Introducing Cooking With Shorty

I want to start playing around here with some writings on cooking. I wanna call these blogs “Cooking With Shorty.” Shorty and I have been making these awesome healthy dinners together for some time. For a while there, Shorty and I noticed that our eating habits were slipping and we knew we weren’t looking or feeling our best because of that. So together we started having these awesome dinner nights we prepare a entire meal of healthy recipes found primarily from blogs. We eat gluten free, dairy free and try to limit our sugar and grains.  The entire process feels like an exciting crescendo to dinnertime. I feel like there is a distinct process forming here:

1. Recipe Selection:

Shorty does all the research, because I don’t have the time or patience for it. I receive a flurry of them via text and it’s my job to review each recipe, say yes or no. Sometimes we do an entire meal prep. Sometimes it’s a theme like raw energy bites and we do it test kitchen style preparing several similar recipes. I want to feature the recipe blogs we use and expose you to new recipe bloggers you may not have known about.

2. Foraging

Once the recipes are chosen I prepare a shopping list. I pick up some stuff, Shorty picks up some stuff. I live in the market area of Ottawa and foraging takes on a European flavour here where I go from shop to shop and to the local fresh food vendors for ingredients. I want to feature the local Ottawa businesses here as a way of community building.


And my Shortier Shorty tags along too.


3. Cooking

Shorty and I have a way with each other in the kitchen. It feels like a dance the way we move around one another. It is honestly so much fun to cook with Shorty!


4. Mandatory Dance Break

When I say that I dance with Shorty around the kitchen, I really mean that. Shorty institutes a mandatory dance break and me, Shorty and my Shortier Shorty all dance together in the kitchen.

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6. Assessment

We rate and assess the recipes. Think about how we might improve.

I live this life of intentional practice and part of that is presenting you with a balanced and real view of who I am.  How cooking spills into parenting and spills into sex talking and spills into dancing and spills into conversations with strangers. It is all one big conversation really.  So you’ll see the weaving of the various aspects of my life in my writings.

If you have any recipes suggestions, I would be happy to consider it. Any questions,  comments, ways we can improve the recipes or local shops we should check out, please do let us know.

Please come back and check out what Shorty and I are cooking up!

Lost and Found

Today I woke up in utter tears for the beauty and wisdom that I witnessed yesterday. It started out with little tears and then I was weeping.  I’m following this thread of engaging in conversations with strangers. And really listening to their stories. Yesterday evening I did a short speech on “lost and found” and in preparing for that I asked my Facebook Community for input here. I ended up speaking to 3 wise women yesterday.  I want to speak to what it is I heard. And I want to speak to how very much it all moved me in another blog. But for now I want to leave you with my Facebook posting from yesterday asking for input from others.  I am blown away by the wisdom of strangers. What comes rushing in when you ask the questions and make space for the answers. It is nothing short of pure grace.

Posted on Facebook yesterday morning:

This morning I’m thinking about what it is to be LOST. And what it is to be FOUND. I’m doing a speech on it tonight. And I am meeting with two people today who offered to speak to their experience. One is a friend and one is a stranger who is about to become less “strange” to me. 

And I remember being lost at the grocery store and being found by a worker who called my name over the sound system, and my really worried father coming to greet me there.

And I remember being lost as a late teen. Pregnant. Betrayed. Remembering somehow that finding myself then had much to do with my posse of girlfriends, and dancing to new age music.

And the crushing loss after the death of a soul mate a few years back. How that started something that I’m still following.

And I remember being lost after he left. Holding a baby in the arms of this body. And the abundance that filled the emptiness. And how that all happened.

I am a story teller and a listener of stories. Today I look forward to the enrichment of my life by the stories of two others. How they were lost. How they were found. And the space in between.

May you be lost. And may you be found. Over and over and over again.

