Tomorrow night in an American stadium when I see The Boss step on stage, I'll briefly think about the guy who bullied a couple of us on my high school bus when I was in Grade 9 and 10. A jock from the football team for whom the rules that bound the rest of us… Continue reading glory days
Tag: memories
i would have loved her
For many, many years, there has rarely been a day that hasn’t begun with a cup of tea and the obituaries. I read them each day even before I read the daily headlines. Sometimes, I notice trends. For example, around this time of year – the last couple of weeks leading up to Christmas –… Continue reading i would have loved her
time goes by
This picture was taken the day my mom turned 75. That was seven and a half years ago now. Four years ago this afternoon, we sat together - my mom and dad and sister and I - in a puke-coloured room in the cancer centre as the doctor delivered the news that her cancer had… Continue reading time goes by
the only one
Tucked away in the corner of a little Italian place that, after the sun went down, was dim like a mine shaft and just as cold, we sat discussing the living we’ve done over the last 30 years. The two of us, middle-aged women now —whose bodies have performed a miracle or two since we… Continue reading the only one
thanksgiving
It’s overcast at the cottage this morning. It was a spur of the moment decision to come up here late yesterday. One minute we were sitting on the bed folding laundry talking about this year’s brilliant fall colours. Twenty minutes later we were on the road. The last thing I threw in my bag on… Continue reading thanksgiving
the blue house
A poem I haven’t thought of in some time has been hanging around me the past few days. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe it’s a message. It turned up for me again this week as I was doing some research for a book idea. The poem is called The Blue House (by Tomas Transtromer). In… Continue reading the blue house
lessons from a gravedigger
I stood at the upstairs bedroom window for a few minutes this morning, watching as a man chipped away at the cold, hard ground, squaring up the sides of a new grave in the cemetery that butts up against our backyard fence. People sometimes tell me they think it would be weird to live in… Continue reading lessons from a gravedigger
love, in the end
He kissed me the first time one night in front of the Francis Furniture store. The moon was high and, for the fifth or sixth night in a row, he ignored his aunt’s curfew and her pleas not to hang out with “that girl”. It was a bit of a hurried, kind of awkward affair… Continue reading love, in the end
funerals and birthdays…
Mom & Aunt Ruth Yesterday, I went back to my hometown for my aunt’s funeral. For my mom’s oldest sister, my Aunt Ruth, whose tiny body held death at bay for so long that no one could understand why or how she did it. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise though. Everyone in… Continue reading funerals and birthdays…
five things on a blue sticky note
All my life, my mom kept a running, hand-written grocery list. Always on the fridge, stuck there in the top corner with a cocker spaniel fridge magnet. It was one of those simple things that moms do that are probably only ever appreciated by their children – if at all – in hindsight, looking back… Continue reading five things on a blue sticky note
MeaningMaker 