Seasons of Change …

To everything there is a season, and the season for this blog has come to an end.

But fear not, my dear followers, when one season ends another begins.

Since I’ve decided to write under my married name, Dorothy Chiotti, a new blog has been created to signal this new beginning.

Dorothy Chiotti

To continue following my creative evolution, please visit In So Many Words … and click on the “Follow” icon there. This blog is being retired which means I will no longer be writing to it.

Thank you for your support. I look forward to continuing our discourse at In So Many Words … 

Be well and thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂


#FWF: Free Write Friday: Image Prompt

This week Kellie Ellmore’s Free Write Friday Challenge asks us to be inspired by this image prompt.

After this contribution I’ll be taking a couple of weeks off to focus on my wedding and family.

See you soon … and enjoy!

Dorothy 🙂


Source: Tumblr

Yet …
It doesn’t exist yet
Except in my heart
A place I hold dear
But have not as yet
Met. My dream;
My desire awaits
As everything unfolds
As it should.
Question not the time,
Nor place, just feel it
And the wholeness
It brings when
Finally it appears before
Me. Rejoice in the fullness
Of Spirit manifested
As we recognize each
Other and at last I
“I’m home.”
Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

#FWF Free Write Friday: Word Bank …

Welcome to another #Free Write Friday exercise from Kellie Elmore.

This time Kellie provided a bank of words. We could either integrate all into our free writing or select one and work with it.

Lazy … rain … perspective … glint … sombre … trinket … static

I enjoyed the challenge of using them all. 🙂

And I will be honest … I edited a little at the end, but the essence is pure FWF. 😉

Happy reading!


RainPenelope was feeling lazy. A glimpse at her old alarm clock (you know the kind — brass with hands that point at numbers and an alarm bell stationed on top) told her it had just turned 8:45 a.m.. She yawned and stretched and sank her head deeper into the down pillow beneath it, and closed her eyes. Penelope loved the sound of the rain against the window pane, a sound which always seemed amplified when she stared into her eyelids. She wasn’t particularly fond of the grey-coloured sky. How could the steady sound of cleansing rain feel so soothing while the dark, ominous clouds from which it descended weigh so claustrophobic? She sighed. It was all a matter of perspective, of course. Some people hated everything about rain but she, somehow, was able to see the bright side of it. Rain quenched the thirst of flowers, and flowers were beautiful. Besides, a break in the deluge and a gap in the clouds always offered a glint of hope for sunnier times to come. Flowers needed sun too. It was a balance. There had to be balance. Too much or too little of anything led to heartache. Heartache led to a sombre outlook on life. Penelope could never tolerate such a state. She opened her eyes and reached to feel her favourite Labradorite pendant attached to a silver chain around her neck. It was more a charm than a trinket, for it reminded her that though the perspective of her life might shift depending on the play of light and shadow, her essence, like the shimmering layers of this beautiful irridescent stone she loved, remained constant, but never static. There was a difference.



Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

#FWF: Free Write Friday ~ The Illusion

This week’s Free Write Friday exercise from Kellie Elmore asks us to use this image as a prompt.

Here we go …

birds #FWF

But for tethered wings, I could fly.

But for a caged spirit, I could soar.


Sever the strings that bind me

To the Earth!

Unlock the door that imprisons

My weary soul! ~

Awaken me from the illusion

That I need more than I am

To soar.


Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

#FWF Free Write Friday: Baggage Claim …


Another submission to Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday. This week the subject is “Baggage Claim.”

I’m enjoying this opportunity to do some free thinking based on a prompt. Sometimes I find it difficult to express myself — like there’s still some kind of  blockage in the frequency between the expression of my heart and my mind, the critic.

Still, with every word I write I know the air waves are clearing. I can hardly wait to write in Dolby! 🙂

Herewith my take on Baggage Claim.



Around and around the carousel of my life you

Spun my head in a million different

Ways I could not fathom until I finally

Took courage and claimed you.

What then?

But to open you, of course, and watch

With, tortured amusement, your

Contents spill over in an untidy

Mind-boggling mess.

Where would I start?

How to sort through the dirty

Raiment of my past without

Feeling overwhelmed by the

Volume of it all?

Did this really happen to me?

Did that really colour every decision,

Every relationship?

Soiled and rendered useless I

Toss you to the laundry pile and,

As time passes, cleanse you from

My soul. For, I shall not carry your

Burden any longer.

Be gone.

I shall not seek you

In Lost Luggage.


Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

Free Write Friday: It was a dark and stormy night …

This is my first attempt at Kellie Ellmore’s Free Write Friday exercise.

Anything could happen.

No editing.

