Susan's Blog

To Market, To Market

To Market, To Market

The weeks and months flew by and it is market time again. Several years and maybe ten books ago, I started regularly having a table at my local farmer's market. I now fill it proudly with thirteen titles and hope to add two more before the season ends. ( The ANNEthology and Such a Winter's Day) I rise early on Saturday mornings and join the other vendors at the Kingston Farmer's market from 8:00 until 1:00. The seasonal market opens in May and runs until the end of October. I started out in the vendor's hall but for the last few years I have been set up inside what used to be (before Covid ) a packed dining room serving hundreds of breakfasts every week. I have made such good friends in that place and so appreciate being beside Linda who I call my service vendor. I now look across at...

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Double Digits of August

Double Digits of August

August 10th is a memorable day for me. It was on this day thirteen years ago that I got the phone call telling me The Year Mrs. Montague Cried had won first place in the Y/A category of the Atlantic Writing Competition. I had been out feeding chickens and realized it...

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Living the Dream

Living the Dream

Yesterday when out and about I heard a woman answer inquiries as to how she was, with the statement ' just living the dream'. Living the dream, a slightly sarcastic evaluation clouded with discontent and elements of poor me. Maybe that is how she meant it. Maybe not....

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Lilacs and Contentment

Lilacs and Contentment

I am writing on a cold and damp Monday morning . The heat is on and the ground is lapping up the much needed moisture. A week of fear, uncertainty in our province and neighboring provinces have reminded us of nature's power and our powerlessness over it. It also...

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Just One Day

The calendar selects one day a year to celebrate mothers. Advertising and society push us toward cards, flowers, gifts, meals and all that to celebrate mothers . That is all well and good and one can choose how to embrace the sentiment but the truth of it is Mother's...

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Back From Britain

This time last year, this time last week, this time the week before... I can often be heard saying such things. I do find myself thinking what I was doing this time last week, last month and last year. It always amazes me how quickly time passes. In late December I...

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Remembering Always

He was 20. In a dream last night I was sitting somewhere with Zac's friend Crystal.Conversation swirled around me and it seemed to be a series of inaccurate statements about my son's death. I do not recall them all but basically no one was getting the details right. I...

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