I’m doing double-duty tonight. Husband lies feverishly curled up in the fetal position on the couch under that stringy, blue blanket that has seen better days. While the girls and I tiptoe past like fervent mice on a scavenger hunt. Then, on up the stairs to bedtime routines and tuck-ins. I haven’t done the bedtime …
I am pushing forty. Scary thought that is. And all of a sudden, as one nears this major milestone, thoughts of whether or not one’s life is relevant and noteworthy and on track with the game plan you made when you were twenty, come looming into the forefront. And one would think, as they neared …
“I found Oldest Boy’s sock,” she says to me, delving into her treasure trove of goodies. “I hope he has the other one!” The box accompanies her, in one form or the other, each visit made to our house. Filled with home-baked goodies, books, magazine snippets, articles of mended clothing and other odds and ends, …
He sits beside me. Calm, quiet-like. In between me and his father. I have just nestled myself into a seat, in a row of black chairs connected by a small hinge along one side. We call them a pew. That’s church speak. They’re really just uncomfortable, black chairs with a slight cushion to ease the …
Sometimes (just a wee tiny bit…), I wish I was her. You know her. That girl. That girl, who seemingly has it all together. Who’s all that and then some. Whom I admire from afar. I’ll admit it. I read her books, her articles, her blogs. I see her out and about, I watch her …
I have been fascinated and greatly inspired by the portraits, pictures and photographs other people have taken and posted on-line over the holidays. A slew of pictures came across my Facebook feed over the past couple of weeks with beautiful pictures of homes and décor, along with gorgeous family pictures and portraits of beautiful children …
I stir the sticky rum sauce for steamed Christmas pudding. One of the last vestiges of the Christmas traditions yet to be savoured, after a generous slice of savoury meat pie with cranberry preserves. It is Boxing Day. And all too soon, it will be over. The food, festivities and family get-togethers. All good things …
“Now, we all know what kind of person Mary was. She was quiet and gentle and kind, and the little girl who plays Mary should try to be that kind of person. I know that many of you would like to be Mary in our pageant, but of course we can only have one Mary. …
In wake of the recent tragedy in Newtown, Conneticutt, U.S.A., there have been waves of anger and sorrow washing over us all. Young and old. Rich and poor. Believer and non-believer. Pain spares no one its icy grip; it holds us ransom with vice-like shackles. The world over, we are united in our grief. And …
What if there were no Christmas? There would be no catch-phrases like: Just believe!, You’d Better watch Out! and Peace on Earth- Goodwill toward Men! Why would one need to believe any more or any less on December 25th than they would any other day of the year? And why the focus on peace? On …
When tragedy strikes, we want answers. The finite being inside demands to know. Why? Why did this happen? What went wrong? Who is to blame? We want to know where to point the finger. Do we point fingers at government for lack of meaningful action and other verbose double-speak? Do we blame political structures which …
We sit, huddled tightly together in the cramped space of a corner. The blinds are darkly drawn, the door is shut. Locked. Little bodies press in close together to the wall. I place my body as a barrier along the tips of their tiny feet, all the while smiling into anxious children’s eyes and modelling …