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...
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....
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...
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...
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...
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...