I’ve been on the hunt for four-leaf clovers for years. Going back to when I was a kid growing up at 204, throughout all the various phases, ages and stages of my peculiar life,...
This week I’ve been listening to Brene Brown’s book Rising Strong in the little red Ford Escape to and from work. Risking criticism for excessive use of alliteration, Brene...
I can feel it. Spring is definitely in the air. But even better, summer is just around the corner. And with that notion comes all the paraphernalia of summer. Lighter...
We went to Sibley Park And we swam in the coldest part We took pictures of the three of us Just you and me and Gus The sand was beige and hot And my suit was full of cherry dots...
I can’t swim. But I do like the water – to an extent. If my body were a map, my breast bone would be the dividing line. Like the equator. That’s the border between...
As far back as I can remember, I wrote. Private young-girl thoughts in secret diaries, then poetry filled with teenage angst and dark poetry peppered with profanity. I wrote daily letters to God in Hilroy notebooks, short stories and poems for kids, sad country songs, and raw truth-telling stories about life growing up in a blue-collar neighbourhood in Northwestern Ontario. These are those stories and poems.
