I have started to write and then thrown away too many blog posts this week. I am feeling unable to generate anything of quality. So I have decided to share with you an idea that I have been kicking around. A while ago I dug out my old diaries and gave them a read. They were full of ridiculousness that was begging to be shared publicly. When I wrote these entries, over twenty years ago, every word was serious and a precious secret. Continue reading
A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine, a mentor actually, posted an uncharacteristically political news item on Facebook: Harper’s communication unit bigfoots Parks Canada news conference
Since when did “bigfoot” become a transitive verb? Apparently, since 1980 when it came to be used by journalists to describe someone who steals a big story from a lower ranking colleague. So what happened? In a nutshell, the Privy Council removed the name of the federal agency responsible for national parks from a public event announcing the creation of one – replacing it with the term “Harper Government” instead.
Now, I am not naive enough to believe that the manipulation of public events for political gain is somehow unusual. But to take credit for work you didn’t do? Well, it seems disingenuous at best.
When I was about 10 years old, I convinced my parents that I needed singing lessons by crooning out a rendition of Whitney Houston’s ‘Saving All My Love for You’. There I stood, a plump Asian girl, holding a plastic … Continue reading
When you were 18, what did you imagine your future would look like? How close does your life today come to that vision?
Fear. Certainty. Uncertainty. Excitement. Expectations. Assumptions. This is us at 18. We took certain things for granted, not knowing how to get there. We feared a lot of things that we would survive. We wanted to be grown up without having a clear idea of what that meant. Continue reading
In case you missed it, there’s a new feature here at Mother Sugar called, The Salon: What You Know For Sure. Every month we’ll be asking a new question and inviting all of you to respond. Big or small, long or short, send us your memories and we’ll share ours. Today’s post draws on this month’s theme:
This post started though before we decided to invite you for tea and cake in the Salon. Continue reading
Being homesick is like a strange spiky ache that’s both caught in your throat and deep in the pit of your stomach. You can’t breathe, you can’t eat, you can’t speak; all you want to do is go back home. … Continue reading
Confession. I lived at home until I was 34 years old.
Oh alright, I didn’t actually live with my parents until I was 34 years old. I lived in a home they owned, in a town 65 miles from the house I grew up in, save for two conspicuous years living outside of Canada. I didn’t stay home because I was afraid to live on my own, I stayed home because it seemed practical. Why rent in one of the most expensive communities in the country when I could live rent free and put money away? I spent too many years making A’s, even if they weren’t in math, not to see the value in that. Continue reading