Looking for the Miraculous
I haven’t seen an angel in a water spot on my ceiling, or the Virgin Mary in the shape of a potato, or the face of Jesus on a scorch mark on the bottom of my iron, or the Son of God in the lines and wrinkles of a cinnamon bun. …
Unravelling
I read an article in the newspaper a few days ago, you know the kind, really an obituary of sorts, famous man dies, and then they tell you about his life, the slice of it for which he was famous. …
Mad Jack
Some might call it mid-life crisis. I prefer to call it growing adventuresome with age. A few years ago, I got a tattoo, a funky haircut, bought a Can-Rail pass and took off alone on a train trip. …
Solitary Journey
The train glides through walls of muted shades - white and grey and beige and burnt brown. Water gushes from the rock faces, spills into catch basins far below. A trestle reaches deep across a valley, and we travel the tightrope. …
Satan, Take these Quarters!
Quest. It’s the first time I had voiced that word aloud to describe my travels. I’m surprised how easily it slips off my tongue. The word has the ring of knights to it, the search for the Holy Grail. …
Apples of My Eye
I love my Apple gadgets. My iPod, my iPad, my MacMini, and my MacBook. Like the multiple kayaks in my garage, each fulfills a different purpose. I have a boat for big waters, a boat for small rivers and flat water, a recreational boat for friends, a Kevlar old school boat that is a keeper – very light – I can easily pop it up my shoulder, hoist it up on the car, and look like an Amazon strongwoman. …
The Season of Offspring
This morning, a duck stood at the side of the road in front of my house. She looked like a miniature housewife in a plain brown cotton housedress - along with that “slipping” belly that comes with age and babies. …
We'd Live Forever
Bod. Jimbo gave me that word. Jimbo himself had quite a bod. Not like Victor’s, but not one to kick outta bed, either. I got that expression from Jimbo too - kick outta bed. The guys would sit around the beach, and talk about girls. …
The Beating of Wings
The old lady lingers at the mouth to the trail. I use the word mouth because that's the way it looks. The trail opens like a mouth leading into the belly of the woods. We both stand on the paved road and look in. …
The Woman in the Moon
The moon is brimming this evening. It is a Van Gogh moon, framed by my writing room window, and hanging in the uppermost corner of my personal “Starry Night”. Granted, it is a star-less night outside my window, but the spirit of Van Gogh swirls in it, in the darkness, the haziness around the edges of the moon, the black lines of the trees, the fingertips of the branches.
The Miracle
This Christmas memory begins on a sunny day in June on the upper level of a red double-decker bus. A tour bus weaving through Victoria in summer is an unlikely setting for a Christmas memory, I know, but nevertheless, that’s where it starts - at the exact moment my six-year-old daughter turned to look up at me.
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