Back in February, I moaned and complained about the snow when we should have been enjoying the cherry blossoms.
Well, the cherry blossoms still aren’t here and I’m not the only one impatiently waiting for spring to chase away the dark and dreary days.
“Care to go for a swim?”
“No thanks. The water’s much too cold.”
As an avid reader, I have spent the last few years reviewing books on my blog and on other websites that help to promote Indy Authors. It has been an honor to read and review over one hundred and forty books in the last couple of years.
There are several reasons why I engaged in the review process:
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Thanks to David Kanigan who first posted this.
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Survivor of the Great Depression, RAF veteran, Activist for the Welfare State, Author of Harry’s Last Stand Love Among the Ruins, 1923 & The Empress of Australia
I have lived a very long time. Tomorrow, it will be exactly 94 years ago that a midwife with a love of harsh gin and rolled cigarettes delivered me into my mother’s tired, working-class arms. Neither the midwife nor my mother would have expected me to live to almost 100 because my ancestors had lived in poverty for as long as there was recorded history in Yorkshire.
Nowadays, when wealth is considered wisdom, too often old age is derided, disrespected or feared, perhaps because it is the last stage in our human journey before death. But in this era of Trump and Brexit, ignoring the assets of knowledge that are acquired over a long life could be as lethal as disregarding a dead canary in a coal mine. Read more here
Mom suggested I read the Laura Ingalls Wilder books to my children when they were young. She read Little House in the Big Woods to her grade one students each year and assured me the children loved the story.
I went out and bought the first book in the series, couldn’t hurt to try, being my philosophy. Besides, didn’t want Mom nagging me—not that she would have. Well, maybe only a little.
Each evening we sat on the sofa and read a chapter before bedtime. Like my mother’s students, my children were enraptured by the story. I was too, and reading together offered me the opportunity to tell my children more about my childhood on the farm as I was able to relate many of my own experiences to the book.
At the time, we lived on the edge of the city with farmland and a creek across the street. We huddled together on the sofa as I read about the Ingles family in their wagon surrounded by howling wolves. Just then we heard the howl of coyotes echoing across the snowy field. I think I was as scared as my kids and we all clung to my husband when he walked in the door.
Now, my daughter is reading the book to her daughter. The munchkin gives me a thumps up and says, “Grandma, best story ever.” Bravo! We have another generation enthralled with Laura’s story. We live in the heart of the city now, so she won’t hear any howling, as her mother reads, but as she asks what churning is and what traps are, she will learn about life in another time.
It’s not often that we can relive the past and there are many instances when we wouldn’t want to, but the marvel of a book is that it can and does take us on a journey. Laura Ingalls Wilder, gave my daughter and granddaughter, through her writing, a glimpse into another world and time. She gave me an almost tangible link to my parents and our life on the farm.
Thank you to Ms. Wilder and all the authors who take us on such journeys.
February in Victoria, BC usually looks like this:
This year it looks like this:
Whoever’s in charge up there messed up. Or is this a result of global warming?
I buy lottery tickets. Every week. I know that I have an abysmal one in 14 million chance of winning and still I buy them. I know I’m not alone for millions of fellow citizens are right there with me shelling out hard earned money for a chance, however slim, to win.
Why buy? Here’s my logic.
For those who don’t know, Caleb, the camel pops in for a visit every Wednesday. But not today, thanks to an executive order.