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We Never Dance Alone

I am the proud granddaughter of Juliana Dumayas. She was a smiler and a dancer with a sharp business sense.  She was kind and generous and sensitive. I remember seeing her cry when talking about what matters to her most.  Strong and courageous she was. I wish in this moment I knew her full name to tell you. Or the years she graced this earth. Or had a picture of her as I remember her,  smiling and spiralling with joy and contentment in her eyes. I wonder often where I get my sensibilities from and I think, yep, I am the granddaughter of Juliana Dumayas.  I want to find out more about my grandmother. Like her full name and find some pictures of her and tell you more about her but another time. I tried to find a picture of myself dancing to attach to this post but I  was drawn somehow to this one taken very recently. It’s my legs on the left, and I’m dancing up a storm with my son on his second birthday.   Perhaps an odd choice for this post but it demonstrates to me this sense of lineage. My grandmother is a dancer. I am a dancer. My son is a dancer.  When I’m dead and gone I hope to be remembered fondly as a smiler and a dancer, full of courage and love.  And I hope to be remembered, referenced by this sense of lineage. I am the proud granddaughter of Juliana Dumayas and loving mother to my dear son.  I am a sister. I am an ex-wife. I am a daughter. I am an enemy. I am a friend.  We never dance alone.




There. I said it three times. And publicly.  There is a deep longing within me to open to unspeakable places.  To welcome the unwelcome. Include the excluded. Embrace these underground disparate parts of self that don’t make it to the conversation table.  Why? Because these things are part of who I am and they matter to me. Greatly.  And these social conventions that say NO and wanna exclude and shame hold less and less weight for me. The need to be me and embrace the wholeness of who I am means too much to me.  I have fought my entire life for truth, and justice.  I have fought my entire life for the right to simply be me.  And I’m done with fighting.

I hear the many voices of NO that are deeply entrenched in this world we live in. That are represented so strongly in my my mother and my ex husband. But the truth is the war isn’t with these voices. The war has always been against myself. And I’m done with fighting.  I am ready to take my seat in myself and welcome it al with a resounding YES. I have these off the chart incredible orgasms. (And I want to talk about that seriously, somatically, naturally, uninhibited.)  And I hope you will still love me tomorrow for saying so. That saying so makes me no less intelligent. No less serious.  No less worthy to work in a professional field of work. No less worthy as a mother.

The text below was a post I placed on Facebook. I didn’t say it then but it was a milestone post for me. A triumph in that it was the first time I opened publicly the conversation on orgasm and sexuality. The first time I uttered the word “ORGASM” in social media. I wanna celebrate that moment here in this post. Here I am. Dodie Sobretodo. All of me.

What is the fascination with “orgasm” in this world. This sense that once we pass a threshold, the journey becomes no longer about the journey but about the race to orgasm. I noticed myself resisting the kiss the other day for fear that it would take me down a path that wasn’t my choosing. But I chose the kiss and dropped the story. I kissed him because I really wanted to kiss him and because I really love kissing. I kissed him with great intensity at times, softness at times and thoughtful moments of pause. Then when this dance was over we had the most magnificent hug I’ve ever experienced in my life. So soft in intensity yet so deeply rooted. I don’t know that I’d ever felt so at home in the arms of another. The point is that I love to kiss, and I love to hold hands and I love to hug and I love orgasm. But in no particular order. I love that a kiss doesn’t need to mean a certain crescendo to orgasm in the course of a night or a lifetime. Because if it did I might have missed out on that most unforgettable hug that impressed me so. What does this have to do with Soul Motion? To me everything. IMG_0527

For My Son. This wish.

I was out with my 2 year old son the other day at Hogsback Falls when I happened upon a sweet moment which I shared with a friend via text:

“A neat realization. Out at Hogsback. I caught him blowing on one of those white dandelions.  I never taught him that.  Maybe his dad did.  The imagining of that touches me. That he gets to be exposed to new and different repertoires than I can offer. That I get to be surprised by his growing repertoire”

As background I’ve been a single mom pretty much attached at the hip to my son since he was 6 months old when I separated from his dad under rather fugly circumstances.   Quite honestly it’s the first time I can remember that I’d ever observed him doing something outside the realm of what I’ve exposed him to.

