The turkey’s in the soup and the soup’s in the fridge. The stuffing got eaten and the eaters got stuffed. Happily so. Guiltily so, if what they’re stuffed with includes a rich dessert. According to the calendar, Canadian Thanksgiving is over. According to my spirit, it lingers. And so it …
For a few months in my teens, a large bear rug decorated my bedroom floor. Open-mouthed and silently snarling. I liked that rug, except for one thing. In my small room, there was only one place the bear fit—with its large head facing the door, exactly where I placed my feet …
“Another bad night?” The Preacher asks from his side of the bed as I enter the room. “Hey, that’s my question!” I ease myself into a sitting position on the opposite side and begin my morning litany. “Everything hurts. All the time. Every teeny little move. Can’t cover myself up. …
The striped stray first visited us the week I painted our red shed. Thin and curious, it buried its face in the herb pot on the back deck, deeply inhaling the fragrance of rosemary and basil. When the cat noticed me watching, instead of slinking away, it sat down and …
I don’t know who built the rustic shed in our backyard—but thank you. I do know that before the Preacher and I bought that solid wood structure, one or both of us stood each spring (with many of my Yorkton area readers) in front of its open drop-walled side at …
On June 10th, someone posted this ad on the website, Kijiji. You’ll have no difficulty imagining the snipped-out parts. “I have 2 dozen goats I need to get rid of. I had no idea raising goats would be this hard. These little *** keep eating all my wife’s flowers and …
Drinking. Texting. Sleeping. When my car suddenly veered right—and right off the road—this morning on the way to work, anyone observing likely ticked one of those off in their mind. I plead innocent on all three counts. I’ve lately used my twenty-minute commute to and from the office to listen …
Marriage: the extreme race; a relentless exercise of repeated acts contrary to human nature—not getting one’s own way and putting another’s needs above one’s own. Many enter. Some race for life. Before my parents’ wedding, they stole off to have lunch at a café in a nearby town. They enjoyed …
While driving north a few weeks ago, the Preacher and I noticed what looked like dozens of charming white sailboats dotting the wind-ruffled surface of a lake ahead. Nearer the water, we realized our mistake. Instead of sailboats, we saw a large flock of pelicans—fishing. Their recent catch still draped …
The Preacher and I sometimes fill a long-vacant pulpit in a nearby city church that just celebrated its 100th year. The steeple over the red brick structure still punctures the sky, though the bell tower is empty and inside, the antique pews more than half so. Yet like the oil …
