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- Orange Shirt Day, A Call to Honour Truth September 29, 2017
- Another One Bites The Dust September 11, 2017
- WANING TREASURES: Colour September 4, 2017
- Street Art Takes Pain August 25, 2017
- Canada, Reparations Don’t End at Apologies – Just Ask Germany August 20, 2017
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Category Archives: Non-Fiction
A former story revised, Part 2: Aside from having to dream up a name to match any exotic ancestry I could claim, my real family history was more colourful than that anyway. Continue reading
A former story revised, Part 1: My name is Pipisew. I grew up with deep and even unconscious shame about my childhood. I blamed most of it on the fact that I’d been born an “Indian”. I would learn that in fact, my ancestry did indeed have a great deal to do with that, but not for the reasons I’d been taught… Continue reading
A couple of years ago I wrote about a voracious online predator who tracked vulnerable blogging women and the aftermath of his being found out. I cautioned then about the need to use extra care when interacting with people we really do … Continue reading
His cadre of women was a numbers game and his love for numbers mattered more than quality… They were at various levels of need and were quite willing to rationalize betrayals or even safety…
He was a little less oblivious than she believed. He’d feel it now, without seeing anymore, how her expression would change from the melancholic stare out at the water while she washed dishes or while they were out on the … Continue reading
Once in a while, my mother plays for me an old country song called, “Idol of the Band”. One of the chorus lines speaks to a brief bittersweet period of shining glory for a young woman from humble beginnings. We … Continue reading
Alright, my mother isn’t, and wasn’t ever, a nun. She grew up wanting to be one, but life has a way of trading dreams on people, and I was the first trade-off. Her life wasn’t anywhere close to a serene … Continue reading
Sometimes old memories float up in need of a little light… A soul’s whisper to let it go.
I was 14 years old. My mother and I were living in an apartment on the 14th floor of a basic downtown high-rise. We were there because that’s where she was when I ran away from the last foster home I’d intended to live in.
I threatened to run away and never be found again if they made me go back to that home. The Department of Social Services, and my unprepared mother, gave in.
My mother had been struggling with escape from an abusive marriage, alcoholism, and no way to fully support her daughters. That’s how we ended up in foster care just after Christmas that year… Continue reading
I hardly know this young boy who impacted my life and so many others so profoundly. What kid is all that interested in their mother’s friends anyway? And so, I came to know him mostly through her, our Glo.
She is that quintessential statement of strength and courage, which can almost sound like a cliché, but it isn’t when it’s applied to a parent facing one of all our worst fears. Which is what happened to her and she, true to character, faced that nightmare fully and head-on.
He was only three years old when they were told… Continue reading