Here goes …

Stormy Night

It was a dark and stormy night. So I made chicken soup. Warm. Comforting. Soothinng. The sting of the darkness tempered by the comforts of broth. Easing my mind. Consoling my body. A flash of lightning. A burst of rain. Then falling down my window pane. Torrential, as the soup floods my rumbling stomach the waters soak the dry earth. Refreshed; revitalized; repaired. Another crash of thunder and my black cat stretches and yawns. Such a bore, the storm, he purrs. He seeks out his fluffy mouse and bats it mercilessly across the tile floor. A flash illuminates. The mouse is launched. The cat lunges. I laugh. The storm a backdrop, not a player. A game changer? A wake-up call? Isn’t that what the storms of life teach us? Get our attention? Wake-up! Wake-up lest you drown in a flood of your own tears …


Thanks for your indulgence …

Dorothy 🙂


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

I Am

Making Tracks

The Shadow’s my companion, but it is not who I am.

Through the process of healing, together we walk.

A light shines on our mutual pain; the pain is defused.

Revealed for what it is, the dark place begins to lose its power.

It no longer overwhelms.

The victim is no more.

With this release a voice of strength emerges, but no longer asks:

“Why me?”

It is simply enough to know that

I am.


Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

Why climb the family tree?

In different hours, a man represents each of several of his ancestors, as if there were seven or eight of us rolled up in each man’s skin,—seven or eight ancestors at least, and they constitute the variety of notes for that new piece of music which his life is.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

(Essayist . Lecturer . Poet — 1803-1882)


Why climb the family tree?

What motivates someone to root themselves in the search for their ancestors and see how far the branches will grow?

Judging by the commercial call-to-action of online family history research sites there appears to be a growing interest in people to discover their roots. Sign up, sign in and a world of connection awaits. What took me years to accumulate through old school methods almost 30 years ago is now frequently available by simply typing a name, hitting “Enter” and watching what sprouts.

As a budding genealogist all those years ago, I spent many, many hours venturing to genealogical libraries, studying volumes of microfiche, writing letters to archivists, and attending genealogical workshops and conferences. As a wonderful starting point, hours were spent combing through boxes of old photographs and family papers my maternal grandfather had left behind when he passed away.

And thank goodness he had, or I might never have had a chance to acquaint myself with the family history behind my personal mystery.

But that wasn’t why I did it … at least, not at first.

Like most people lured to their ancestral past, I was searching for lost glory … looking, for a link to some famous character in history, or royalty, or celebrity, or event. Our family lore mentioned of a link to Swedish royalty, way back when. I wanted to find it.

Grandpa’s withered documents were a tremendous resource. Sifting through the yellowed, tattered papers with their handwritten lineages and stories was a veritable treasure hunt. What little tidbit would reveal itself next? And the candid sepia photographs and portraits of my forebears confirmed the physical connection. Yes, that Belton chin really does run in the family.


Seated: My great, great, grandfather Henry Belton and his wife Mary Jane Crouse, with two of their children. Circa 1890

The quest for my “royal” roots is what drove me, but in the process of researching I uncovered so much more.

Heroes, villains, thrivers and survivors dotted the branches as they grew. Their lives were coloured with strength of character; cowardice; mountains of creativity; mental health issues; joy; sorrow; pain; loss; wealth, poverty, adventure … .

I met United Empire Loyalist ancestors who’d fought and lost everything in the American Revolution and were among the first migrants to Upper Canada from New York State in the 1770s.

I learned about the hardships of the Dust Bowl and Great Depression in Alberta in the 1930s and the mental, emotional and physical toll this had on my grandfather’s family (something from which he never recovered.)

I learned about my Scottish ancestors who left Glasgow for the promise of a new life in Canada and pioneered in northern Alberta in the 1920s.

I learned about my Irish ancestors who fled to Canada to escape the great potato famine in the 1850s.

I learned to appreciate, and identify with, the many strong women who’d endured great emotional, psychological and physical hardships in the face of great challenges including, in some cases, their misogynist husbands.

Perhaps one of the most important things I realized is the influence my ancestors’ experiences, for good or ill, have had my own views of, and responses to, the world around me.

I’ve come to the conclusion that we are the sum total of our ancestors’ experiences plus what we bring into this world and what happens to us while we’re here. That residing in each of us, at some level, lies the pain, joy, sorrow, heroism, cowardice, creativity, adventure, bravery, villainy, love, and so on, that permeated the lives of those who came before. What we do with this is up to us.

Simplistic? Maybe. However, it is, for me, a liberating notion. Why? Because I can see a more complete picture of who I am and set about nurturing what I like about myself while releasing what I don’t like. This, of course, is impossible without some level of self-awareness.

Bantry ND

Bantry, North Dakota, circa 1909 … the town and year of my grandfather’s birth

For all that he loved his family history my maternal grandfather was a deeply troubled man and a bully. He terrorized all the women in his life, including his mother, his wives (he married four times) and his daughter, my mother.

