talking about the base

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Did you ever think you’d hear so much about the base? Cambridge Oxford says the base is “the bottom part of an object, on which it rests, or the lowest part of something” which certainly fits in with how the word and concept has been bandied about in Trumpland. Continue reading

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Thanksgiving, PTSD and kindness

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This weekend is Thanksgiving for us here in Canada.  It sort of sneaks up on us with still warm days leaning into fall.  We hang onto our (not politically correct anymore) Indian Summers with rays of late afternoon sun blinking through golden leaves as we pause and give thanks for the bounty of our lives. Continue reading

not drunk – just dodging the manholes

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The route I and many others take everyday to and from our downtown offices is driving me crazy! There are SO many manhole (people hole?) covers set in the pavement that I can only speculate on the guts and gizzards of underground city infrastructure lurking below.  Continue reading

something I learned from her

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There are things that stay with us. Words that matter and have meaning far beyond the moment they are spoken.

I was always a little intimidated by her quick wit; the ability and forthrightness as she said what was on her mind. In awe of her intelligence. In another sphere she could have been a doctor, lawyer, an author. As a cherished Grandmother and lover of Christmas, her days were full.

She let me know that contrary to what I was taught, it is ok to drink beer from a bottle. It’s ok to sit on the beach with the wind blowing our hair and laugh and drink beer as we sat huddled in down jackets determined to enjoy the frigid day at the beach.

She hugged me tight the last time I saw her and said “…we had a good run, Susie.  We had a good run”.

She taught me to look at things I can’t change and be able to say “….we had a good run” while I step into tomorrow.

 

 

the story behind those job interviews

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A friend of mine went for “the interview” last week and in recounting it to me he commented that the room was so small he felt like he was sitting under an interrogation room light. I laughed and told him my last interview was in a room the size of a coat closet with a Barbie sized table separating me from the interviewers.  Our knees could touch awkwardly if we didn’t choose our seating wisely.  Continue reading