Yes, you can …

I have been involved in the rope communities of Seattle and Portland for 3+ years.  It’s been quite the learning experience, with times of struggle and acceptance at what I can and cannot do, and then times of realization that I can do so much more than what I believe.

Thankfully I have had rope tops who have learned and grown with me during these times. I continue to push myself far beyond what I believe I can do, simply for the challenge, both physical and mental.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life limiting myself, believing the maligned and misinformed opinions of others that say I can’t do something.

Yes, I can.  I can do anything I want to do. If that includes being suspended upside down from a beam in the ceiling or turned twisted and sideways and upside down, all at the same time, yes, I can.  And I will.

Recently, I posted a photo on the Book of Face of a suspension I was tied into during the summer of 2016.  A friend of mine messaged me privately and told me that she was so envious that I was participating in suspension, as someone told her she was “too fat” to be suspended.


I call bullshit on that opinion.  Many things are taken into consideration when a rope suspension takes place: the rope top’s ability and comfort level, the bottom’s ability and comfort level, the physical abilities of the bottom, and the experience of both parties.  Other than that, I do not believe that anyone on this earth is “too fat” to be suspended.

I asked my friend a couple questions: (1) what did she want to gain from being suspended; and (2) did she know anyone in the rope and/or kink community that she could “shadow” to see if it *was* something she would still be interested in (of course, taking into consideration that I’ve done this for a while and can tell my top when something feels “off” or “wrong” and can we change something about a specific tie?).

I have days of low self-confidence; some days, I question every part of my ability.  However when I am tied, I feel very comfortable and it is almost always a sublime experience.  Surreal may be a more accurate word as to what the feeling of rope on my skin does to me.  Depending on the tie involved, sometimes the rope digs into my shins or my thighs … if I’m in a TK (box-tie), sometimes the rope digs into my forearms and biceps.  It’s all part of the game and at times, I deeply crave rope.

I am lucky enough to have a semi-weekly rope date with a lovely rope top, who knows that he can “do all kinds of shit to Shawna”.  We learn together, and grow together, and build our confidence together.  We laugh about mistakes and change things around together and check-in constantly with each other.  It’s a fabulous thing to have this opportunity to build such a strong, trusting relationship with another person.

So … for those of you who have been told you can’t do something:  Yes, you can.  Ignore the naysayers and haters; they will *always* be there to pull you down.

Stand up straight, chest out, and walk your walk.  You do you and I’ll do me.  Be kind and gentle, and if you don’t have anything nice to say, then keep it to yourself.

And remember … yes, you can.

Play as the question

“You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” — Plato


A wonderful man in my life is taking me to Disneyland in four days.

I’ve never been to Disneyland.  My single foray into the World of Disney was in 1996 when I went to Disneyworld with an ex of mine.  The trip started out horribly and stayed that way.

Michael is taking me to Disneyland as my birthday present. He wants us both to be kids for at least 3 days, to take our minds away from the terrible things that POTUS is doing to this wonderful country of ours, to at least enjoy the simpler things in life.


I can’t recall the last time I let myself be a kid.  I don’t know what I did to deserve Michael, but it had to have been something really awesome.


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Insanity in the form of marathons

I have ran three half marathons so far. My first was in November 2015, my 2nd in September 2016 and my third in November 2016.

13.1 miles. Each time. See? Insanity.

My best time was 3:20 (that’s 3 hours and 20 minutes), my slowest was 3:40, which also happened to be my first. There was also a 3:30 in there somewhere, but I’ve lost track. Kidding. I have them written down *and* I have the medals to prove that I finished each one.

Two Seattle half marathons and The Blerch.

Ever hear of The Oatmeal comic? The creator, Matthew Inman, also started The Blerch, which is a race held in various cities/towns in the US. I’ll concentrate on the one here in the Seattle area, which happens in September and held in Tolt-McDonald State Park in Carnation, WA.

I started running as a way to keep in shape.  I used to weigh 255 pounds; I lived in a constant state of sadness … bad marriage, poor choices in life … all of this caused me to eat out of sadness and frustration, and utter loneliness, which led to quick weight gain. I was miserable.

I run (sometimes it’s a mere shuffle) to keep my anxiety in check.

I run to clear my mind.

I run to hear a pattern of my footprints, a staccato if you will.

I run to chase the demons away.

I throw in some walking, and once in a while, I even play hopscotch along the way with children that invite me in to the puzzle that they’ve drawn on the sidewalk, a puzzle in which only they understand, but have deemed me safe enough to invite me in.




Let The Adventures Begin …

Wonder Woman, unforgettably played by the lovely Lynda Carter, is *my* sidekick. She just doesn’t know it yet.

I share my life with two Scottish Folds, Elvis the Pelvis and Neville.

Stories will follow of the multitudinous ways that these two felines keep me laughing every day, along with the encounters in my life of people of various ages and backgrounds, ethnicities, and cultures … some old, some young, good and bad. I will share them all with you, and it’s up to you on what to take away from each story.

First blog post

At the age of 10, in 1979, my parents moved me and three of my seven siblings from Omaha, Nebraska, to Salem, Oregon.  Setting up shop, so to speak, on a farm outside of Salem couldn’t have been easy, especially since it meant my father moved his established trucking business from a densely-populated city into a more rural area.  I recall my mother telling me much later that they moved the family to Oregon so that my father was “home more often.” I don’t recall this happening.

I remember growing up with my father being a virtual stranger; he would come home every 2-3 months, if we were lucky, to give my mother somewhat of a respite from caring for four children, literally by herself for months at a time.  I can’t imagine what she went through to do this, what she sacrificed, what she set aside of herself most of all.

My mother died of bone, brain and lung cancer on September 13, 2012.  The biopsy of the tumors on her lungs showed it was from second-hand smoke.  Interestingly, she was a smoker from her late teens until she was in her mid-50s. She quit “cold turkey” one night when she woke and couldn’t breathe, and thought she was dying. She didn’t smoke any more after that late night scare.

My mother suffered greatly as she died, and no amount of convincing would change her mind on imbibing in marijuana to help relieve the pain from her bones breaking and the cancerous lesions growing on her brain.  She lived her last days at my sister, DeAnne’s house. I don’t know how DeAnne managed to keep her sanity while at the same time, watching my mother die.

There’s fewer days that I cry over the loss of my mother, my best friend. Most days now, I remember the good times, the funny things that we would do together, the long Sunday morning conversations that we would have, talking about everything and nothing, and then not being able to recall the next Sunday what we spoke of the previous Sunday.

My late Mama was one of the best people in my life. Her name was Sharon Lee and I am my mother’s daughter.