It wasn’t quite the day I had planned so it’s a good thing I’m old enough to have learnt you’ve got to roll with the punches. Not that any of the “punches” were Continue reading
On this date, one hundred years ago, the bells rang out across many countries. The armistice had been signed and the fighting was officially ended but not before Private George Lawrence Price was killed.
In the setting of the sun we will remember them.
He was one of “them” Continue reading
Another bout of insomnia gave me additional time to think about our bus trip tour of first world war sites in Europe during the spring of 2011. I was thinking about the stories of men who served that I wrote about in the post called the Remembrance Project 2018.
That lead me to remember the time Continue reading
I try to spend some time during the first 11 days of November reading and thinking about commitment, sacrifice and freedom. There is always a story, or two, that speak to me.
I want to share a Continue reading
This moves me. The amount of work undertaken to document the stories of the Ogema men shows such dedication. Kudos to the people behind this.
Source: Cenotaph Men
I saw these names every year on Remembrance Day as we filed by the Cenotaph. I saw the four corner posts of name places. As an adult you put it all together and it makes a story that leaves a mark on your soul.
I spent the weekend surrounded by music; most of the hits from the 70’s and 80’s. Songs we could sing along to or that brought back crazy memories. I’ve never been a huge music person, perhaps because I am tone deaf. Don’t ask about my time playing a flute because it’s not a pretty picture. Don’t ask me what band plays what song as I fail that game quite spectacularly.
But every once in a while I connect deeply to a song. Which is guess is, for musicians, is what it’s all about. Just like writers want the words to resonate within the soul of the reader.
The lyrics of this song absolutely speak to my roots. The musical notes actually pull my feet to move and inspire me to sing, although that’s not a good thing.
Plaid dirt, white shirts, blue collar roots
Still runnin’ through my veins
I was born small town, deep roots
Mud on these boots
I wouldn’t change a thing
It’s how I was born and raised
(born and raised, born and raised, born and raised)
Born and raised
It’s how I was born and raised
The connection that I feel stems from the fact that this family group are farmers from southern Saskatchewan. A skip and two hops from where I grew up. The shared backgrounds, work ethics and love of county music means I feel a powerful connection to their work.
Ps. Pretty stoked we have tickets to see these young lads sing!!
Hundreds of years ago the site of tartan may have induced terror in the English countryside. It had been striking terror in my head for over a month before I faced the “dragon”. Continue reading
I had a pot luck party last night but there was a twist. Along with the usual food item each attendee also brought along something else. The concept was that it would sort of a be like a hostess gift but then it ended up more like the crazy Christmas gift stealing. The friend who didn’t bring a gift went home with 2 but it will all even out in the long term.
I still ended up the happy recipient of several new Continue reading
The fresh look at Saskatoon and a weekend trip to Vancouver Island made me rethink my life here on the prairies. I came to the same conclusion as Continue reading