A Hole in my Heart In the small town of my childhood, the 1950s spoke in lowered voices: electrocution, harelip, stillbirth, a baby born with a hole in her heart. My parents carried these sorrows home as if misfortune were weather, settling over porches, kitchens, beds. I was but a fragile nestling, but already knew..
Take this waltz: It’s yours now. It’s all that there is. The vast majority of survivors of a dearly departed spouse are afflicted by certain regrets. One regret that gnaws at my soul as I lie sleepless at night is that I never took Anne dancing. Why? I was the world’s worst, most embarrassing..
Anne, Patron Saint of Dandelions You loved the small gold uprisings in the grass, those bright, stubborn lanterns everyone else called weeds. You saw a kingdom where others saw invasion, a thousand yellow crowns lifting through the ordinary. And you were like them, Anne – radiant, doughty, unafraid to bloom in hard places, to..
Miles for Millions and the Brain Tumour Walk In 1968, when I was in Grade 12 at Oakridge High School in London, Ontario, there was a special event that attracted many friends and classmates, namely Miles for Millions, a popular charity walkathon designed to raise funds for international development and combat poverty and hunger in..
For Anne in her palliative care bed, every day is “Sweet Dessert Day” Rewind to the early 1980s: Like so many first-time parents, Anne and I were brimming with righteous resolve to shield our offspring from the evils of junk food. “Sweet Dessert Day” was our grand idea, a weekly treat so exclusive it..
The Clumsiest Caregiver’s Compression Stocking Catastrophe A desperate, loving, and very foolishly rhyming confession I’m the world’s worst caregiver, it’s honestly shocking, Poor Anne, my beloved, stands noble but rocking On the edge of collapse, as I fumble –such bungling! Shower time’s chaos, she’s slipping and sloshing, Faucets drip, towels tumble; I’m cloddish and..
Anne Basking with Breakfast in Bed On rumpled sheets with jam to spread, Anne smiles softly, dreams unsaid. She greets the dawn, her worries fled, For joy begins with breakfast in bed. Her teacup steams beside warm bread, A golden thread through thoughts of dread. Though gentle steps are slow to tread, A loving..
Anne is Real Butter Back in the fabulous fifties and swinging sixties, Canadians were all but commanded to cast aside their beloved butter in favour of margarine – this so-called “modern marvel” that promised thrift, health, and, if you squinted hard enough, a resemblance to butter. But in its original form, margarine looked as appetizing..
Kindred connections: The timeless bond of cousins for Anne and me Cousins hold a truly unique place in our hearts – often the first friends we have in life, they bridge family ties and share in our joys and burdens with a special understanding born of shared history. In times of hardship, like the..
Ramblings on January 25 to celebrate Robbie Burns’ Birthday Every year, on January 25th, the Scottish people, including the Scottish diaspora, celebrate Burns’ Night. This is the night where Scots highlight the life and works of Robert Burns, a poet and lyricist, and arguably one of Scotland’s most notable figures. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/robert-burns In my..