There was a baby in the world to whom I could share the lessons of my nine years, could play with and show off around the neighbourhood. I could play house with a real baby!
I went deep into Mom’s cedar chest this week and there, below newspaper clippings, letters and family portraits, I foun
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…
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.
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.
When things went whacky, this is how friends responded.
So here I am in Ottawa. In an ice storm. With two wee boys.