Posted in writing

Reading is…

From the time I could read one of my favourite activities was to hide out in the big hall closet sitting on the butter box and devour books. I would close the sliding door most of way and my world would disappear and suddenly I felt like a Bobbsey Twin on the way to the seaside for an adventure. The books changed over the years and eventually I outgrew that closet. I then created a reading nook in my own closet and could be found after lights out reading by flashlight. I pretty much read anything I could get my hands on that wasn’t a school book.

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Posted in Canada remembers, writing

A Unique Remembrance Day

The men and women marched down the wide street, the cold north wind blasting at them. The two blocks from the Legion building to the Cenotaph covered in quick time. The  amazement in my mind that these farmers and wives knew how to march. That those names on the monument meant something personal to them*. The ‘Last Post’ played on a trumpet by a local youth and the dropping of the poppies on the bottom of the plinth. These are my first memories of Remembrance Day in small town Saskatchewan in the 60’s.

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