small boxes

(Originally written to my Dad for his 70th birthday, September 1998) March ’66…who could forget the amazing storm that was every child’s ...

Chicken Bones knew what day Saturday was because she dusted her room and went to ballet class. Chicken Bones knew what day Sunday was becaus...

It is an ugly season, spring. And yet I anticipate its messy arrival. I just can’t resist the crunching of the rotten ice, the gush of ru...

It would be fun! It would be relaxing! It would be a spectacular bird’s eye view of the Calgary Stampede midway!…and my sister Nancy had thr...

Chicken Bones had brushed her teeth and washed her face. She had on her new pink flowered flannelette nightgown. Chicken Bones’ dad had read...

He calls them prairie islands. The isolated yard sites scattered across the Manitoba landscape. Protective orderly borders of evergreens ...

“She’s a witch, Mom.” “Oh, okay… so does that mean I shouldn’t buy her a Christmas present?” “He’s Jewish, Mom.” “Oh, okay… so does t...