She rides again!

She rides again!

Like small, dark clouds dotting the horizon, I should have recognised those random twinges as indicators of a bigger issue to come. While riding my motorcycle last year I noticed odd little surges of pains now and then in my hips. Our last few rides in the autumn began to feel quite awkward, as if…

A life well lived

A life well lived

“Debra’s been transferred to hospice,” said Bob. “So if you’d like to see her, you should probably do it soon.” My heart sank. We knew it was coming, but we clung to the futile hope that there might be a last minute solution to buy our friend just a little more time. It was hard…

Welcome Spring

Welcome Spring

A strange sound greeted me as I stepped out the back door the other day. I paused for a second to determine its source. Birds! Hundreds of birds sat in our big maple trees, singing joyfully. No robins yet, but I hadn’t heard such giddy celebration in months. Under sunny skies a southern breeze ushered…

Going Off Course in a Pre-GPS World
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Going Off Course in a Pre-GPS World

The year I got my motorcycle licence, our first long distance ride was to Quebec. Jack and I spent one night in Algonquin Park, then traveled happily along the ruggedly beautiful back roads of Ontario. Crossing over to Quebec we toured through more landscapes of forests and rock, and often alongside rivers and lakes too numerous to count.

Glimpses of Eden
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Glimpses of Eden

The COVID crisis sparks a broad spectrum of emotions for me. Some days I’m faithfully optimistic – trusting God’s promise that he works all things for the good of those who love him. Other times I’m seriously discouraged by the grim statistics, the spectre of the “second wave,” and the ever-changing restrictions and regulations we’re subjected to.

Recapturing the Rhythm

Recapturing the Rhythm

Our four-year-old grandson wriggled in his chair. “RJ, do you have ants in your pants?” asked Poppa. His deep brown eyes widened as he seriously considered the idea. “No . . . I don’t think so,” he said, squirming at the possibility. It may be genetic. My parents and school teachers often asked me that same question when I was a kid.