One hip pressed against the wall, her palm warm on my shoulder to steady herself, she’d ease out a square leather case with silver fittings…
I remember 1956. I remember 1956 because I was young, growing fast and usually hungry. My youngest brother – a chubby, happy guy – had been…
During my undergraduate years, I commuted from St. Catharines to York University in Toronto. Travelling from the bus station on Academy Street…
The 15 meter sailboat (small by Greek standards) tugs quietly on the rope lines, rocking slowly against fat bumpers on the jetty. Its hull…
put Ordinary People into Extraordinary Situations The secret to making my characters believable isn’t perfection—it’s authenticity under…
The Lake Decision - 3 This was to be my last day of being un-wived, divorced by a stranger with whom I’d shared a bed for twenty-eight years, until…
The Lake Decision - 2 I’d risen from my empty bed an hour before dawn and crept outside to quiet my pain, in a manner of my choosing, in the place…
The Lake Decision - 1 Here I am, as day commences to alleviate the night, my greying hair pulled back in a fuchsia scarf. Despite the grip of a hot…
Chris Vogler, Toronto 2017 Part 3 Joseph Campbell , mythologist, writer and lecturer ( https://www.jcf.org/learn/joseph-campbell-heros-journey ) He…
Suspended over Gull Lake is a long cedar dock that juts away from the moss-filmed rocky shoulders of the shore. A scarred wooden rowboat is trussed…
I love bacon. Not the pale, store-bought, watery then brittle-when-cooked nitrate stuffed strips, but the old-fashioned kind that smells like meat…
The waiter at Bibi’s Brunch & Lunch was clad in regulation white shirt, black pants and Doc Martens. A spotless white cook’s apron was wrapped…
Before they invented big-screen televisions and botulism was something you never wanted to find in your food, never mind inject into your wrinkles,…
On a rainy Friday evening the following June, Anthony announced he was going away for a few days. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back with a surprise. I…
This story begins with a lie. In Latin, mostly. With a bit of English and some franglais thrown in for the pew-fillers seeking refuge from the frigid…
How can I leave him? Let me count the ways. It is perhaps ironic that I would bastardize a love poem when thinking about a leave poem, but what…
As our flight to Santiago was coming in for a landing the flight attendant told us about the items we were not allowed to bring into Chile: edible…
