life
Beneath the Surface
Trinda Jocelyn I have a love-hate relationship with writing. I enjoy putting pen to paper; maybe fingers to a keyboard is the more appropriate way to say that these days. I have a blog, which I have had for a good long time, but if you visit it, you will find the dates I write very sporadic. When I write, I feel like it needs to be honest and so when I do sit down and write something, I feel like people can see a little deeper into who I am and being a relatively private person, that leaves me…
Read MoreSing
Jennifer Wallace Those who know me know that I love to sing. It is no secret. From a young age, I tried to emulate my mom by singing whatever line in a song she was singing in church. I sang along with the radio. I eagerly joined choirs, auditioned for musicals and singing groups whenever the opportunity arose. I still love to sing. I cannot help but want to join in when I see the African’s Children Choir in performance. I feel the same way watching YouTube videos of senior citizen choirs. How good it is to be united in…
Read MoreMy Path
Natasha Coroluick I never know where to start when telling my story. Everyone I talk to tells me to “start from the beginning”. Is that meaning to start with, “I was born on a chilly November day twenty-nine years ago.”? Or is it the beginning of where my life began on its path? I suppose I will start where it’s relevant. Twenty years ago I was new to small town living. My grandmother had passed away in the summer of ’95 and we moved into her home in Avonlea, SK. I remember our mom telling my sister and me that…
Read MoreFeel
Trinda Jocelyn The last real memory I have of my dad was the day that he left Quill Lake. He came to my school to say good-bye. He was in an old, red, late 70’s Ford truck. I was thirteen; I don’t remember the exchange of words, more the exchange of feeling. The bitter sadness ran through me as he hugged me through that truck window: this would be one of the last times in my entire life. Then he rolled up the window, put his eyes forward, and drove away; I was left to go back into the school…
Read MoreOld Pages
Sara Pippus Anticipation hung next to the weather-worn tools in the back porch and chased her all morning as she waited on the fresh heat of spring to fill the yard. By noon, she could not wait any longer. Jill ran down the back steps, gathering her gloves as she went, and out into the blue and green swirling hues of the large back garden. Fear, mixed with joy, sat at the edges of her gentle brown eyes. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice as the soft breeze brushed past her pale cheeks. This year, though, could be nothing…
Read MoreAfter Sabbath
Deanna Cook Sunday evenings is very ritualistic in my life. It is a time of preparation for the next school week: preparing lunches, laying out clothes, and packing back packs. I have found this time essential- a way to frame the next week so it is more peaceful and more prepared. Those Sunday evenings I choose not to partake in the ritual, I end up regretting it as my Monday morning is spent rushing around making decisions, throwing together a bag lunch, and searching for lost keys. As I thought about this topic, I did some research. Did you know…
Read MoreTime
I have an electric wall clock that I am trying to recycle (code for throw away), but it is not an easy thing to do. It was my mother’s, and hung on the kitchen wall in our Winnipeg home. It is not in any way an object of beauty, having a basic round face set into a couple of inches of some dreadful pale pink plastic. When plugged in, it makes a whirring noise as it continues to lose time, despite all attempts to improve its performance! It also rattles at every opportunity, due to the collection of screws or…
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