I'm stopped at a traffic light waiting for it to turn green. There's a young man—15 or 16 perhaps—on the other side of the street waiting to cross. It's about 8:45 a.m. and he's heading in the direction of the high school. Late, perhaps, as there are no other young people around and he's clutching
I baked the first apple pie of the season yesterday. Today, there's a sauce simmering on the stove made with a batch of tomatoes that have been ripening on my countertop and oregano Gerry just snipped from the backyard garden. I'm wearing socks and long pants and there's no point in trying to ignore the fact
Fifty-one years ago this summer, my family left the home my dad built with his own hands, with a bit of help from his own dad, in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan for a different life in British Columbia. Weeks earlier, Dad had hooked up our Scamper trailer to his white Oldsmobile and headed for BC for
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