In school at the beginning of the year we got new exercise books. Now we have talked about that before. Renewal, a turning of the page, etc. This was a long time ago. We called the books scribblers.
They were actually called Caribou exercise books. They were made of dirt
Some years ago there was a woman who stayed on the same hospital ward as my late mother-in-law. This woman was nice enough and she was a regular Herald reader who thought that I somehow lived off-grid somewhere in the interior of the Avalon wilderness area. That is because I
It was dark when I drove down a hill in Topsail one night this summer. The sun was long gone behind Bell Island and it was “the dark of the moon.”
I was getting ready to turn left on to another road and towards home when I saw two vehicles
I had to look up the date for this event because, while it is in my memory – the most important weather event I remember from my childhood – it was a long time ago.
The year was 1958 and the city of St. John’s was shutdown in mid-winter-by a
I feel a bit better today about the future of our province. Optimistic by nature and despite keeping well-peeled eyes on public matters for a living and writing about them, I note with interest a June news release from The Board of Trustees of the Newfoundland and Labrador English School
It’s hard to believe that I started writing for The Herald back in 2003. For the past 18 years, I’ve been telling the stories of Newfoundlanders and Labradorians and sharing a scatter yarn about my own life along the way.
While I was a freelance contributor those first few years,
The last of the snow is gone. The often-cursed snowblower, which is hard to start, is put away for the last time. There were a couple of flakes of snow in the waning days of April, but the death grip of winter weather has eased, and the eternal hope of
As I sat down to write this week’s column my daughter strolled in and sleepily sat by my side for a morning cuddle. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Writing,” I replied.
I didn’t have one word to show for my efforts, and she commented on the blank screen before
Mothers are magical, mythical creatures curing gaping, wildly bleeding wounds with butterfly kisses and bear hugs. When order cannot be restored with lightly laid on lips, a bandaid with winged ponies may steadily slow a tumbling trail of salty tears and bubbling blood.
Those fairytale-like mommy moments don’t always come