I was vacuuming today in my Cinderella life when I got to thinking about the Lakeside Motel where I spent part of a summer perfecting my smoking skills while working as a chambermaid. I’d ride my new 10-speed out to the Lakeside wearing cutoff jean shorts my dad had confiscated and I’d found. Every day…
A young man I’m fond of turned 10 last week. It was a weird birthday by most standards: just back from the States he, his sister and mom were in isolation and mom was sick. She rallied to lay on a favourite meal but there was no party, no noisy gathering of little boys in…
(Note: This post will be of zero interest to men. Trust me. Zero.) I don’t do much reflection gazing these days because I’m always a little surprised by what I see. Mom! How did you get there? So I must’ve looked like fresh meat last month when I found myself ensnared in the clutches of…
Happy birthday. I’d been saving for your education, but decided this would be a better time (a fair assumption given I kept skipping final exams to take summer jobs on newspapers). No Pollyanna, my mother was all realist.
When she was three I watched from a viewing platform as she leapt into the deep end of a pool during a swimming lesson. She came up coughing and blubbing and ready to jump again.
It was a metaphor for her life as she makes a difference in this world in ways I can barely comprehend.
I knew in the millisecond of that little leap that this wasn’t going to go well and heard the confirming crunch as I came down on my right ankle.
Driving home along the lake with my friends Di and Cath. It’s 7 a.m. or so and we’ve been at an all-night beach party.
A car passes in the other direction.
That was my Dad! I shriek.
Should you find yourself in charge of a never-before- performed activity, herewith, on the job learning under the tutelage of a nervous Mr WI64. A guide to how shave a man.
When things went whacky, this is how friends responded.
So here I am in Ottawa. In an ice storm. With two wee boys.