I’ve loved eggs since before I even knew how to say, “over easy, please.”
The early weeks of June had been hot like those stray days of summer when a body takes to the shade to sweat after a morning of gardening.
Rummaging through an old Bally shoebox yesterday, in search of a family photo for my 5-year-old daughter’s “Family Tree” school project, I unwittingly fell upon a vivid picture of my maternal grandmother.
Left by my mother on our kitchen counter was the invitation for Rachel’s annual Halloween party, a tradition carried out for the past several years.
I’ll always remember when I was three and stepped up onto a new sidewalk that was too high for me, almost to my knees.
Today, May 3rd, the weather is splendid.
When we live our lives on the edge, with no regard for how we conduct ourselves or how we treat our mates, it’s no surprise that consequences usually follow.
Illustration by Andres Garzon It was a long drive back from the cottage. We awoke hungover in […]
Halloween night 1955: a Volkswagen Beetle hit nine-year-old Erika on Decarie Boulevard, corner Monkland Avenue. Notre-Dame-de-Grâce borough.
In my grandmother’s garden there was a stunted, knuckled tree near a ramshackle bomb shelter, a sheet of corrugated iron curved over a shallow hole.