What Love Looked Like This Week

Hands held. Driveways shovelled. Laughter shared. A chocolate offered. A gift given. A sacrifice made. A candy bar cut in four pieces. Serious conversation. Meals cooked. Tears. Hugs. Prayers. Clean bath towels in bathrooms. Notes written. Dishes washed. Questions asked. Mincemeat tarts. Vegetables chopped. Ringing bells. A coffee shop. Text messages. Windshield washer fluid poured

Now It is Winter

Good morning. We are still five days away from the official start of winter, but, for all intents and purposes, it has arrived and settled in. As I write this, Gerry is out front with the snowblower for the first time this season and other neighbours are clearing snow from their driveways. The sound of

Something

We spend a pleasant evening with the neighbour’s home, sitting around a circle in the living room, nibbling treats, and conversing with one another. I’m not much for social gatherings, but I’m struck by the peace and relative normalcy of people in a similar demographic gathering together. We talk about all manner of things and,

Something Different

Tomorrow will be a week since I posted here. Where on earth has the week gone? Makiya had no school on Monday and that turned the week topsy-turvy. I haven't been overly busy, but there have been things that needed doing and I was out of the house more than I'd like to be getting

A Grey Monday

The house was very quiet, and the fog—we are in November now—pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost. E.M. Forster, Howards End It's a grey day. The fog is low and I am home alone. It's quiet, save for the sound of the King's College Choir coming from my Bose speaker. I'm sipping yerba

Friday Stew

It's Friday, right? Right? Because some days I can't keep anything straight. Case in point: I was looking forward to an appointment I had scheduled for 11:00 this morning but it turned out the appointment was yesterday and I missed it. It's not the first time something like this has happened in my post-retirement days.

Monday Meandering

This morning I feel like whatever I write will be inadequate. To write something cheery seems an insult to those in British Columbia who are already dealing with loss from mudslides and flooding, and insensitive to those in the north who are waiting for a second atmospheric river to hit the province. It would be