Sweet Dreams

I wake from another dream in which I was with people I love who have long since passed on from this world. Dreams with Mom, Dad, Aunt Edie, and Uncle Bill set in places I feel most at home that are so real it’s hard to leave them. They have been coming regularly the past few

2021. The Year in Review

On this the last day of the year, it seems fitting to take a literal look back at some ordinary days of 2021 with twelve photos and a few memories. We welcomed the start of the year with a mild January. We went outside and took the dogs for walks on balmy afternoons. We did

Randomness

It feels like Friday, but it’s Wednesday (I almost said Tuesday. That’s how out of sync I feel.) I finished reading another good book last night (Cilka’s Journey by Heather Morris) and now I’m on the prowl for my next read.) The more I stay at home, the less desire I have to go out.

Just a Tree

I’m thinking about this weeping willow tree this morning. It lives in a park on the other side of the city—my favourite park in the area, one fat with memories and history. Over the course of forty years, I’ve walked in it and wept in it, ridden a bike along its paths, cheered at my

Thanksgiving

I wake from a dream in which I had returned to work in a similar role as one I was once very proficient in. I was, shall we say, less so in the dream and in my early wakefulness ponder what I remember and what’s lost to me about the technical aspect of my former

Old School

A smartly dressed young man climbs out of the polished black car, walks around to the passenger side, and opens the door for the young woman sitting there. She steps out, and off they go hand-in-hand toward the park. I’m kind of agog because that kind of respect is not something you see every day anymore. And,

Aromatherapy

I carry baby tomato plants in a small box on my lap while Gerry drives to the community garden. My hands brush across their leaves. The scent of hope wafts from them. The plants have been growing in my laundry room since I dropped tiny seeds into pots in early April, unmotivated, with barely enough

Halcyon Days

We go out for lunch at a favourite place where they serve an Indian food buffet. Three young people come in, while we’re feasting on things like butter chicken, vegetable korma, and naan bread, and sit at the table behind me. Unable to keep from overhearing their conversation about profs and grades and assignments, we

Welcome March

We take a walk in my favourite park—the one where ghosts of boys playing baseball and girls wrapped in pink toddle in and out of a building that’s no longer there. Gerry’s been sick and to combat cabin fever we drive across town to the park rather than down the hill to church. Worship looks

Eye Exam

Forty-two years. That’s how long I’ve been going to the same optometrist. We were both young and bright-eyed back in 1977 at that first appointment. Now, not so much. He was my children’s optometrist and, when Gerry and I married, he became my husband’s too. I traveled to see him at least once a year

Balsamroot

The week does not unfold as expected, but it falls in a pleasant way, nonetheless. I spend mornings writing, and after lunch and a chess game, we go out and do something together. One afternoon we pack our camera gear and go on a quest to photograph the Arrowleaf Balsamroot—a bright harbinger of spring in