Dead Wild Roses: Vietnam Tone Prose – Quiet Time by Marc Levy

Quiet Time, by Marc Levy.   “Imagine this: after a blistering hot day marching up and down mud slicked hills, or tramping wide open fields, or steamy jungle, imagine setting out booby traps on enemy trails, laying in wait, then ever so carefully, breaking them down. At dusk, after planting trips and claymores round the ...

And just like that, the dreaded October

I know, I know; I haven’t been blogging, and I’ve been actively avoiding Twitter except for when I “cheat” & use it like the micro-blogging service that it was designed to be, rather than the coffee klatch for which I normally use it. Many of you noticed that I was “off” and I appreciate the ...

Father’s Day

When I think of my dad these days, what comes to mind is, oddly enough, my leg. Specifically it’s the back of my right calf. It’s balding. Again I’m reminded of God’s sense of humour when it comes to aging: every leg hair that I’ve lost has magically reappeared up my nose or in my ...

Dundonald Park

Photo: Dundonald Park in 1916, from Wikipedia. When my partner and I returned to Ottawa after a decade’s hiatus, we had a shortlist of acceptable neighbourhoods in which to live – all downtown, because why in the world would I flee a narrow-minded place like Prince Edward County only to end up in Kanata? I ...

Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day was mostly just another day. My mother never let me attempt breakfast in bed. Chances are, she cooked breakfast for me. Mom’s right arm was never the same after the cancer, and her tendency to swing hot pans close to my head became a nervous running joke. Mom did housework well until the ...