior wisdom seemed to wash away now that the actual event was unfolding. Did these women want to be exposed to the subject matter? I found it fascinating, but that fact was amounting to squat and I was having to do a lot of self talk to keep calm. Trying to staying grounded and appear like a confident benefactor, as the clock ticked toward show time, took considerable energy.

I was placed at the head table, with the Mayor of Guelph. My palms dripped sweat, soaking my linen napkin. Small talk was beyond me as I second, third and forth guessed myself about showing the video. With no plan B up my sleeve of course.

I don't intentionally set out to be controversial. Really. I don't.

As dessert was being served, my 15 minutes arrived. I asked for the lights to be dimmed, pushed play and trusted.

I was the last person to leave the parking lot later that evening. As I drove the 15 minutes trip home, I laughed, howled in fact, at the strange, weirdness of my life. No doubt, the evening would be talked about, by those in attendance, for some time to come.

Pulling into my driveway, I reached back to collect my bag....the one with the money in it....only to find that it was not there. The same four letter word left my lips several times in rapid succession and I spun the car back out the driveway. When I reached the big empty parking lot of the banquet hall, there it was. My bag, sitting on the ground, in the very middle of the lot, like a lonely figure waiting for a lift. I pulled up close, opened my door and pulled it in.

SR

Happy (almost) International Women's Day.

In case you did not catch this titillating news in our local press, (Guelph) and you want to celebrate women, art and the colour PINK, do mark these dates on your calendar.

The Tickled Pink art show of small works, created by beginner, intermediate and professional artists, all framed in pink, starts today.

Artist Carolyn Riddell, Miss Pinkness 2005 and curator of Tickled Pink, the 2nd Annual International Women's Day celebration at Crimea Street Studio reports that the work will include watercolours, prints, pastels, mixed media and pottery.

The show runs from March 5 until March 11.

But wait...there's more.....

If you require a big pink infusion to lift your sagging spirits, then you really must join us for the Tickled Pink Party on International Women’s Day, Tuesday March 8 from 3 - 7 pm. Art prizes will be announced and awarded. Pink will prevail in food and drink. Pink attire will be rewarded with gushing comments and over the top fawning so if you're feeling invisible, pink yourself pretty. Then expect a rosy time.

Original art prices start at $50.00. Creative silent auction. Everyone is welcome. Quality, inspired conversation guaranteed.

Show hours: March 5 & 6: 1 - 4 pm ; March 7 - 11: 12 noon - 5 pm. And by chance or appointment.

Where: Crimea Street Studio 100 Crimea St., Suite B3, Guelph, Ontario, Canada.

Details: Call (519) 836-3759 for more information.

All art works are for sale. 30% of retail sales will be forwarded to the Breast of Canada calendar.

I'm pink from head to toes over this.

Somewhere back in the mid 80's, I was traveling around Europe, with a Vitamin B pee coloured back pack and a multi-month EuroRail Train pass. I also had the detailed European touring itinerary of the band, Chris DeBurgh.

Prior to leaving Canada on my adventure, I had M.C.'d the wedding of my childhood friend Dianne and her sweetie Grant. Thanks to some clever remarks and a funny slide show, I hit it off with Al, a member of Chris's band and an usher at the dew.

Europe was to be my first long term, overseas quest so I was quick to spill my beans, given the chance. When Al reported that he too was heading to the Continent with Chris DeBurgh, as the opening act for SuperTramp, I just about burst. I loved my eight track copy of Breakfast In American.

Al slipped me his phone number and said, "call me in a couple of weeks so I can give you our dates and contacts". My Europe gig was about to take a turn toward an unimaginable direction. I was about to become a groupie.

Over the months of traveling, I hitched up with Al on several occasions. Amsterdam, my starting point, coincided with a concert date and was my first step into the land of back stage culture. I was spell bound and loved the intensity required by so many people to put on a show.

As my backpacking savvy grew, I thought nothing of catching 20 hours worth of train connections to meet up for a single show. Besides Al, the stage crew and I hit it off and before long, I was on the bus for an extended tour through Germany.

