On Third Avenue in New Westminster, British Columbia – the Royal City – I remember berry brambles in the back alley. Smears of homemade blackberry jam on toast laced with butter. I remember gathering chestnuts across the street in enormous Queens Park, methodically prying the prickly shells from the smooth interior, sitting crosslegged under a canopy of leafy green oaks with my big brothers.
Today ends my #thisisreal October campaign, which author Christina Crook’s post, “The Pictures are Pretty but the Struggle is Real” inspired. Truthfully, I haven’t been posting much in the last several days, either on Facebook or Twitter, because I’m finding it hard to angle my lens and capture the really #real of life. Continue Reading
For the next couple of months, I have a pretty demanding schedule with a variety of writing deadlines and speaking engagements. And though the calendar and to-do list look pretty harried, I have also been choosing to say a series of strong no’s. The first no was pretty unsettling (I will be missing out! I won’t be needed!), but it is getting easier to live into my limitations. (Um, a little.)Continue Reading
At the entrance to the school, my friend’s husband holds the door open for the twins. Colin and Andrew play London Bridge and slide under his arm. From my car window, I see the tremors of his right hand, watch his fingers open and close involuntarily. It’s the Parkinson’s that puppeteers, a disease for which this forty-something is far too young. I follow him out of the parking lot, and we stop at the red light.
I feel tremors of my own.