Photography

Derek on his red and grey tractor backing down from a pile of crushed asphalt, his blade pushing some of it

Rural Routes

I fought our new way of life for several months after we moved in. Even though I know it’s futile and frankly, unhealthy for my mental wellness, I dug myself into a state of forcing this old house and property to prove itself to me. It’s too big, too unpredictable too…rural.

Nevin Grant and Kenny Rogers in a black and white photo, both wearing suits and holding a gold record

They Called Him Hitmaker

Canadian radio lost one of its last legends this week. Nevin Grant died during surgery. Had it not been for COVID-19, he would have been preparing for a big moment. He was going to receive the Allan Waters Lifetime Achievement Award and induction into the Canadian Broadcasters Hall of Fame. This is the Hall which will also induct Erin Davis when the delayed event finally happens next year.

A Room With A View

From my new writing space, all I see is corn, hay, more corn, trees, and more trees. There is a neighbour a km or so away, but I can’t quite make out their house. This is the road less traveled but there is a streetlight across from our home. It’s a little bit of civilization in a pretty remote area.

Miss Sugar splayed out on a quilted furniture cover over a black leather couch

Miss Sugar’s Moving Diary – Entry #8

I love Father more than treats, my bacon toy or kibble. Perhaps you know the history, perhaps you don’t. Mother adopted me on her birthday a few years ago. She waited for me to get well because when we met, I was wearing an ugly cone and experiencing some gastric distress. When I finally came home with her and laid eyes on Father, I knew I’d found my protector and BFF for life. Mother says tiny hearts flew up like sparks between us. But I have to confess that I’ve developed a crush on another man.

Miss Sugar in the middle of an obviously caved-in bed, atop a white comforter, looking miserable.

Miss Sugar’s Moving Diary – Entry #3

There is nothing left in this house except the things that belong to me. My scratching post that looks like a bent toilet brush, my basket of toys and brushes. Best of all, my fuzzy, puffy pouf and of course, my food. I must face the fact that we are camping now. The furniture upon which I leave my fur is now but a memory. These humans cannot be reasoned with. Take note of my facial expression. This air mattress has no give!