I lay awake listening to the chickadees. With all their predawn chatter, I usually wanted to wring their sweet little necks. Anybody who chirped so loudly at 3:30 in the morning deserved a good swat, I figured, and I would have been happy to oblige if only I had the energy to do it…
Read MoreThe sheep were a soft silvery blue: cerulean awash in a spray of small silver splatters. They were the exact same colour as the shepherds and the dog and cow and donkey. The same colour as the wise men and their camels and, of course, Joseph and Mary and little baby Jesus. Even the manger was that amazing mix of blue and silver, the same shade of blue as my mother’s eyes…
Read MoreLiving in this time of coronavirus is a bit like living with a teenager in addiction. It’s big, and scary, and important. It’s potentially life-threatening, and certainly life altering. Maybe it’ll end up a passing phase, nothing to worry about. Then again, it could be total devastation. It’s tempting to live in denial (“It’s no big deal, everything’s fine!”) and justify bad behaviour. Think about it…
Read MoreSomeone recently asked me what “recovery” means to me. Meaning my recovery. Not my son’s recovery – though he was the one who brought recovery to our family. Not my daughter’s recovery – though it’s her recovery that’s laying a strong foundation for future generations. But my recovery. I haven’t struggled with addiction, myself, so how does that word apply to me?…
Read MoreTristan and I watched the other students frog-hop up the stairs. Feet together, crouched low on each step, they burst upwards to land on the next. Some swung their arms for momentum, but the more senior students held their hands in prayer position as they jumped. A few students were already on their way down, hands first —right hand on one step, left hand on the next—legs wide, in a bear crawl…
Read MoreSesimbra, Portugal, is a place with history. She’s known grief and loss. Her cracked cobblestones are soaked with centuries of tears. History is seeped into her narrow, steep streets, but she doesn’t mourn for those lost. She knows that death is part of life. Nothing surprises her. Nothing defeats her. She simply bears witness and remains…
Read MoreI’ve spent the most wonderful two weeks immersed in the Summer Writers’ Retreat at the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity. The retreat was unstructured, designed to support writers and provide quality time to write amidst the stunning natural beauty of Banff.
Ground squirrels, deer, and elk kept me company on my daily walks while the majestic Rockies towered over me…
Read MoreMy daughter, Jenn, recently celebrated two years of sobriety. She worked damned hard for it (still does, every day, one day at a time) and the gifts of recovery are flowing into her life. It’s what I expected, if she walked that road. What I didn’t expect were the mountain of gifts that Jenn’s recovery would bring to my life…
Read MoreI’ve always loved this photo of me and Tristan. It was taken on a beautiful summer’s day when my kids and I were all together, enjoying each other and our friends. Tristan balances on a cement beam set between a parking lot and brush-filled hillside. He walks carefully, confidently, teetering a bit, losing balance now and again, but he always corrects himself. He stays on the beam, eyes ahead….
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