In the morning, we go out to run errands, and when we get home and I open the door leading from the garage into the laundry room, I expect to see my tiny dog Murphy waiting to greet me. Every time I get ready to go out, I pause, asking myself if I need to
I’ve struggled to keep track of what day it was this week because of the New Year’s Day holiday which fell on Sunday but that was observed by many businesses on Monday. I can’t explain why, since it didn’t impact anything I did, but it seems any excuse to confuse my days, does. Maybe it
It’s Boxing Day, one of my favourite days of the year. With no commitments and no meals to prepare, thanks to an abundance of leftovers, the day is one of rest involving a good book (I’m currently reading Mad Honey by Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Finney Boylan), a jigsaw puzzle, and snacks. Simply perfect. Yesterday,
I’m in a liminal space right now, as we settle into our new home in Moose Jaw in the season of Advent. There’s a strange sense of moving forward while still waiting that leaves me feeling discombobulated. It’s the Christmas season, yet with the transition we’ve experienced and are still sorting through—it doesn’t really seem
What a week this has been! This morning, I’m taking time to breathe and look back at the blessings with a Friday’s Fave Five Post. An accepted offer. We were on our way home from church on Sunday when our realtor called. “An offer came in this morning,” he said. And this time it was
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
Two weeks ago, it was dark and raining lightly, as we drove the familiar prairie road toward Benson. When we turned off onto the dirt road leading to Queen Street and the main entry into the hamlet I asked Gerry to stop the car so I could snap a photo of the hamlet. We drove
In March of 2010 we were in Saskatchewan to look at a farm we were considering purchasing for our retirement about an hour and a half north-east from Benson. We took a slight detour on our way back home from the farm to stop by the tiny house in Benson. It was snowing lightly when
My Uncle Albert died suddenly one cold December day in 2001 at his home in Benson, Saskatchewan. He had lived in the little house in the hamlet of Benson for most of his life, his father's people building the house next door to their own after their son--Albert's dad, Tenor--died in 1932 when the young
It strikes me as odd sometimes that the area of my beloved province of Saskatchewan that I hold most dear is not the city I grew up in, but instead is an area southeast of the city where we traveled to often to visit my grandma, aunt, and uncles when I was a kid. The