Not surprisingly, her terrors, seemingly by osmosis (because mom’s always insisted she did her best to guard me against grandpa’s influence), infiltrated my own interactions with the world. This was something I was unable to change until I sought help to unseal all the locked places in my psyche and drew into the conversation my knowledge of family history.

Talk about  an “Ah, ha!” moment.

Fortunately, by climbing the family tree I’ve been able to examine grandpa’s life, more closely than I might otherwise, and understand, to a certain extent, the origins of his demons (just keep climbing that tree). As well, once I could let go of my anger toward him, I was able to create space for compassion and forgiveness.

I realized too that I have the power to stay the tide of his despair. Even though there is no next generation for my family, I can heal my life so it’s more enjoyable for me and the people who share it.

So, why climb the family tree?

On the surface it’s a wonderfully rich, personal adventure into history, the parts our families played in it and how they were effected by events of their time. I was never more curious about the American Revolution than when I learned the role my family played in it.

Perhaps more importantly, however, is the incredible role our ancestors can play in our healing journey while we are making our own history and creating, as Ralph Waldo Emerson so beautifully put it “… the new piece of music which is [our] life.”

That, as I discovered, is why I climbed my family tree …


Be well …

Dorothy 🙂


PS During my climb I discovered that one of my ancestors was, indeed, Royal Physician to Queen Christina of Sweden in the 17th century. This was confirmed by a Swedish genealogist I’d hired to do the research based on information provided from my grandfather’s papers. 


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

A Struggle With Visibility

Still more on the personal journey …

I’ve made no secret of the fact I’m in therapy. I hit the proverbial wall a few years ago and at the time, feeling depressed, stuck, fatigued and hopeless, decided if I really wanted to move beyond it I had to figure out how to get out of my own way. So, I put myself in therapy.

Every week the light shines a little deeper into my personal abyss.

This week’s session was another exercise in moving beyond trauma. My awareness shifted once again as I learned to understand my life’s main coping mechanism … invisibility.

“When I’m invisible no one can hurt me.”

Acting on this belief is how I’ve managed to survive. The trouble with this way of being, however, is that it cuts me off from the world around me. I’ve rarely been really present in my experiences and have found it difficult to recognize or accept honest help when it’s offered. A lot of this has boiled down to my inability to trust.

As a result, I have almost no memory of my early years and spotty recognition of times after that. What resonates are the vibrations of traumatic childhood experiences that have conditioned my responses as an adult.

This is what I am seeking to understand and change through therapy. I still have a lot of life left and it no longer serves me to live invisiblly.

Happy boy

My horse is an important part of my journey to wholeness. His power and size mean I must be present when interacting with him. But I must first be there … here … present … for myself. In no uncertain terms Bear teaches me to do this every day.

I need, and want, to be visible but the thought of it, at times, still terrifies me. It is this ongoing battle between the new self-awareness and the old “comfortable” way of being that brings on such great fatigue. And as I prepare, now, to be front and centre on my upcoming wedding day these feelings only seem to become more entrenched and argumentative.

Yet I am determined to see the battle through, rejoice in my visibility, and continue to walk the healing path so my creative spirit can come shining through.

Putting these feelings into words in this blog is part of my healing.

Allowing the words to flow to you by pressing the “Publish” button is part of the challenge.

My finger is inevitably poised over the delete key …

… but not this time.


Lost Years

Release the fears,

And all the tears

Wept for the lost

And lonely years.

Be not afraid

Just let them go.

Plant new the seed

And watch it grow

In strength and love

Toward the light,

The shadow’s power

No more in sight.

And be that light

That wants to shine.

It is your turn,

Oh child, mine.


Thanks for visiting …



Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013 
All Right Reserved

Milestone Fifty

Horse MomFifty years ago today, in a hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia, at 3:41 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, I drew my first breath.

Seems odd that already a half century has gone by. Still, this does not depress me. I’ve been engaged enough in self-awareness exercises during the past several years to realize that my life is, in fact, just beginning.

I still have dreams and things I’d like to accomplish.

Sometimes I wonder, “Am I too old?”


Age is more than a number. It’s everything behind it that has made me who I am.

So it is with gratitude and a burning desire to fulfill my measure here on Earth that I continue boldly along the path of my life.

Thank you for being a part of my journey …

Be well,

Dorothy 🙂


Milestone Fifty

Stand I now by Milestone Fifty.

Could be nasty; could be nifty.

Could depress me; make me cry.

Could hang my head with a heavy sigh.

Could devour my tender heart,

Yet that’s not how I wish to start

The waning years that fly so fast,

Engage, I must, to the very last

Inspired breath I dare to take

And gasp I give, for goodness sake.

For age is more than just a number

Can give us strength and fill with wonder.

Clouds with silver lining weep

For those who to their golden years creep.


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012