The struggle over transparency has left my blog neglected for the past little while. In this e-world of disseminating personal information I often ask, "how much is too much?" Which walls do I leave up? Which walls do I tear down? And which walls do I leave for decorating to please the public's eye?

This much I do know. My walls carry cracks. And what may be considered "quaint" for one, could be considered "odd" for another.

Despite my reservations, I still feel a duty to share bits of me. I owe it to myself and to this bubbling well inside me to spill over regardless of where it may fall...

My parents have now come and gone from their visit to Canada. What a role reversal it is to host the people who have "hosted" you for most of your growing life. The moment where I tsk-tsked my own mother for using the wrong handtowels I'll never forget. "Those are for pretty, Mom, not for actual use." Say what?! Or another favorite was when my mother apologized for not making up the bed in the guest room the morning they left for the airport. So bizarre coming from the person responsible for my clean room checks growing up. But I'd have to say my most favorite memory from their visit was that of me and my mother whipping up a cream cheese cookie baking and coleslaw cooking storm in the kitchen. Together. Side by side. Mother and daughter. It was a healing moment for me. And one that's been needed for over three years.

A beauty of a storm descended upon Hamilton the other day. To the west, sunshine. To the east, dark clouds. And my house seemed to be at the centre of it all. My pear tree bent ungracefully at the force of the winds sending me a small sense of danger and also a thrill. An affliction leftover from my Tornado Alley living days I'm afraid. But the storm left as quickly as it came, washing my sidewalks-and my spirit-clean.

I just finished watching "Becoming Jane." It's a semi-biographical movie on the author, Jane Austen. I'll not critique the acting or the script, but I have to comment on the element of unrequited love between Jane and Mr. Lefroy. It is heart-wrenching and unsatisfying to not see them have their happily ever after together, but I have to say there is something dark about me that loves a story that is not tied up in a pretty little bow. Life is just not that way. I must also say that if you have never felt the pain of unrequited love, then you have never lived. But if you have felt its deepest sorrow, it is like you have also died.

I think Jesus must have felt the anguish of unreturned love and known the sting of a scorned lover too. He would have made for a great hero in one of Austen's novels, but then again he did already play a great character in another Good Book....

August is here too soon. While I'm itchin' to get back to work at Listen Up TV this fall, I am still officially an unpublished writer. Usually I hold my goals, like pearls, preciously and privately. But the summer is ending and I am aware of how quickly my 30th birthday is approaching. Secretly, I feel the delicate strand has broken and quietly my pearls are slipping away.

And so in the battle for today's post, Transparency, I'm afraid has won out at the same time I have run out of plaster for my broken walls.