Then came Stuttgart. By now, summer had unfolded and the concerts were massive, open air, full day affairs with thousands of people in attendance. Chris DeBurghs' popularity had increased tenfold since my first show and the buzz was palatable. Being a girl from rural Canada, I was truly digging this surreal scene.

Then it happened. The guys were just taking the stage to the roar of the crowd when Bill, the stage manager , approached me holding a tassel laden bikini hanging from a hanger. Apparently, the Stripper who was suppose to perform during Chris's hit song,'Patricia the Stripper' had failed to materialize. So Bill asked me to fill in.

I looked at Bill in amazement and laughed, thinking that he was having me on. But he was dead serious. He wanted me to squeeze myself into this micro sized, shiny red, bra and thong, strut across the stage and strip the crowd into a lather.

I politely declined. The offer was a million miles away from my sense of self. And I knew instantly, that because of my self identity, this would be my last concert.

Over the year's, in my minds eye, I've tried to play out the stripper gig to see where it would lead. But I never get very far. I fall down, climbing the stage stairs in the required 4 inch stilettos.

Should I have said yes? It's way too late for that question. Shoulding on myself will only make me feel like shit. I obviously made the right decision for me at the time. And I’m still hopeless in heels.

SR

Now here's a great home business start-up idea. A grow operation for breast implants. I can see it now....different sized breasts sprouting up in....let's see....maybe the bathroom. Wouldn't have to be the basement closet or attic thanks to the legality of implants. You could grown in broad daylight with no fear of being busted.

I see a creepy guy in a trench coat, lurking around the parking lot of the local high school....psssssst hey buddy, wanna, buy a pair of double D's for your little chickie??????

No I didn't think this up myself. Okay I did think up the bathroom and creepy guy part. But the headline arrived in my inbox thanks to a Google News Alert.

Seriously folks, this could prove to be a very exciting development for women who want and need breast reconstruction surgery. But the science is still at the mouse stage of testing.

SR

Friends and colleagues Brian and Ryan (kinda has a ring to it don't yah think) are in NYC today, attending a conference. And likely recovering from Ryan's birthday, celebrated somewhere in the Big Apple, yesterday.

I have a fondness for any northerner with a February birthday, thanks to being born into this short but hated month myself. I have an instant respect for the survival instinct that must get built in at birth.

And February or not, there's nothing quite like enjoying your birthday in another country. (Ryan is a fine Canadian boy.) Doubly so when you add the throbbing heart beat , hip, internationally unique location of NYC. Then make it the closing weekend of a extraordinary, public art show called 'The Gates', staged in Central Park. An art show that has been in the making since before Ryan greeted his parents with his first breath, and you have the basic ingredient of a lasting memory. Dipped in saffron and a few jugs of American beer no doubt.

Ryan and I met almost two years ago because of The Breast Site. He, a computer whiz kid, freshly hired by Geosign Corp following his coop placement. Me, a middle aged artist and the publisher of The Breast of Canada calendar looking for a way to take all the breast health information I was acquiring and give it legs.

Brian, a talented writer, editor and story teller, closer to my end of the age spectrum than Ryan's, joined in the breast health quest next. He was already polishing the prose in the calendar, thanks to a chance meeting over some breast politics. Then he joined the Geosign team, and helped to further The Breast Site's reach.

The Breast Blog is our latest extension into the world. Ryan and Brian behind the scene, (along with several other new Geosigners) keeping the spammers at bay and the machine well oiled. Me, trying to articulate my take on breast health, breast cancer and the state of this crazy world from my little perch.

I'm amused by this unlikely team that I am a member of. If you could track all the twist and turns that each of our lives have taken so far and draw the map that lead us to work together, there is nothing to do but shake your head and wonder at life's plan. And yet here we are, working on The Breast Site together.

Ryan's excitement about his February birthday in NYC, Brian's interest in experiencing 'The Gates', and the fact that I'm wearing saffron from head to toe as I type this entry and thinking about the boys in NYC are but a few of the lines of human nature that link us.

Happy Birthday Ryan. May your life be filled with giant saffron Gates.

SR