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I always feel a little melancholy at this time of year. I could blame it on the colder weather, I suppose, but the truth is simpler: I find myself dreaming of a White Christmas…
Lately, America’s cultural heroes are bumping up the “greatest ever” language about itself. Apparently the whole world, not just America, is blessed by its national documents and decisions.
We’re in the Christmas season when Santa letters are being sent off to the North Pole. Here’s a sample: “Dear Santa. All I want is a fat bank account and a skinny body.
There has been some public dialogue about the RCMP’s service in Saskatchewan recently. It’s something I need to address.
Did you hear the Saskatchewan Roughriders finally won their fifth Grey Cup? If not, congratulations on living under a rock…
There’s an old saying from the early days of newspapers: “Lies make it halfway around the world before the truth even gets out of bed.”
With the changing of the seasons came the first snow of the winter in 1972. For us kids, the first snowfall always brought thoughts of the winter fun we looked forward to having as the season progressed.
The cartoon showed a woman saying to her husband, “You don’t look anything like the long-haired, skinny kid I married twenty-five years ago. I need a DNA sample to make sure it’s still you.”
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about what to write—and I’ve noticed something: the more I write, the easier it seems to get.
It’s always irked me in literature and writing classes when a prof would insist that every story must have conflict. We were expected to spot the conflict before we even got into the craft of the writing.
Someone once said, when a man retires, his wife gets twice the husband but only half the income. Unfortunately, in Canada, it might be far less than half the income.
For 16 years, I’ve had the privilege of curating a special edition dedicated to Canadians who served our country—past and present—especially those who paid the ultimate price.
Even though we’ve all used them at one time or another, vending machines are the “Rodney Dangerfield” of the machine world — they get no respect.
There are times when I would rather be miserable. It’s like sometimes misery just feels right. lol! Yup I just wrote that.
I was on my way to lay some flowers on the graves of Val Marie’s ancestors last Sunday evening when out of the corner came a flashing light.
There’s an old joke that claims it was disappointing to discover a universal remote control didn’t control the entire universe.
Where has October gone? Friday was Halloween, and I have to admit—I looked pretty scary in the mirror that morning. Overslept, scrambled to get a few things done…
Thirty years ago, in October 1995, I began creating lists of words, arranged in two columns, with the heading: Spotting the Subtle, Enormous Difference Between.
Here’s a bit of medical humour for you. Doctor: How is the little girl doing who swallowed ten quarters last night? Nurse: No change yet.
I’ve always been a bit of a pack rat, and while going through some of my treasures recently, I came across a photo and memo from my time on the Prairie West District Health Board.
