Five Years a Writer

  The other day I had three active text message chains blinking on my phone. Three different people were communicating with me at the same time — and I was keeping up. Just. I was monitoring their responses, composing my own, keying them in, sending, and waiting for the next reply. All the while marvelling at what texting enables us to do. Too much, maybe, but sometimes it’s kind of fun. I don’t always like juggling so many communication balls in the air, but that morning I was well caffeinated and enjoying the challenge    — a nd keeping the three different chains separate and clear one from the other, which isn’t always the case. But today it was. I’m a communicator. I like connecting with people, having conversations, making meaning with others, sometimes making plans, often merely keeping the thread of relationship alive between us. A quick text asking, ‘How is it going over there?’ or ‘Awful weather today, isn’t it!’ is enough for that. Which is why I am perplexed wh...

Edna loved hearing about our garden; she was particularly fond of red geraniums.   Six years ago Covid was making its presence known in our lives. This time last year, it was all I could think about, so I wrote about it . But at this time this year, I don’t feel the need to mark its wretched anniversary. Instead, I want to remember my late mother’s good friend Edna, who died in February. I’ve been thinking about how we mark the death of special people in our lives — when it happens, of course, but then year after year we continue to do so. How do we do it? For how long do we do it? Does it matter? It will be two years in April since Mum died. It was eleven years in January since Dad died. Remembering is an act of love, isn’t it, so of course there is no one right answer to the why or the how or the how long. Remembering in our own way, whether every day or occasionally or only ever on the anniversary itself, is both the grief and the gift of the love we have experienced in our li...

T-shirt from 1979 : A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle T-shirt from 1982 : We've put one man on the moon / Why can’t we put them all there? Back in the day, I’m pretty sure I owned both those t-shirts and I was more than willing to take on any man who wanted to challenge the sentiment and the politics. Today, I wouldn't wear either. Not because I don’t, in a moment of levity in an otherwise grave discussion of rights and respect, tend towards their essence, but because I no longer believe that proclaiming such a sentiment loudly on my body’s front does much to further interesting, productive conversation — and probably alienates us from each other more than it encourages understanding between us. Today, I wear plain t-shirts and I welcome nuanced and smart conversation with anyone interested in solving the hard problems we are, as a society and a world, facing these days. And, oh boy, are we facing problems. Air strikes, attacks and outright war: Headlines...

Glasses found, on pretty enamel tray: a genius idea i·de·a /īˈdēə/ noun : idea ; plural noun : ideas ; noun : the idea a thought or suggestion as to a possible course of action.  Examples : “T he idea of tech bros as world leaders is not good for democracy.” or “T he idea of world peace through justice, dignity and love for all has not yet caught on.”   If you are a pianist mourning the endlessly unjust war in Ukraine, your haunting idea is prompted by personal experience. Vadim Neselovskyi marked four years of war in his home country of Ukraine by composing an evocative suite called “Perseverantia” — an eleven-movement piece for piano and string trio. Listen to him talk about it, with excerpts of the composition, here . If you are a criminal intent on scamming anyone open to romantic overtures on the internet, your wicked ideas are prompted by greed and corruption. Wired magazine recently ran a series exposing the inside workings of an online ‘romance scam’. Listen to the...

I know many people who live for curling season and I now understand why: It's a game of supreme skill. I was on the edge of my seat watching some of the matches, especially the medal games.  It doesn’t seem right, really, but I enjoyed it all while still in my pyjamas; tea, then coffee, in hand, while winter athletes gave it their all, in uniforms suited for every sport. I watched, mesmerized as much by their power and endurance as their strategy (curling!) and their skill (every sport). Winners decided by milliseconds or millimetres Those taking big air Those making rocks curl Those doing laps on blades Lungs heaving Bodies straining Hearts pounding Amazing — them Amazed — me I don’t understand much (any) of it, but I can appreciate what I am seeing Years of training Oceans of sacrifice Country-big yearnings It was all on the line at the 2026 Olympics, the Milano Cortina Games in Italy My seat was front-row via my screen, the CBC commentary outstanding, explaining just enough for ...

Good things can come from cross-border shopping, but sometimes the sticker shock outweighs delight in the purchase made Buying sixteen notecards for almost $130 (Canadian) was not on my bingo card for February 2026, but I landed on that square nonetheless. I am not cheap: I don’t mind paying good money for good things, and I have a weakness for beautiful notecards, especially if they feature water-colour-painted cats by an independent artist. So it was that I found myself, via social media, on a website of just such an independent artist, based in the US, who does watercolours of, amongst other things, cats. I was in an enthusiastic mood, so I explored the website, put a couple of 8-card collections into my basket, then asked about shipping to Canada. No problem, can do, came the reply. Throwing caution and fiscal prudence out the window, I ordered two sets of cards for a total of 16 individual cards — reproductions of original art. Lovely. Then the invoice came through. Gulp. The (hor...