WriteOut of Her Mind

I keep a gratitude journal and every morning I follow the prompts and fill in the blanks. 

It’s fair to say the Carpenter and I aren’t fancy people. Our house isn’t fancy. The stuff in it isn’t fancy.  

I thought it would be an interesting exercise to ask my grown children, now in their 20s, what they would have me say about their father, the Carpenter, for a Father’s Day column.  

The Carpenter and I were watching a movie Saturday night. It featured a scene between a husband and wife, who, to protect one another from bad news, chose to lie to each other. 

I love elections. I truly do.  

My Carpenter is in the third week of a union strike, in conjunction with other construction trades in Toronto. Hopefully, by the time you read this, his union will follow suit with the operators and labour unions who have settled, and everyone can get back to work.

The Victoria Day long weekend is fundamental to our Canadian culture. It has been synonymous with fun since 1845, when the Canadian government decided we should celebrate Queen Victoria’s birthday on May 24. 

Despite some smack-talk at the Fergus Lions Home and Leisure Show last week, I do know that you do not milk a cow by pumping its tail.

Now that my children are adults, I figured I might offer some generic advice on behalf of my fellow mothers of grown children, so we all have a clear sense of direction for Mother’s Day.

You don’t know how much you appreciate something until it’s gone. Throughout the pandemic, I…

I never should have picked it up. I never should have opened it. But I couldn’t resist. Surely this was a sign. It wanted my attention. Who was I to refuse?

Easter was always one of my favourite times as a child and I cherish those sentimental memories now, because as an adult, the Easter Bunny and his traditions are less adorable. 

I’ve found the news from the Ukraine hard to handle, much less process. I’ve woken up with the guilt that I live a good life and my family is safe in a country free of war. Canadians take so much for granted.

Hey winter, can we talk? 

Don’t tell the Carpenter, but my boyfriend is back.