On further contemplation of this moment at Hogsback, I recall the significance of blowing on this white spherical weed. How I engaged in this ritual as a young child and made a wish.  Wishes I no longer remember.  Yet in *this* moment I am filled both wishes and eager anticipation for the unfolding of my dear son’s life.  I wish for him to transcend the bounds of my experience and limitations of what I can show him in this lifetime.  That he evolve to be bigger and better than I could ever be because of the inspiration shown to him by his dad.  Because of the inspiration offered to him by the many others that he will cross paths with.  I wish that the echoes of those experiences will serve him and offer him a growing and expansive repertoire to choose from.  A repertoire that he can see with, understand with, play with, grow with, do anything with, or do nothing with.

And. What a relief!  I don’t have to this alone.  I can relax some.

K one point for my ex. Just one.


Divorce Papers. Served.

Divorce papers. Served. What I thought was mine turns out really isn’t. Who I thought I was, dissipated that one night last year after dinner. Caesar salad, roasted chicken, and a 6 month old baby fast asleep upstairs.  A belly and life that felt most certainly full to me.  Then he walked out after dinner. Biked away with a duffel bag into the night,  and left me with no thing.  I wake up this morning warm in my bed with no thing.  And I am free and clear.  Wildly rich with the potency of all things that is born of no thing. I know this deep in my wise old bones.   And  yet in the knowing of this, I also wake up terrified.  Really really terrified.  Referencing to no thing ‘feels’  terrifying after spending a life referencing my life to this thing, that thing and the other thing.   I am terrified yet I am content.  I empty yet I am full.  I am no thing and I am everything all at once.

Dear universe.  I am a lucky woman. I know this. With deep gratitude for everything.  For the everything that finds me on any given day.

Dear friends.  I commit to you now. To this life of no thing. To the practice of emptying. Giving it all away.  So that I may wake up free and clear everyday to fall in in love with you over and over and over again with fresh eyes, and generosity.  This part is important so please stand as witness for me dear friends: I stake my life and calling on the simplicity of offering my empty hands to you for holding onto.  Hands held out plain to serve and to welcome and reach out for the same.  I stake my life and calling on the simplicity of holding out my empty arms to you in an embrace.  In the potential that lies in the sanctuary of truly being held and seen.

I can feel the coolness of the dirt under *these* feet and between *these* toes and the resiliency in *these* bones. The suppleness in *this* spine and the softness in *this* gaze and the gentleness in the rise and fall of *this* breathe. All of which form the foundation to extend *these* hands and *these* arms to you. In the no thing I offer you everything.  Over and over and over again.


The River Amstel

Waking up in the Dam in a cosy corner in De Pipe (dutch for “the pipe”). Hosted by a lovely Aussie bearing delicious food and affectionately referring to me as his “mate” and “sweetheart.” Running along side the contours and curves of the river Amstel this morning. My mind meandering and wondering …

Will I live aboard a boat? In a house low to the ground, or high above, will I be found? Will I live in Amsterdam, Ottawa, Barcelona or far off lands? Will I marry for love, will I be on my own? Will I just jump from lover to lover, the story is yet to be shown. Will my life be neat and in time, like poetry and rhyme? Or messy and ugly and never in time?  What I know for sure is this view that I see, what I feel in my feet, what I sense that is me. Are those ashes on my feet, from the burning of past?  Are those wings on my arms, am I phoenixing at last?

It matters little to me what the future can see. I want as much now as this moment allows. So bring it on universe, I’m soft yet alert, with strength in these bones, and rooted in dirt. Listening dearly with hands held out plain. To serve and to welcome and reach out for the same.

What matters the most is the space where I stand. The landscape may sway but it’s in this body I land. Come to me river, come to me sand, come to me princes and frogs and far off lands. I run and smile as my feet hit the ground. My life is my practice. Reality. Found.