The young couple was on vacation, visiting the bustling centre of a fascinating city. It was the height of summer and the fragrant air was alive with entertainment: buskers were playing every sort of music imaginable in any space large enough to accommodate a small crowd. The streets were lively with the chatter of tourists and locals alike. Continue reading “African Drummer”
My apologies; I have been unable to write much of anything in a month. In the past two years, Canadians have been pulled into the reality-TV vortex of the drama south of our border like never before. The Blasey-Ford/ Kavanaugh debacle has reduced me to a despondency and a hopelessness I cannot even begin to adequately describe. So many of us have 36-year old stories to tell: and 10-year old stories; and 50-year old stories. We are legion. And like the good, meek voiceless women our abusers wanted us to be, we have kept our collective mouths shut. When women like Dr. Ford come forward, they give hope to the multitudes of hurting, silent victims who have stayed quiet for decades. And when rich, entitled white men viciously beat them back down to their proper ‘place’, they also beat down every one of us who were once victimized. All over again… You never forget what happened to you and you never ‘get over it’. You just figure out a way to live with it.
Continue reading “Boys Will Be Boys”
I am sitting in the bus station, waiting for my daughter to arrive. I am alone except for a young mother who is sitting way over in the farthest corner. Her son is perhaps two-and-a-half, maybe three years old, and he is a handful. Continue reading “The Woman at the Bus Stop”
I was nine years old, on my way to Brownies Continue reading “Have you Ever…”
I would have been about 12 years old when I met ‘Mr. Jones’. At the time, I was an active and sought-after babysitter. Continue reading “Me and Mr. ‘Jones’”