Yesterday afternoon, we attended the Moving On ceremony for our granddaughter's Grade 7 class. The kids were in high spirits as they should be. Finishing elementary school is an occasion worth marking—for Makiya, her mama, and, this year, Gerry and me. We did it. We shepherded our granddaughter through seventh grade and made the required
I was 9 or 10 and in Miss Puschelberg's class at King George Elementary School. Some details remain clear in my mind, like the little microphone she spoke into, so Sandy, who had a hearing impairment, could hear her voice, and the picture of Queen Elizabeth hanging on the wall at the front of the
I don't know where the week has gone; I lost a day somewhere. This morning I had a minor medical procedure that threw the cadence of the entire day off. I'm not getting much done. Ah well. It's a wet and stormy afternoon with thunderstorms and hail forecast—the kind of day that's perfect for curling
At some point, when one reaches a certain age and level of wisdom, it becomes apparent there are things it's time to let go of. Don't misunderstand. I'm not talking about giving up. No, this transition is more of honing into what's really important in one's life and embracing the tranquility that comes with the
A Simple Prayer for Remembering the Motherlode We do not become healers. We came as healers. We are. Some of us are still catching up to what we are. We do not become storytellers. We came as carriers of the stories we and our ancestors actually lived. We are. Some of us are still catching
It's late Sunday afternoon. I've just put chicken in the oven for dinner and I'm sitting at the dining table enjoying the most beautiful scent of the first lilacs Gerry snipped from the bush in the backyard and brought to me earlier. There's nothing in the world that smells as sweet as lilacs, and the
We are a smaller than normal group this morning as some women have other commitments, but those who gather to share stories they have worked on since we met last month to the prompt "mothers and daughters" come with strong words, open hearts, and the willingness to be vulnerable within the circle. There are tears
It’s windy again. I stand at the living room window and watch trees sway and silver whirligigs I put in the garden to discourage the white crested sparrows from nibbling on seeds and seedlings spin wildly. Yes, it’s windy. Again. This has been a different kind of spring. Cooler than normal temperatures and relentless wind
There's something beautiful happening at one of the homes in our cul-de-sac. It belongs to an older woman who lost her husband sometime before we moved here in 2014. I used to see her regularly heading out for a walk on the nearby hills, but I don't see her often anymore. There was a water
Gerry and I take a drive one afternoon and end up in a place ravaged by fire last summer. The aftermath is black and bleak and reminds us of last year's deadly heat dome and horrific fire season. It was a tough year for British Columbians and we pray this summer will be better. We
I love my family and I also love my solitude. Right now, Laurinda is at work, Makiya and Gerry are at the gym, and I'm home alone with the dogs. I danced a little jig when the last one was out the door. The dryer is running and, save for the tap-tapping of my fingers