Tuesday, March 15, 2011


 I always thought that if I had to go and do my childhood over again, I should like to become a dancer.  People often assume that is something that I do, because I have arms like a gorilla and legs like a giraffe.  Sadly, the only dancing I do either resembles the mid eighties or comes out as a mean polka. 
I really can polka.  It's perhaps the only thing that hung over from taking gym classes until grade 13.

When I went off to study english and psychology at university, I began to discover an inkling toward art therapy.  I forgot about dancing (not much had changed in styles since I first hit the dance floor and it's not like anyone was going to challenge me on my moves anyway) and moved on to considering what it was going to take for me to become a therapist.

huh.  funny that.

It took many more years than I originally envisioned and my therapy involves only a smattering of art evaluation, though that is part of it, initially, but here I am, 39 and on my way to being a certified educational therapist.  Maybe I didn't stray too far off the beaten path after all.

Until this weekend, when I tried on the detective hat.  Let me just say that I will not be quitting my day job any time soon.  That's all I am going to say on that topic.

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